#canon typical miscommunication

[some-anonymity-preferred]

The Love of a Pet Befouls the Ship

How did Ed and Izzy end up with such different memories of why Fang had to get rid of his dog, anyway?

[earthtooz]

Wrio the slay calling reading clingy so reader sleeps on couch …😊 thx

x : DISTANCE :*+ﾟ

in which: you overhear wriothesley calling your affection too much, so you respect his wishes and give him some space. yet, why does he not seem like it?

warnings: 5.6k words (why did it get so long), hurt/comfort, gn!reader and wriothesley are married, pet names, no spoilers but set in canon, misunderstandings and miscommunication af, slowburn??, you might tug your hair out at some parts lol sorry, fluff with angst but happy ending, it gets emotional.

a/n: okay this was definitely not my favourite piece, i was experimenting with writing styles and writing in an omnipresent pov... so sorry if it feels clunky at some bits. overall, i'm pretty happy! also sorry for not sticking to the original prompt

Perhaps today was a bad time, you think as you leave the Fortress of Meropide, anxiety churning in your stomach and doubt weighing on your mind. Despite Fontaine’s sunrays shining brightly upon you, you feel anything but warm.  

What started as a visit to your husband with kind, wholesome intentions of delivering some lunch to him on your day off ended with a visit that left you riddled with questions. Coming at a time when he was in a meeting nearing its end, you didn’t even get the chance to speak to him, yet his words rattled around your head, replaying like a broken disc. 

“How are you and your spouse?” A rich voice echoes from his office, door slightly ajar signifying that whatever discussion was happening within was coming to an end.

“Y/n and I? We’re amazing, thank you,” Wriothesley answers. “I’m always happiest whenever I’m with Y/n.” 

The company, who you have realised is Monsieur Neuvillette, responds. “That’s good to hear.”

“Although, Y/n has been quite… affectionate recently, to the point that it’s borderlining too much-”

The conversation is drowned out by a ring of an alarm on Wriothesley’s desk and the atmosphere from his office suddenly grows in tension. The voice of the two men turn from relaxed to alarmed in a matter of seconds, and that is when you decide it is probably time to take your leave, lest you intrude on whatever emergency has happened.

Dropping the lunch you brought for Wriothesley at reception, even the receptionist was confused by how quick your visit was since they typically lasted for an hour- even longer since Wriothesley likes to push the amount of time he gets with you. They don’t question it, though, merely nodding in understanding when you tell them to drop it off for him on your behalf.

Has Wriothesley always thought of your affection as too much? If it was overwhelming him, why didn’t he tell you? And why Neuvillette, the Chief Justice of Fontaine, of all people? You understood the nature of their relationship- how they both tend to confine in each other with whatever they are troubled by, but why couldn’t your husband come to you about this directly? You made an oath on your wedding day to be fully honest with each other and to never hide anything. Where did that promise go?

Arriving home with a heavy heart, you immediately flop onto the couch, arm covering your eyes as tears sting the corners of your eyes. Perhaps it’s time you lessen your displays of physical affection before you drive the love of your life away.

Wriothesley, looking down at the contents of your boxed lunch, feels his heart warm in his chest at your display of care. How fortunate he is to have someone like you, he thinks before eating, satisfying his hungry stomach that has been aching for food since half an hour ago. He wonders why you didn’t see him personally and dropped it off instead, he would have liked to eat with you beside him.  

Whatever the reason, he’ll make sure to drop by your favourite bakery to purchase some conch madeleines as a thank you. 

When he returns home later in the evening, you’re asleep on the couch, curled up with only a book on your chest to protect you from the chilly air seeping into the house. Wriothesley quickly lays his coat over you, bookmarking the page you were at before retreating to change into more relaxing clothes. You still have not roused when he returns and as much as it pains him to disturb you, he doesn’t want you napping too late lest it disturbs your sleep schedule.

“Y/n?” He gently shakes you. Slowly, you come to wakefulness, eyes fluttering open as you gaze up at your husband.

“Wriothesley? You’re home?” You murmur, rubbing your eyes whilst slowly sitting up. “What time is it?”

“Nearing six in the evening.”

“Oh my! I didn’t mean to sleep that long! I’ll go get dinner ready, you should rest, you must have had a long day-”

Silencing you with a warm kiss to your forehead, you don’t melt into it like you usually would, his words from earlier slamming back into you like a brick. He doesn’t notice the way you tense, merely brushing your hair away from your forehead.

“Don’t worry about dinner, I’ll cook,” Wriothesley offers, grabbing something he left on the table behind him. “Have some madeleines I bought for you whilst you wait.”

He places a bag of the baked goods in your hands and you smile at him, lips chapped and eyes still drowsy, yet Wriothesley thinks you’re the most beautiful being to ever exist. 

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” The dark-haired leaves you with another kiss to your temple before turning around to go into the kitchen. However, you stop him with a tug on his wrist which you drop almost immediately when he turns around, acting as if his skin was an open flame that licked you. 

“Darling, you have a sticker on your arm.” You reach up to grab the piece of adhesive, ripping it off him in one smooth motion. 

“Those melusines,” he murmurs, rolling his eyes with a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. For how much Wriothesley scolds them, he cannot bring himself to actually get mad at them, letting the little creatures play pranks instead of reprimanding them. 

“I’m surprised they keep getting by you. Maybe you need to sharpen your instincts.”

“Quiet, you,” there’s no bite to his words.

“They put a little crab on you,” you giggle. “Must be going through an ocean-themed sticker book. You had a little shell on you yesterday.”

“I did? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I find it funny.” 

He sits down beside you, dinner momentarily forgotten. “Do you now?” The dark-haired murmurs. “Turns out my own spouse is against me also.”

“If it brings me amusement, why not let the melusines play their pranks a little longer?”

“You are an awful influence,” Wriothesley winds his arms around your torso, pushing you down into the pillows of the couch. There, you almost sink into him, lured by the warmth of his embrace, but the memory of what you overheard sinks into your gut like an icicle, and your smile fades.

You pat his shoulders in surrender. “Shouldn’t you be working on dinner, dear? It’s already quite late.” You pray he doesn’t notice the way you have suddenly altered the mood, drying the playful atmosphere.

If he does notice, he doesn’t comment on it, getting up with a groan before retreating into the kitchen. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

There’s a whistle from the doorway to your bedroom, low and appreciative, and the culprit is no one other than Wriothesley. He walks towards you, draping himself over your figure sat in front of the mirror. “Where are you going tonight?”

“Clorinde and I are going to dinner together,” you tell him nonchalantly, as if all of his weight wasn’t on your shoulders right now. 

He pouts. “When will you be home?”

“Not too late, that’s for sure. We’re meeting at the other side of the Court of Fontaine, though.”

“An evening without my love, whatever shall I do?”

“You’ll live,” you smile before raising a necklace up to him. “Help me put this on?”

With a huff, he raises himself off your back and gently takes the jewellery from your hands, careful with the jewels that adorn it. His cold touch grazes against your exposed skin, sending shivers down your spine as he successfully clasps it together. When you meet his gaze in the mirror, it’s full of adoration and admiration, and you have to busy yourself with your hair lest it flusters you too much. 

Standing up, you swiftly walk out of the bedroom and towards the front door. Wriothesley trails behind you without much thought. “I’ll get going now before I’m too late.”

“Do you need me to accompany you there?” 

“It’s alright, thank you for offering.” Disappointment floods him like an ocean as he watches you put on your shoes. With one final fidget of your clothes, you deem yourself presentable and turn to him. “See you tonight, darling-”

“-Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?” Your eyes widen in alarm as you begin frantically patting yourself down. “I brought my wallet, keys? They’re here, what am I forgetting?”

Wriothesley pretends like your cluelessness doesn’t hurt more than it actually does. He taps his cheek. “A kiss.”

“Oh, of course. How could I be so careless?” you laugh, the corners of your eyes scrunching with delight. Wriothesley has a remark resting on the tip of his tongue but it quickly dies when you step forward, anchoring your hand on his chin before you press a kiss to his cheek; to both cheeks for good measure. 

“Love you,” you murmur when parting. 

The desire to keep you home is a burning one, and pleads of ‘stay’ threaten to spill from his mouth. There is nothing more he wants than to be in your arms, to cling to you until the weekend is over in the blink of an eye, but you are your own person, and no matter how needy he is, Wriothesley should not stand in the way of your fun. 

“I love you more,” he sighs, holding open the front door for you. “Be back soon.”

“I’ll try. Bye dear!” You blow him a kiss before walking out of your garden.  

He watches you leave with a heart heavy with longing, closing the front door once you’re out of sight and tries to sigh the feeling of emptiness away. 

Later that night, Wriothesley greets you the second he hears the front door being unlocked, urgent strides allowing him to turn the corner just as you open the door, looking as pristine as you did when you left. There’s a small, tired smile on your face, but you look happy, blissful expression brightening when you see him. 

“Hello, love,” you say, slipping your shoes off.

“Welcome back,” he says, embracing you with one, muscular arm whilst pulling you in for a kiss. Your hands unusually fly up to hold his shoulders and Wriothesley thinks he’s imagining the way you push him slightly, as if trying to get him out of your personal space. Yet your grasp on him was so tight, creating temporary divots in his skin that he doesn’t really know what you’re trying to do.

Why are you trying to push him away in the first place? The thought of you not wanting him near is upsetting enough to make him unknowingly tighten his grip around you, causing you to stumble into him from the momentum. 

You look up at him, shocked whilst he gazes down at you with a storm of terror gathering in his eyes. For the first time since the two of you got married all those years ago, a rift forms.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Whatever occurred that night isn’t a topic of conversation, ever. The two of you retreated to bed after a quick conversation of how your evenings were before devolving into other topics, like what the week ahead had in store, restaurants you two should visit sometime, new boutiques and bakeries you’ve been hoping to explore- little chats that hold more meaning as the days roll by.

During it all, there was an undeniable heaviness to the conversation that made it slightly uncomfortable. Wriothesley cannot remove the memory of how you tried to push him away and you cannot forget the shocked look in his eyes. The more you picture it, the guiltier you feel, heart sinking in your chest.

You thought that it was what Wriothesley wanted: more space from you, an opportunity to breathe without you overwhelming his space.

So why do you feel so bad about respecting his wishes?

“What a lovely view!” You exclaim excitedly, running toward a patch on the grass that sits a few metres away from a nearby beach, the sound of waves meeting shore a soothing lullaby and a testament to how calm the day is. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you’re out on a picnic with the love of your life.

“Here’s a nice spot to set up, what do you think, Wriothesley?” You ask.

“Sounds amazing, darling,” he responds, setting down the picnic basket when you’ve laid out the blanket. You sit down with an unglamorous huff, leaning back onto your hands to let the morning sun soak into your features.

Morning picnics were one of yours and Wriothesley’s favourite date ideas. The best time to be together was before the sun would rise to its highest peak, bearing hot sunrays that make everything uncomfortable for everyone. Fontaine’s sun is never merciful either, which is why the nation is perfect for diving and all other water-related activities, but when you are simply walking around, it becomes rather suffocating.

The Fortress of Meropide’s administrator takes a seat beside you and you indulge by resting your head on his shoulder, hoping that he isn’t uncomfortable under your touch. The dark-haired hasn’t shaken you off yet, so you keep resting against him.

“How did you discover this place?” You ask.

“Siora told me of it, said that a passenger on the aquabus was talking to her about it. She thought that it sounded like a delightful place to take you to,” he answers and you can’t help but smile, fiddling with your fingers.

Melusines and their wholesome ways. You’ll find a way to thank Siora later. “How kind of her and how fortunate for us.”

“I take it you like it here then?”

“I love it,” you tuck your legs closer to your chest and Wriothesley leans back on his arms as well, letting your hands rest beside each other as the sea continues to crash on the shore before you. There are seals resting nearby too, ships pass by here and there, and seagulls stop near the two of you before flying away, but the only thing that matters to Wriothesley is you leaning on his shoulder.

Sharing with him the breakfast sandwiches you packed, no words are exchanged, merely the sound of waves crashing against the shore occupy the tranquil silence. It’s not until a few minutes later that Wriothesley speaks. 

“Will you be visiting me at the office today?” He asks.

You tear your gaze away from the horizon. “Perhaps. Do you want me to?”

“Would I really be asking if I didn’t?”

“Please, forego the sass, your grace,” you snort and he rolls his eyes, an affectionate smile pulling on his lips. 

“Seriously though, I would like you to. You know how dreary and boring weekends at the prison get, would be much better having you there.”

“Are you trying to butter me up?”

“Is it working?” 

“Maybe,” you mutter, grinning. “Would you like me to bring lunch with me or shall we go find a place to eat?”

“How about takeout? Hey wait, now that I think about it, why didn’t you stay the other day when you brought lunch for me? I would have much rather seen your pretty face than the receptionist’s.”

You ignore the butterflies blooming in your stomach because of his compliment. “An emergency happened just as I reached there. I didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it, so I left.”

Confusion shines in his eyes, his expression giving away the cogwork ticking in his brain as he tries to pinpoint what emergency you could be referring to. When the pieces click, his eyes widen a little. “I see. You did the right thing, my love,” he presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“I’ll visit you today,” you whisper, toying with the hem of your clothes as you wait for his response. 

“Amazing. I’m looking forward to it, then”

You stay true to your word, walking down the path you recognise like the back of your hand. The guards need not think twice about welcoming you in, guiding you straight in the direction of Wriothesley’s office. 

Since being with him, you’ve grown less and less afraid of how daunting the Fortress can feel, adapting to the chill knowing that there is someone in there who will set himself ablaze to keep you warm. Yet, today you walk in with apprehension clasped around your ankles, threatening to pull you under with each step. 

It’s ridiculous, you know Wriothesley would never turn you away or shun you, but the mind is the worst enemy and yours can’t stop replaying the conversation you overheard weeks ago. You know Wriothesley could open those heavy doors of his and greet you with something more grim than loving and cast you aside, and you have to hold your breath when the guards knock on your behalf.

Your heart skips a beat when they push open the doors, revealing your husband crouched over his desk, hands mussed in his hair to keep them out of his eyes. He looks up at you and the way a smile manifests on his features is akin to that of fire melting ice, fatigue dissipating as you step inside his office.  

“Hello, dear,” you greet, tone soft and controlled, unlike the thrashing of your gut.

“Hi,” he stands up and takes great strides towards you. Naturally, you open your arms for him; unnaturally, you merely hug him instead of greeting him with a kiss. Wriothesley keeps you locked in his arms as he digs his nose into your neck and you feel the way his eyes flutter close against your skin.

“Long day?”

“Draining too,” he murmurs. 

“Oh dear, we cannot have your grace tired, whatever shall we do!” You gasp overdramatically, clearly poking fun at him because you are perhaps one of the only people who could do so in this entire building. 

The dark-haired accepts it and doesn’t bother to correct your use of formalities. Instead, he retracts his head out of your neck to look at you with hopeful eyes instead. “You could give me a kiss.” 

“Did you do anything today to earn it?”

“I need to earn my kisses now?”

“You should shut up sometimes,” you murmur before placing your hands along his jaw, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. He smiles against you, biting back a quip when his hand comes to the base of your neck, holding you against him. You can tell he needed the proximity, judging by his little exhale and the way his shoulders slouch, so you let him take his time and ignore the nagging in your heart.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Wriothesley is losing his mind. He has been since you left the Fortress of Meropide, and was left to freeze in the ache of your lack of affection. A goodbye kiss is customary between you two and when you didn’t give him one before leaving, it felt like a slap to the face. He would have much rather you just slapped him, actually, so what gives? 

You’re not rejecting his advances, but you’re not explicitly initiating anything either. Does that mean he should back off, too? Did he do something to upset you, and if so, when? All this thinking and speculating is making him feel like a pathetic headless chicken who can’t even talk to his spouse-

“-Wait!” You exclaim, just as he was about to grab the knob to the front entrance and step out. Instead, Wriothesley turns around to be greeted by the sigh of you frantically scrambling to him, and his heart can’t help but come alive, silencing his thoughts.

Stopping to a slide before him, he can’t hold back a soft grin. Despite just wrangling out of the claws of sleep, you’re so breathtaking, delicate in the mornings when no one else is around but him. The dark-haired is grateful that only he is able to witness you like this, that you trust him with this vulnerable side of you.

You don’t meet his gaze, eyes pinned to his chest instead. “Your tie is crooked,” you murmur hands reaching out before he even gets a chance to look down. “Let me help you.”

How can he deny such a kind request of yours? You’re gentle with him, undoing his knot and weaving it together until it looks proper, but Wriothesley couldn’t care what his tie looks like. You could be making a total fool of him and he wouldn’t care, too entranced by your glow to tear his eyes away from you. There’s a little scrunch in your forehead as you concentrate, mouth slightly parted and you’re not oblivious to his gaze either, too familiar with the intensity of it to get shy. 

Finally satisfied with your work, you let go, patting his shoulders and smoothing out any wrinkles in his garment. “There. All done.” 

“Thank you, dear,” he murmurs. 

Wriothesley is expecting a kiss from you, waits for the moment that you’ll rise onto your toes and place a peck on his lips to fill him with some energy for the day. He waits for the familiar feeling of your lips pressing against his, and waits for the rush of adrenaline that your touch always manages to ignite.

Except it never comes, and it hurts most to confess that some part of him preempted this. You step away from him without another word, or kiss, and his heart burns at your retraction, unease fluttering the lining of his stomach when you turn around to retreat into the living room. Wriothesley moves without thinking, a hand coming up to your waist to stop your steps as he forcefully pulls you back to him, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, one far more intense than the ones you usually give this early in the morning. 

You notice the desperation that bleeds from him; a certain fervour uncharacteristic in situations of morning domesticity. 

There’s a bright glimmer of surprise in your eyes when he pulls away, as if he had kissed away all your fatigue and shocked wakefulness into you. 

“Have a good day at work,” you murmur, barely able to choke the words out. 

“I will,” he replies, opening the door. You stay and watch him go, still trying to recover your breath over his passionate display of affection. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day his racing thoughts get to him is the eighth day of this strange treatment of yours. At this point, he’s become insatiable, barely able to hold it together as you remain in the centre of his world. He wants your affection again, he wants your displays of love, he wants you near him so badly that it’s driving him up the walls of the Fortress. 

It’s irrational for him, a grown man, to skirt around his problems as if he was a teenager. For some reason, Wriothesley has no issue locking up and containing some of Fontaine’s most dangerous criminals, yet when it comes to you, he becomes a lovesick fool who craves everything his partner can give. 

You still are not initiating any displays of affection, keeping to yourself unless it is him acting first. 

But after being locked in his own study for hours, unable to distract himself from you when he was really meant to be reading some new court documents from Neuvillette, he snaps. Pushing his chair out with more force than necessary, he searches for you in the living room, where you are curled up in the corner, reading.

“Is everything alright?” Wriothesley’s interruption shocks you, and you jolt your head up to meet his gaze. 

You are met with the sight of him leaned against the wall, muscular arms crossed over his chest. “Why wouldn’t they be?” You ask, not letting your gaze linger for too long on his arms before sitting up just a little straighter.

“Dunno. Just double checking.”

“Okay,” you hum softly, nodding. “Are you alright?”

“Me?” How could you switch this up on him so quickly?

“Yeah.”

“Fine, amazing, just dandy.” 

You raise an eyebrow at your husband, not truly believing him but you decide it’s best not to press on. “Alright… but if anything is wrong, don’t be afraid to tell me.” You go back to your book and your hair falls perfectly in front of your face to hide it from him.

Wriothesley shifts his weight from one leg to the other, trying to find the words to speak up and ask why you were acting so weird. It’d been two hours and twenty-four minutes (and counting) since you last saw him when he disappeared into his study, were you not concerned for him in the slightest? Sure you dropped off a plate of fruit and refilled his teapot with hot water, but normally your check-ins would be a little more frequent, and a little more encouraging than just a morale boost through food. 

Where was the cheek kiss you always gave him before you left?

Deciding not to press on any further, your husband sighs before leaving, his arms and heart feeling emptier than usual. You are only in the next room, but why do you feel like you’re on the other side of Teyvat?

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day Wriothesley snaps is the day Sigewinne asks him to be nicer to the guards of the Fortress because his foul mood is darkening the already glum prison. His subordinates must have sent her knowing that he couldn’t possibly lash out at her, and they were right, but she really didn’t need to comment on the way his veins have been more prominent recently, or how creases are forming on his forehead from how hard he’s been scowling. To top it off, she said that he should delay the appearance of wrinkles for as long as necessary, because there’s a good chance they’ll come earlier than he wants.

He’s not even a day over thirty, and yet, he is being reprimanded for ‘ageing’. But he knows the problem, and he’ll be damned if he lets it drag out for another day. 

“Welcome home, baby-” your greeting is cut off unceremoniously by your husband, who practically drags you into his embrace, closing you in with no space for you to breathe or move. Your cries of alarm are muffled against his chest, and he easily picks you up before striding the path to your shared bedroom. There, he all but throws you onto the bed, your neck resting on the pillows as he climbs on after you. “Wriothesley?”

He shushes you.

“What-”

“-I need this,” he wraps around you like a vine and breathes you in with the fervour of a man starved. 

When you try to shuffle away from under him, or at the very least sit up, Wriothesley groans, borderlining a growl as he tightens his arms around your middle. You don’t question or disobey his wants, merely sinking your head into the pillows in understanding that he must have had a particularly rough day. 

So instead of repelling his touch, you give in and let a hand snake up to his hair, playing with it as you let Wriothesley lay atop you. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders melts away, and the way you’re scratching his scalp is enticing him to rest, except there is a barrier keeping him from reaching a haven of dreams and he won’t rest peacefully until he’s broken through it.

“Why have you been so distant lately?” He garbles, voice a lot shakier from the usual stoic Wriothesley that you are used to.

You heard him loud and clear, but a pathetic ‘pardon?’ slips past your lips.

“I said, why have you been so distant lately?” This time, he’s firm, determination seeping into his tone as a hand of his sneaks out from underneath you to search for your hand. After patting around, he finds it and holds it gently, raising it to press a long kiss to your knuckles. 

It’s silent. You don’t have anything to say in response and it’s past the grace period where you can give an excuse and make it sound like the truth, and Wriothesley looks up at you with expectant eyes. There’s hurt in them but as much as you’d like to mend the heartbroken expression of his, admitting the truth is difficult, because it has eaten you alive, gnawing at your heart for days on end. 

“I…I don’t have it in me to tell you,” you murmur quietly, looking away and slipping your hand out of his, but Wriothesley is tired of this dance of yours and chases after your touch, this time roughly grasping your wrists. Not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you rooted. 

“I didn’t do anything, did I?” He asks, raising your hand to his cheek. 

Your voice is quiet when you confess. “If I said you didn’t, I’d be lying.” 

The dark-haired stiffens. “What?” 

“Nothing,” you cough.

“No, Y/n, be honest with me here.”

“You’re going to laugh at me, or find me ridiculous.” Wriothesley’s heart clenches at your admittance, frowning at the fractures of insecurity piercing you like glass, but most of all, he hates that he can’t stop you from feeling this way. “I thought what I did was what you wanted.”  

“Which was?” 

“Some distance, just- not me crowding your personal space all the time.”

“Why would I ever want that?”

“I can get overbearing sometimes, and I don’t know, just assumed that would annoy you.”

“You’re not telling me everything, I can tell something happened to make you feel this way. Please, darling, just tell me the truth. I promise you I won’t judge or think differently of you.” 

You sigh. “I… I overheard you and Monsieur Neuvillette the other day- when I dropped off lunch. You said that my affection was sometimes too much, and that I was making you uncomfortable, so I thought that you wouldn’t want me to be around you anymore. I didn’t want to drive you away so I, y’know…”

Confusion fills him stomach like water and it takes a few moments before it hits him, the memory coming back to him. You heard his conversation out of context- he wasn’t complaining about you, no, quite the opposite, but it just seems that you weren’t there for the parts that mattered most, and now you can’t even bear to look him in the eye. 

“Honey, please look at me,” his voice thins into a vulnerable whisper that pleads for you to glance his way so you can see how he is head over heels in love with you. 

When your gaze finally meets his, he almost cracks under the weight of your sadness, and it dawns upon him that you can’t feel the adoration he holds for you, dripping from his heart into your hands. You can’t see the mountains he’d overcome just to end the day resting in your arms. You don’t know the extent he would go just to win your love.

It’s a fact that kicks at his knees, shuns him down and bruises his heart. If the Fortress of Meropide has taught him anything, it’s that there is no point holding your feelings back from living fully. There is no point to contain the human heart that has every desire to live with others, he has seen the sorrow of prisoners saying goodbye to loved ones, and how they dwell over words they should have said. Even his own time as a prisoner taught him so, because everytime he sat behind those bars, the faces of people he should have been more open to kept him awake at night. 

Wriothesley would rather drown in primordial water than see you, the most important person in his life, hurting over his own negligence. You have been feeling half-loved because of him and he doesn’t know how he can make it up to you.

“You misunderstand. I wasn’t talking about you negatively, I was talking to Neuvillette about how loved you made me feel that way, and how grateful I am to have someone like you as my partner,” he confesses earnestly, eyes pleading for you to believe him.

You blink at him, comprehending his words carefully. “Really?” You ask.

“I would never think otherwise,” he whispers.

As if a weight was lifted from your shoulders, a smile pulls at your lips and suddenly, a laugh spills from them, causing your expression to scrunch up with joy, looking the most lively Wriothesley has seen you in a while. He laughs with you too, just a little. 

“I’m sorry,” you confess through dying fits of laughter. “I shouldn’t have assumed like that, how stupid.”

He shakes his head, “you have nothing to apologise for, you’re not at fault. But I beg you, never hide things like this from me again and tell me whenever something bothers you.”

You nod, “I will.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

“Never ever think that I want to be away from you,” Wriothesley grumbles, hiding himself in the crook of your neck. “That was the worst week of my life.” 

“Sorry for putting you through all that.”

“Stop apologising.” He demands. “Just, no more secrets.” 

“I love you, Wriothesley.” 

He sighs shakily, relief tangible in his tone. “I love you more.”

A damp patch forms on your collar bone right where his tears would fall, and you place a kiss on his forehead for each drop you feel on your skin. There is still much to discuss, much to mend between the two of you, but his hands run along your skin like he’s trying to memorise and mark you, so you never doubt his devotion again. 

*sighs and puts hands on hips* i don't really like that ending either so don't judge lol

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[wannabespacesmuggler]

L.H. | Like a Moth to a Flame

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Logan Howlett is a dangerous man; at least, that's what he wants you to think when he first meets you during your shift at Lucky's. However, he only seems to prove the opposite as he becomes a more constant presence in your life. After learning his true identity in a dark back alley, he's certain you want nothing to do with him. But against your better judgment, you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Pairing: Lumberjack!Logan Howlett x Bartender!Reader

Warnings: canon typical violence, men being creepy in an alley, canon divergent (because fuck the timelines), mutual pining, miscommunication

Word Count: 3.4K

Author’s Note: I am overwhelmed with the love and support for my first Logan fic. This man has taken over my ever waking thought. I wrote this while picturing lumberjack Logan from X-Men Origins: Wolverine and listening to Hozier (this man is so "Too Sweet" and "NFWMB" coded). Super proud of how this turned out, hope you enjoy it.

You’re used to a rough-and-tumble, rough-around-the-edges kind of crowd — blue-collar workers, committed hunters, down-on-their-luck drifters. Maybe that’s why you don’t think twice when he enters the tiny dive bar. He’s clad in a deep maroon flannel tucked into a tattered pair of jeans. You don’t even look in his direction as he sidles into a seat at the end of the bar. He looks like any other patron you’ve met while bartending at Lucky’s. 

“Hey there, what can I get for you?”

He leans forward, forearms flexing against the counter. A shiver runs down your spine as your eyes linger on the deep scars etched in between his knuckles before traveling up his broad frame. It’s as if your fight or flight response kicks in, and suddenly, a voice in your head tells you to run. But as you finally meet his hazel eyes, you freeze. There’s a hollowness in how he looks at you — a profound sadness that makes your heart ache for the man sitting before you.

“Whiskey, neat.”

You simply nod at his request before turning to pour him a glass. As you place the drink before him, a flash of metal across his chest grabs your attention. The man follows your gaze, and his features harden at the realization of what caught your interest. He quickly shoves the dog tags hanging loosely around his neck under his shirt — out of your line of sight. Your cheeks instantly flush, humiliation washing over your body. You begin to apologize, but the man downs his glass of whiskey and slaps some cash on the table.

“Thanks for the drink.”

With that, he grabs his leather jacket off the back of his chair and stalks out of the bar. You watch him leave in stunned silence. You hadn’t meant to invade his privacy in any way. You’re used to the anonymity that some men around here need to survive — hell, you don’t even know the names of some of your regulars. Before you can get swallowed up by embarrassment, one of your other patrons calls for another drink. Shaking off your previous interaction, you return your attention to your job.

After work, you couldn’t stop thinking about the encounter. With a deep sigh, you pour yourself a drink and collapse into your couch. You don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about it. In reality, you probably won’t ever see the man again, which should relieve you; however, the thought only disappoints you.

To your surprise, he walks back into the bar three days later during your shift. You try to ignore his presence as he moves to sit at the same spot at the end of the bar. To make amends, you pour a glass of whiskey and set it in front of him.

“This one’s on the house.”

The man looks up, giving you a confused expression. He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off.

“Don’t. It’s just an apology for the other night.”

He gives you a nod before grabbing the glass and taking a long drink. You turn away from him, but his deep voice cuts through the rowdy Friday night crowd before you can take a step.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I still expect a tip, though.”

A chuckle reverberates in his chest. The sound of it causes your face to light up. The man’s lips pull up into a small, gentle smile. You force yourself to return to work before you get further drawn into him. Unlike the other night, he sits at the bar for the rest of your shift, ordering several glasses of whiskey and keeping his eyes trained on the television above your head.

“It’s the end of my shift. Ready to close out with me?”

Logan nods, downing the rest of his whiskey and then placing several bills on the counter.

“Keep the change.”

“Wow, thank you…” 

You trail off, realizing you still haven’t learned his name. Looking down at the money he placed before you, you notice he’s tipped you at least fifty percent. You don’t want to invade his privacy again, but a part of you wishes you knew his name so that you could thank him properly.

“Logan.”

“Thank you, Logan.”

He stands up from his seat before clearing his throat awkwardly.

“You working tomorrow?”

You bite your lip at his words, trying to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot. Trying to ground yourself back into reality, you remind yourself that you don’t fraternize with your clientele. While working at Lucky’s, you’ve learned one thing about the men who frequent the establishment — they’re bad news. But then you look back up at him. He’s got to be over six feet tall; his simple white t-shirt accentuates just how broad his body is, and yet this sturdy, well-built man looks almost nervous standing before you. Your body responds before your brain can catch up.

“My shift starts at 6:00.”

Logan slides his leather jacket on, and a slight smirk spreads across his features. He’s a devastatingly handsome man, and you’re no better than a moth to a flame — irresistibly attracted to that which you know will hurt you. 

“See you then.”

And you do see him during your shift the next day, and your shift after that, and the one after that. Logan’s there in his seat at the end of the bar during all of your shifts, ordering whiskeys and making polite conversation until he’s become a constant presence in your life. 

Today is no different. You have a glass of whiskey ready for Logan when he enters the bar. His schedule with the town’s logging company is pretty consistent. Logan accepts the glass graciously as you slide it in front of him. 

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

You ignore how nonchalantly the term of endearment slips past his lips — and how your heart lurches as he says it. Instead, you focus on his features, which somehow look more exhausted than usual today. His work is hard, long, and labor-intensive; however, throughout your conversations with the hardened lumberjack, you’ve also learned that Logan’s sleep schedule is abysmal.  He’s a grown man; he can decide what he wants to do — or doesn’t want to do — but a part of you can’t help but want to care for him.

“You gotta get some sleep, Logan.”

He scoffs in response, looking up at you with tired eyes. You know he isn’t angry at your suggestion, but the pointed look he gives you is a warning. He’s opened up quite a bit throughout his frequent visits to the bar, but there is still an air of mystery about the man sitting before you. You know better than to push him, so you raise your hands defeatedly.

“All I’m saying is that those dark circles do nothing for that handsome face.”

A warm laugh reverberates in Logan’s chest. He takes a long drink from his glass before responding, downing a considerable amount of whiskey with absolutely no reaction.

“You think I’m handsome?”

You roll your eyes at the man, trying to keep your cool. Logan is an enigma to you — simultaneously socially awkward and overly flirtatious. It’s as if he has two personalities — two completely different sides of himself — fighting for dominance at all times. And yet, it works because he’s catastrophically charming. 

“Shut up.”

A smug smirk spreads across Logan’s face, and you decide it’s getting a little too stuffy in the small dive bar. You grab the pack of cigarettes you keep stashed under the bar and turn back to Logan. He already knows what you’re about to ask. It’s become routine for Logan to join you during your fifteen-minute break, sharing cigarettes in the secluded alley behind the bar.

“I’m going for a smoke. You coming?”

“Let me finish my drink. I’ll be right out.”

You nod at him before moving towards the back door. As you step out into the alley, you’re met with a much-appreciated, cool breeze. It causes a shiver to run down your spine as your body adjusts to the sudden difference in temperature. After placing a cigarette between your lips, you pull a small silver lighter out of your back pocket. You slide your thumb over the engraving on the side: L.H. Logan had given you the lighter after yours burnt out about a month ago. You tried to give it back, but he insisted you keep it. You bring the lighter up to your face, but a voice surprises you before you can light your cigarette. 

“Those things’ll kill you, sweetheart.”

A man you’ve never seen before emerges from the darkness and approaches you with an uncomfortable air of familiarity. The way this man says Logan’s term of endearment makes you sick to your stomach. It sounds sweet coming from Logan’s lips — grounded in a deep respect and laced with affection. 

You were simply going to ignore him, knowing Logan’s presence would deter him in a matter of minutes; however, your body bristles as two more figures join him from the darkness of the alley. Your body moves on its own accord, seeking the comfort and safety of the bar — of Logan. But the man closest to you grabs your arm before you can step out of their reach.

“Where you going, sweetheart? The party’s out here.”

His voice is sickly sweet and dripping with venom — a stark contrast to Logan’s low, warm timbre. The two men behind him laugh at his words. Your fight or flight response kicks in, and you struggle against the man’s hold as you’re hit with the gravity of your situation.

“Just let me go.”

Your voice is stern as you rip your arm away from the man’s grip. You rush to get away, but he’s quicker. He places both hands on the brick wall behind you, caging you in. Now you’re panicking. A threatening growl interrupts the encounter before the man in front of you can say anything else, and Logan emerges from the darkness. His features are menacing in the dim light of the alley, but you’re met with a sense of relief rather than fear.

“You heard her. Let her go.”

The tiny hairs on the back of your neck raise at the sound of his voice; however, the stranger in front of you doesn’t seem to find him as frightening. Instead of backing down, the man lets out a dry, unamused laugh at Logan’s words.

“We’re just having some fun here.”

Bile rises in your throat at the insinuation in his tone. Logan seems equally displeased by his response as another animalistic growl rips through his body. He takes an intimidating step forward before speaking.

“You don’t want to do this, bub.”

It’s almost as if he’s pleading with them — begging them to stop so that he doesn’t have to act first. Your eyes find those dog tags hanging around his neck again. Your heart breaks as you realize Logan doesn’t want to fight, but he will — for you. Based on the look in his eyes, he’ll rip these men apart limb from limb if they lay a hand on you. 

“No, buddy, you don’t want to do this. You’re outnumbered — three to one. You don’t stand a chance.”

The man’s tone is amused but impatient. He’s itching for Logan to either leave them be or throw the first punch, but he does neither. Instead, Logan squares his shoulders and extends his arms out at his sides.

“You sure about that?”

Your brow furrows at an unfamiliar sound — a strange, metallic snikt. You’re surprised when the man’s arms fall from either side of your shoulders. You take the opportunity to create distance between yourself and the group of men who are all staring at Logan. Not understanding what caused their sudden hesitation, you also look over at Logan. Your body tenses at the sight of him standing in the middle of the alley with long, metal claws protruding from his fists. He takes another step forward, and the men scatter, running for their lives. 

Logan waits a few moments, ensuring that the men are actually gone. Then he lets out a deep sigh as his metal claws retract back into his hands. Your hands meet the cool brick behind you, grounding you in this incredibly unreal moment. You blink, expecting to wake up from whatever dream you’re having right now — but you’re not dreaming.

Logan finally turns to face you, and his features soften. His eyes scan your body, checking you over for injuries. He takes a step toward you but stops as you take a step toward the bar's back door. You can’t seem to look away from his hands — at those deep, pronounced scars between his knuckles. His eyes follow yours, and you’re met with instant regret as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. You finally look up at his face and are anguished at the sight of his hardened features.

You want to tell him a million things. Your body moved on its own accord. You didn’t mean to stare at his scars. You’re just confused. You’re grateful for his help. You’re not afraid of him.

But you don’t mutter a single word. It’s as if you’re frozen in place. 

“Alright.”

Your heart almost breaks in two at the pained sound of his voice. Logan meets your eyes one last time, disappointment evident in his gaze. Finally, your body shakes out of its paralysis, but it’s too late — the damage has already been done. You watch helplessly as he begins walking away from you. 

“Logan, wait.”

But he doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking until he vanishes into the darkness. Tears begin rolling down your cheeks as you slide down against the brick wall — partly because of what could have happened and partly because of what did happen. And just like the first day you met Logan, you fear you may never see him again. 

But once again, you were wrong. 

Eight unbearably long days later, Logan enters Lucky’s again. You watch his bated breath as he approaches, hoping he’ll sit at his usual spot at the end of the bar. Instead, Logan places a few bills on the counter before meeting your gaze. You draw in a shaky breath as you look into his hazel eyes — the hollowness is back, and our heart aches as you realize you’re now the reason behind that sadness. 

“Didn’t feel right not closing out last time.”

You almost laugh at his words — the free glass of whiskey was the last thing on your mind. He rolls his shoulders back nervously, his muscles flexing under his black t-shirt. You reach out and grab his hand before he can pull it away from the counter. His eyes instantly widen, but the physical contact seems to make him relax ever so slightly.

“Can we talk, please?”

Your hand tightens around his, physically begging him to just stay. Logan nods in silent agreement. You pull your hand away from his and try to push down the sudden disappointment caused by the loss of his touch. You move toward the back door, and Logan follows you into the alley from a safe distance. For a moment, you’re lost in a bout of deja vu as you lean against the brick wall, and Logan stands before you. Your hands nervously find Logan’s lighter in your pocket, looking for something to occupy yourself with. The movement catches Logan’s eyes, and you swear the corners of his lips twitch up into a small smile at the sight of his lighter in your hands. 

“I’m sorry.”

The words tumble out of you clumsily. Logan’s brow furrows, and you watch as his head tilts slightly to the side. 

“What?”

“I’m so sorry, Logan.”

Logan’s lips pull into a small frown as he considers your apology. He takes a cautious step forward, watching you intently. He’s waiting for you to pull away, but you stand your ground.

“Why are you apologizing, sweetheart?” 

You can’t help the small smile that spreads across your face. Hearing him say that name — the word that’s been keeping you up at night — you realize just how much you missed the sound of his voice.

“I made you think I’m afraid of you.”

Logan takes another step forward, testing you. You know what he’s trying to do — he’s giving you an out. Pull away, and he’ll stop, but you lock eyes with the man before you. His movements might be cautious, but his eyes are wild with unspoken emotion.

“Well, are you?”

“No.”

Another step forward. He’s now standing within arm’s length. You could reach out and touch him. God, you want to reach out and touch him. Logan looks down at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. No man has ever looked at you like this, but then again, Logan certainly isn’t like any other man. 

“You should be.”

That voice from the first day you met him appears yet again, telling you to run. But you stay put. You don’t need to run from him. You don’t need to fear him. He protected you from those men. He was prepared to fight for you. He revealed his true identity to keep you safe. And once again, you’re like a moth to his flame — gravitating towards him.

“I’m not afraid of you, Logan. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s a breath away, so close you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding in your chest as his gaze moves from your eyes to your lips. His hand covers yours, stopping your anxious fidgeting with his lighter. You watch in awe as he takes it from your grasp and places it into your jacket pocket. He moves his hand out of your pocket; his fingers leave a scorching sensation behind in their absence as they slide across your skin until they reach your waist. His other hand comes up and tenderly caresses the side of your face.

“Say it again.”

Your breath hitches at his request, but you do what he asks — hell, you’d do anything for him.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Logan shakes his head. His hand moves to take hold of the other side of your waist. The grip he has on you is secure but gentle.

“No, sweetheart. Not that part.”

Oh. Oh.

You could cry at the realization — at his need to feel wanted and appreciated. You move your hands to either side of his face. He melts into your touch before meeting your eyes again. A part of you wonders if anyone has ever touched Logan like this — if he’s ever known what physical contact feels like outside of a fight.

“I’m not afraid of you, Logan. I trust you.”

And suddenly, Logan is pulling you into him. His lips desperately find yours. Your fingers thread through his hair as his body pushes you into the brick wall. His movements are rooted in a deep hunger — not driven by lust, but in a need to be known and loved and touched. So that’s just what you do. Your hands move through his hair, down his neck, across his chest, over his back. You attempt to touch every bit of Logan to prove that you want this — that you want him. 

A low growl reverberates in his chest as he pulls away from your lips. Unlike the night before, this growl isn’t rooted in anger but, instead, the result of a deep desire. His hands move away from your body and find the wall behind you. Your brow furrows at the loss of his touch until you hear a familiar sound on either side of you — a sharp, metallic snikt. He leans down, forehead resting against yours as his short, rapid breaths fan over your face.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t control it sometimes.”

You shake your head at his admission. He did control himself — he purposely removed his hands from your body before his claws extended. He protects you as if it’s just his second nature — something he doesn’t even need to take the time to consider. You run your hands up his chest, feeling the tense muscles under his t-shirt, before gently grabbing his face.

“Hey. Hey.”

You pull away slightly so you can look him in the eye. Your words grab his attention, grounding him.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I trust you.”

His breaths gradually even out, and eventually, you hear his claws retract and feel the familiar warmth of his touch against your skin again. As Logan maintains eye contact, looking at you as if you’re the answer to some unspoken prayer, you begin to think you’ve gotten this all wrong: maybe you’re not the moth, but the flame.

[eupheme]

— below the belt [into the fire, part iv]

part i | part ii | part iii | masterlist

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 4k

tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, sex for favors, sub/dom elements, brief somno, fingering, light degradation, oral (f & m), light ass play, hair pulling, swallowing, miscommunication, cooper is a diiiccckk, canon-typical violence and death

a/n: just a small warning there’s very brief references about pregnancy and infertility in this, in reference to reader’s vault (in regards to other members)

“I don’t think I‘ve ever been more desperate. Told myself I’d do anything to make sure they didn’t find me.” A small smile, then - as you remember, "But then I found you, and..."

As you turn, you notice he's gone still. Hat tipped down low, a guarded look as the pink of his tongue slips across his teeth.

"Huh. Should've known." He muses - voice slow and rough, "Think I'm startin’ to put things together."

(Or - you open up, and things don’t go as planned)

There’s a pressure at your hips. Something nudging your thighs apart, strong and solid. The ghost of fingertips at the hem of your shirt, pushing the fabric up.

You stir in your sleep, the dark room swimming. Jerking awake at the press of something against your core - a hand splayed across your lower back, pinning you down.

A snarl in your throat, as you try to twist away.

“Easy there, you lil’ yao guai.” The Ghoul’s voice cuts through the dark, and with it - you feel your muscles start to ease.

“What are you doing?” You croak sleepily.

“Takin’,” He husks - teeth biting into the leather of his gloves, tearing them from his fingers.

Cupping you, the heel of his palm pressing against your clothed cunt. Fingers sliding beneath the thin fabric of your underwear, as your thighs nudge wider.

Back arching, as you stretch out on your belly. A rough hum as you fill his palm. Warm against his fingers, as the tip of one rubs at your clit.

“Was just gonna sleep.” It’s quiet. You don’t know if it’s early or late - the room still bathed in moonlight, “But seeing all this skin, the way you’re offering up your pussy on a silver platter…”

He tugs at your underwear, ripping it down your thighs, “Makes a man wanna take a bite.”

Teeth sink into the soft curve of your ass - a yelp as you jerk beneath him. Glaring at him from over your shoulder, from beneath heavy eyelids.

He’d been gone all day. Something about needing to check the next place out. Not wanting you slowing him down.

There had been a spike of something in your stomach at his words. Fear. Unease.

Condescension dripping in his tone, in his “You best stay put, or I’ll make you stay put.”

Funny how after all this time, it’s him being apartfrom you that had you pacing. Checking out the battered windows, ready to dart back down to the basement. Fighting the nausea of the RadAway still that lingers in your system as the radiation purges itself, after the days before.

Busying yourself with more scavenging. Scrubbing the grime and dust from your clothes in a bucket of radiated water, your pants still hanging off the back of a chair to dry.

The hours slowly ticking by, until the sun dipped under the horizon. The thin blanket pulled up to your chin, as you waited - until finally, you drifted off.

You’re not ready to unpack that. Or the fluttering in your belly now. The relief.

His features are even more skull-like in the darkness, his hat discarded on a nearby table. Faint shadows cast across his face by the still-buzzing static of the television. Dark hollows carved out at his nose, the set of his eyes.

A smear of red against his cheekbone. Flaking off the leather of his discarded gloves. Adrenaline slowly leeching from his system, from an unexpectedly rough afternoon. Unable to resist the urge to sink into something soft and wanting.

There’s a low sound of amusement as he nudges at you, urging you onto your knees. Your back still arched, shirt riding up to where your tits still press into the bed, your face now buried in the crook of an arm.

“Ain’t this a sight.” His hands grasp at your hips, fingers denting flesh as he spreads you open. Baring all of you to him.

Spit pools on his tongue. The dip of his head as his lips part - letting it drip down, warm and wet against your holes.

It makes you gasp, clenching down around nothing. He must see it, how you string tight, with the rough exhale he makes.

Your fingers curl against the mattress. Holding you breath - waiting for the press of his cock, the sharp stretch that you know will follow. Waiting for whatever he gives you.

Not expecting the brush of his tongue, as it flattens against your folds. Languid when it flicks up to your entrance. The sound you make is ragged, thighs pressing together.

They’re caught by his hands. Wrapping around the crook of your knees, forcing them apart again.

“No you don’t.” He hums, feeling your muscles flex in his grip, “You best keep these nice and spread for me.”

Another exploratory lick, tasting you - a muffled groan as he discovers how wet you are when he parts you.

He’s never touched you like this. Your mind is still caught on the kiss, his tongue against your tits, knuckles bruised by the bite of his teeth. Never expecting to know the feeling of his mouth anywhere else.

You don’t want him to stop. Arching more, using your leverage on the mattress to hike yourself higher for him.

“That’s more like it, sweetheart.” He rasps, “You learn fast, I’ll give you that.”

You keen, as he teases at your clit. Tight flicks of his tongue that have you rocking against him. Smearing his spit and your slick across your skin, before his lips are following.

Devouring you. Groaning at your taste.

“Been dyin’ for another taste,” It’s almost a coo, with the syrupy drawl of his words - muffled against your cunt, “Sweeter than stolen honey.”

Marveling at how wet you are, for him - in this dry and dead desert landscape. Nothing but sand and death for miles but you’re here, soft and slick against his mouth, biting back a muffled whine for more.

His tongue dips into your tight heat. Feeling the tight clench of you as he presses close, unhindered by the bulk of a nose.

Your hips rock against his face. Fully awake now, eyes tightly shut. Soft sounds melding with the suck of his mouth, thigh muscles tight and trembling.

“S’good,” It’s rough from sleep. Quiet, as if afraid he’ll stop if you reveal just how good he feels, “Feels so fucking good.”

A whine when his mouth does leave you.

“Yeah?” His voice is low, as his hand leave your legs. Thumbs finding the curve of your thigh, pressing into the meat of your ass, “Like getting tongue-fucked by a Ghoul?”

Opening you up, his thumb ghosting across your clit. Your answer is half-moan, half-sound, as he pinches the tight bud.

“Only if it’s yours.”

He makes a low, rough sound at that. Palming himself from his position behind you.

“Still talkin’. Sounds like you need a little more.” It’s your only warning before two of his fingers nudge against your opening.

Your gasp rings out, turning soft when they press deep to fill you. The nudge of his thumb with each plunge of his fingers bringing you ever closer. Unable to help the rock of your hips, as his fingers curl inside you.

Each breath is a pushed from you. Ragged and high-pitched, as your fingers pinch tighter. The slight plateau spiking again as he strokes against a spot his cock had found.

Fingers twisting, as the pleasure climbs higher. A third fitting into you, one knuckle at a time. It’s almost too much, your legs pressing flush against his, knees locking as heat pools in your belly.

“Look at these tight little holes. Always takin’ what I give you,” He admires, as feels the way you clench down around him.

The tip of his thumb sweeping up. Following the path of slick and spit, until it rubs against your tight rim, “Good girl like you gonna let me in here, too?”

It shocks you. His words, that hint of praise. How unexpected his touch is. Your focus narrows to the pad of his thumb, the steady pump of his fingers. His groan rough as he feels you tighten around his fingers.

“Fuck. Filthy little thing.” He grins, adding the slightest pressure.

Your own moan is wanton, loud and needy in the near-silent room. So close you can almost reach out and taste it - ready to sink your teeth into the ripe flesh.

“I’m gonna-” You manage, but it peters off, slipping into a moan.

“What? You gonna come?” He mocks, but it’s ragged. Losing its edge with his own need - too focused the wet squelch of his fingers, how your hips buck against his palm.

The mattress is rough against your cheek as you nod. Words are all but stolen from you now, leaving unable to answer. Nothing left but the ache for your release, everything inside you winding tight.

With your soft sighs, his neck bends - another lick against your pussy, where his fingers still pound.

The next slick brush is against your clit. The tilt of his head so his tongue can flick at the tight bud. Again and again - and with the third, you feel yourself shatter.

You wail, as he rips it from you. A bright pulse that radiates inside you - your release dripping from you with the clench of your cunt. A low hum as he feels how hard you come around his fingers, against his tongue.

Eyes closed so tightly that stars spark behind your lids. There’s the rough cadence of his voice, but everything is muted except the pleasure that sends your nerves alight.

Not noticing the panting whines are coming from you, until you drift back down.

Softening, when his fingers ease from you. A hiss when he leaves you empty, already missing the heavy fullness.

“Flip over,” The Ghoul growls, as he leans back on his heels.

Your muscles tight in the best way from the bend of your knees, the pounding of his fingers. A soft groan as you shift, your back pressing into the mattress as your thighs open for him.

His eyes already there, seeing the slick shine between your legs, the pretty gape where he’s worked you open. There’s the clink of his belts, as he works himself free, achingly hard in his palm.

Anticipation swelling as you wait for him to hike your legs around his waist and bury himself in you.

That heavy gaze flicks up, instead. Bare skin, the pushed-up tangle of your shirt. The cock-drunk haze of your eyes. Your soft, parted lips as you catch your breath.

He’s like a shadow as he crawls up you. Tattered coat licking at your legs, lean thighs spreading as they bracket your ribs.

A hand plants next to your head as he arcs over you. The other wrapping around his cock - where it hangs heavy, brushing your chest.

Your eyes are wide, focused on the thick shine of him as he works your slick over his cock - how the flushed head disappears with the stoke of his fingers. Lips already parted in anticipation.

His hand unwrapping, fingers slipping against your bottom lip. Hooking around your teeth, as your tongue licks at his knuckles.

A sharp inhale, when you close around and suck.

“Gonna use this mouth,” He husks, “The way it ought to be used.”

Pressure against your jaw, until you’re opening. He leans back, thighs spreading wider. The hand by your ear leaving to curl around his base.

Eyes dark as he feeds himself into your mouth. You can’t help but moan when he hits your tongue - the musky taste of you that clings to him.

Fingers slipping free, but his eyes stay fixed as he inches between your lips. How quick you are to close around him - watching the grit of his jaw. Licking over the rough and uneven flesh, swollen and leaking against your tongue.

He eclipses everything else, with how he fills your vision. A hand slipping beneath your head to angle you, so you can take him deeper.

A shallow thrust that inches towards the back of your throat, constricting around him as you moan.

Intention in the way you slide your hands up for him. Fingers wrapped around the straps of the pack you were using as a pillow. His knees framing your tits, as he rocks into your mouth.

A silent submission that he does not miss. The curl of his lip and the shine of teeth, as you let him decide how much you can take.

His weight presses into your chest, keeping you pinned. Unable to go deep at this angle, but content with the hot suck of your mouth, the wet swirl of your tongue. Finding his rhythm, the clink of his spurs as his knees dig into the ground with each thrust.

There’s an unsteady buck of his hips, and his shaft scrapes against your teeth. You go still - eyes rounding with a jolt of fear - but all he does is let loose a rough groan, chin jutting as his teeth click together.

His hand still cradles the back of your head. Fingers twisting in the hair at the nape of your neck, but not enough to hurt. Almost as if grounding himself, as he pumps into your mouth.

“Goddamn.” He growls, “Should thank whoever taught you to suck cock. Gonna make me come, sweetheart-”

Your eyes do close then, resisting the urge to let your hands drift. To slide up his thighs, across his vest, aching to slip beneath. They curl instead, grasping at the straps.

Air rushing into your lungs, as he pulls from you. Eyes fluttering open to catch the way he strokes himself, angling the tip towards your parted and glossy lips.

“You gonna take it?” He rasps, and you nod - letting your tongue peek out for him.

His hand tugs at your hair, his chin tipping down to watch, “Wanna hear you say it. You gonna let me fill your pretty mouth?”

You don’t know when use became let, but if he wants your permission - he has it. It’s always been his, even when it’s been wrapped tightly around you. Tied up in a bow.

“Yeah,” Your eyes are on his when you say it. Focusing on the grit of his jaw, the dark shine of his eyes, “I wanna taste you.”

His fingers tighten, brow pinching. A jerk of his hips into his fist - something bitten back between his teeth, caught in the heave of his chest.

“Open.” The Ghoul groans, and it’s all the warning you get before he’s coming - spilling across your lips, and then into the wet heat of your mouth.

Your eyes flicking up to watch again, though you’re torn. Tempted to watch the rough jerk of his fist, all that exposed skin. But it’s nothing compared to the way he looks at you as you take him. The weight of his gaze, the baring of teeth that has nothing to do with anger.

The Ghoul still tastes like a man should, as the salt of him as it floods your tongue. The kick of his length between your lips with each throb, his eyes rolling shut as he milks himself into your mouth.

His thumb smears across your lower lip, before it sinks inside to join his cock. A ragged breath, when he feels you swallow around both. Your tongue flicking across your lips when he eases from you, the tips of your fingers wiping away the rest.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” It’s a low exhale, a held tension gone from his shoulders. Fingers finally loosening from your hair, though you would have kept your heady steady for him without them.

He flops down on the mattresses, where they are pushed together. Stretching out beside you, the long hours finally catching up to him.

A lift of his hips as he tucks himself away, as you reach down to find the twist of fabric around your knees - tugging your underwear back into place.

Your mind is blissfully quiet - drowsy again, in the late hour and your post-orgasmic haze. Warm, as you roll on your side, studying him from under half-lidded eyes.

He’s close. Enough you can see the rough cut of his cheekbones, the straight line of his teeth. A second as you wonder, not for the first time, what he might have looked like before.

Your cheek grazes his shoulder, as a dark eye flicks your way. An arm splayed out, still tucked beneath your neck from where he had angled your head.

The phantom pinch of his fingers still lingers. The taste of him on your tongue when you lick against your teeth.

“What?” He grouses - as he does, when he can’t read you. When you manage to surprise him.

“Nothing.” You murmur, sleepily, “Just glad you made it back.”

It’s easy then, for your head to tilt without thinking. For your lips to ghost against his throat, where his pulse flutters beneath rough skin.

A ragged breath rattles in his chest, when you press another kiss lazily against his jaw. He stiffens beside you, fingers curled in the fabric of your shirt.

Before he’s pushing - rolling you over. Tucking you between him and the old basement wall, his back to the locked door.

“Yeah, yeah.” He grunts. All bark now, with the way his bare fingers splay across your skin, where your shirt has ridden up.

“Get some sleep. Long walk tomorrow.”

The morning dawns, and there’s something about it that seems more clear.

Or maybe it’s just you, your mind drifting back to the night before. How you woke up with the heavy press of him against you.

It hadn’t lasted long - a rough groan against your ear. Nothing said as the hat fixed itself back where it belongs. A silent tilt of his head towards to door, indicating the departure.

He still follows behind you, but you think just a bit of that gap between you has closed. A silent corner being turned, somewhere between dusk and dawn.

Only thing shared is that he’s narrowed the bounty down to a settlement, six miles from here. Deeper into the desert, instead of the crop of trees you had been hoping to head towards. Shade would be a welcome improvement, to the miles on empty road.

Maybe before, you would have been disappointed. But somehow - today - you don’t mind.

"Yesterday." The Ghoul’s voice comes from behind you - some time later, "You didn't want to stay alone."

It's not a question, but you can hear the way his words trail off. A second as you pick through your thoughts, settling on something you’ve been carrying since the beginning.

"Didn't want to be found." The wind carries your words back to him.

A few more steps pass, before he's asking, "What'd a thing like you do to get a bounty?"

Your steps slow, until he's beside you. A sideways look sent his way, catching his eye.

"You took it." It's the first real time it's been addressed, after your init meeting, "Wouldn't you know?"

He could outpace you if he wanted, with those long legs. Content enough at the moment, to stick by your side, "I know what I know. Wanna hear your side."

You hum, contemplating. Wondering how to explain. If it would make sense to a man like him. If he’d think you were weak.

"Our Overseer had a… god complex," You start slowly - never having to explain it out loud, trying to find the words, "Had it coded in the beginning that only his direct, patrilineal bloodline could work the Vault. Everything went through him."

Food. Water. Power. Everything locked under codes and keys. Thumbprints and DNA, the role of Overseer shared across the current generation.

"All his sons, then their sons, and so on... they all got married off to other families in the Vault. Or they’d find a way to bring in new blood from the outside.” Your mother had been a Wastelander, carrying you when she had been traded. You had never seen the sun until a few weeks ago.

“If you couldn't produce a male heir, you disappeared. If you tried to leave, they'd bring you back, and then you'd disappear. Been like that a long time."

A whispered secret that many knew. Followed, because the security of control and safety outweighed the horrors of the unknown. The knowledge that whether you left or not, your bones would stay in the Vault.

"So what? Didn't want to play the role of broodmare in your utopia?" He sneers, and it's not the first time you've picked up on his distaste of the Vaults, of Vault Dwellers like you.

“Seems like a goddamn picnic compared to the shit you see up here."

“You asked.” Your arms cross over your chest, as you scowl at him.

A few weeks ago and you would have gone silent. Now, you’re starting to her used to his gruff comments, the sharp bristle. Waiting, until his eyes tear away, a small jerk of his chin to continue.

"My name got drawn. Was supposed to marry one. But… in the last five years he's gone through three wives. Not a single child." You can feel the weight of his gaze on your face, the pinch of his brow.

A beat, as you start off again, "Told you, I worked as a chemist. I saw his vitals. It wasn't them, but  for it."

"So you left." His words comes reluctantly, as he fits the pieces together, "I take it they weren't happy about that."

"Wasn't gonna let it be me next." You nod, "But no, they weren't. Like I said, no one truly leaves, but I was dead either way, right?”

A beat, as you take a breath to steady yourself. Stuck in the fear from that day and the ones that followed, afraid of your own shadow.

“I don’t think I‘ve ever been more desperate. Told myself I’d do anything to make sure they didn’t find me.” A small smile, then - as you remember, "But then I found you, and..."

As you turn, you notice he's gone still. Hat tipped down low, a guarded look as the pink of his tongue slips across his teeth.

"Huh. Should've known." He muses - voice slow and rough, "Think I'm startin’ to put things together."

"What are you talking about?" You ask with a frown, thrown off by the change in pace.

"I think you know." He presses, your eyes flicking down to watch the way his wrist reflexively presses against the butt of his revolver, where it juts from his holster.

Scowling now, stalking closer, "Not a bad plan, Vaultie. Was gonna have to fuck someone either way, right? Might as well pick the man with the biggest gun. That what you thought?”

There's venom in his tone, biting into you. The first time his fury has fully been directing at you, freezing you in place.

A shake of your head, your voice sounding small, "It's-, it’s not like that."

You haven’t been using him. Not like he thinks, though you don’t know why he’s so angry. He’s treated almost everything like a transaction - keeping you at arms length.

You’ve been the one that’s falling, not him.

"Christ, you really had me going. You're a damn good liar, you know that?" He spits, with a low shake of his head. A scoff, as his eyes narrow, "Been wondering why you’ve been offerin’ yourself up so eagerly to me."

It makes your head spin, as you try to make sense of his words. Another small shake, the words caught in your throat.

You don't know how to explain that your desperation in the beginning did have its roots in self-preservation. But in all the days and moments that have passed - that surely, surely he couldn’t still think so.

“I know how it sounds but, I-” Your words cut off, as a hand reaches out, wrapping around your bicep. Yanking you closer until you stumble.

"You do, huh? Let me tell you, all you did was trade one devil for another.” The words ground out, snarled between clenched teeth, “You're a goddamn fool if you think I hadn’t been planning on turnin' you in the first chance I get."

His words chip away at your heart. With an effort you try to wrench your arm away - a shove against his chest that does nothing, as your own fury boils inside you.

"How can you say that? You found me, asshole." You snarl, "I haven't lied about anything. I could have left, but I stayed because I wanted to. Didn’t last night mean anything to you?”

“It was just business.” He growls, “Ain’t that right?”

The look he gives you is the final piece that shatters you, as his fingers pinch harder against your skin.

He never cared after all.

Your throat aches. The urge to fight, to make him understand, slips through your fingers. Another shove, harder this time, right into his gut. A ragged breath as his grip loosens, and it's all you can do to twist on your heel.

Shooting him a venomous glance from over your shoulder, "If you're going to take me in, then fucking do it."

You don’t care anymore. Waiting for the rope to lasso around your waist. Bind tightly around your throat, until it chokes you.

But, it doesn't.

You don't look back.

Tears prick your eyes, as you hoist your pack higher on your shoulder. One of the few things that has made the journey with you - so much shed over the miles.

You had endured enough. Had thought something had changed, since those first days together. That maybe, as the days had passed, he had softened. That maybe you weren’t alone in your feelings. That offer just a mask, to act on them. 

All you did was trade one devil for another.

A foolish thought. It makes your jaw grit, an angry shake of your head. You wouldn't cry over him, not after everything you've been through.

The edge of the abandoned town passes, fuzzy with the way your eyes fix ahead.

Blinded to the rest of the world, as you set off for the unknown.

Small pieces forming a loose semblance of a plan. Something about another settlement, a while down the road, into the forest. No bounty there, but you didn’t give a shit anymore.

With the food in your pack, you might be able to trade for some caps. Find some work - maybe stick around, if it's safe.

If not, it's not like you're not used to sleeping on the ground.

Sand leads to dirt paths, then to grass. Brushing your ankles as you weave through the barren forest, the bark stripped bare and bleached by the sun.

The weight of him follows you, though you do not turn around. A hand held loosely on your holster by habit more than anything, as you pick your way across fallen branches.

You didn't need him. Right now you tell yourself you didn't even want him.

But, you’ve never been a good liar.

There's the snap of a branch, then. A metallic creak.

It's cruel, how your heart leaps. How you look for him, breath held with the swivel of your head.

Only to feel like you are falling, when it's not the Ghoul. When a figure steps out from the trees. Two more from an outcropping of rock.

Your body freezes on its own, when you see them. All familiar.

The two from the town, those days ago. Springing to your mind now, as you had peered from over his shoulder at the bounty board. The amateurs - the man with the scar, and his partner.

And the other. All that blue - encased in padded leather armor. He is the one that makes your blood run cold, your fingers curling into fists.

Baine. He was from your Vault. Someone they sent out to bring people back, and every time they came home battered - left to you to patch up, if they lived that long.

"Took a bit you find you," He smiles, though it does not reach his eyes, "Had to enlist in some local help. Thought you'd never split off from that creature."

Your head whips to the side, as they shift - trying to box you in. Fear and fury licks in you, as you grit out, "He's not a creature."

He scoffs, "You keep strange company, but you'll be back where you belong soon enough. I am sure the Overseer will be... forgiving, if you come quietly."

The man with the scar lunges - reaching for your arm. At the same time, you remember yourself. Just able to get your fingers around the butt of your gun, drawing it out.

There's a snarl but you're firing - downing him just before he reaches you, his body careening over the edge of the rock. Your aim twitches towards Baine, but he's faster.

His hand wrapping around your wrist, twisting until you cry out - fingers opening. A sharp pain in your chest, as his fist slams into it.

Fingers unfurling to reveal the syringe, slipped between your ribs. The plunger flush with the base - whatever was inside, already flooding through you.

"Should've gone quietly, girl." It's faded, as if you're in a tunnel. The world tilting on an axis, as your legs give out.

You cry out, for him - the broken noise sounding like it comes from a thousand miles away.

And then… there's nothing.

(someone got their feelings hurt 👀) thank you so much for reading!! 💖 I have really loved writing this and them, really appreciate all the love!!

[penvisions]

black hole sun {new series masterlist}

Pairing: Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x Waitress! Reader ; Jackson! Joel Miller x Survivor! Reader

Summary: You carry memories of Joel Miller in your heart in the wake of the end of the world, someone who had once been a bright spot in the dull monotony of life.

When you unexpectedly cross paths with him again, he’s no longer the young man you used to share moments with but an unforgiving dark spot that had been corrupted by the new world order.

He’s gone in the blink of an eye once again, showing up months later to settle in Jackson as he’s turned into some convoluted mixture of each. Maybe time and circumstance will allow for you finally tell each other how you feel?

Word Count: undetermined

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, canon typical gore, past lives, dual pov (both reader and joel), outbreak day events, passage of time, heartbreak, angst, missed oppurtunities, miscommunication, second chances, sexual content, adult content, piv, unprotected piv, smut, moodboard photos do not depict reader completely just conceptually, it more tags to come as the story develops!

A/N: this is something that popped into my head one afternoon and it's stuck like a burr. will be working on this as inspiration and ideas hit!

navigation || joel miller masterlist **series teaser

[wangxianficfinder]

I'm in the mood for...

July 31st

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1. Hii I'm kinda new here but if you can help me it would be awesome!! So basically, I don't know if there really a fic like that exactly, but anything close is great. I'm looking for a fic where lan zhan locks wei ying (probably in the cloud recesses), and for some reason, wei ying can't see/has eye cover. The idea is based on the scene where lan zhan says he wants to take someone (wei ying) and hide this someone. Thanks a lot😁 @untamedlover

A Way Out by pinkquilts (E, 143k, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Living Together, Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, First Love, Locked In, Major Character Injury, Fluff, Sharing a Bed, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Tension, Drunken Shenanigans, WWX misinterprets literally everything, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Eventual Smut, Fix-It, Injury) Lan Zhan takes an unconscious Wei Ying back to Gusu and locks him in a warded cottage in A Way Out so it's close to the request but not quite what they ideally wanted.

~*~

2. Hi! I would love recommendations for Wei Wuxian/Nie Mingjue if anyone has any! I loved “Better Things To Do With A Flute In Wartime” for the sexy times but mainly for the feeling like Nie Mingjue recognized that Wei Wuxian was more than just a troublemaker, he saw that Wei Wuxian was a strong, capable, smart man. Would love any recs people have for this duo! Thank you!

An Elegant Solution by giraffeter (E, 205k, niewangxian, canon divergence, arranged marriage, friends to lovers, fix-it, everyone lives au, courtship, polyamory, smut) unfortunately I don't have any nmj/wwx, it's nmj/wwx/lwj but I found the fic very enjoyable!

I’ll grow you a garden (in my fortress of stone) by Lyna_Mei (M, 16k, WIP, MingXian, Canon Divergence, CQL-Verse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Cultivation Sect Politics, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Child Abuse, Self-Esteem Issues, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, JYL is Not Angelic, No MY redemption, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Sporadic Updates)

When Night Falls by aspiratixxn (M, 28k, MingXian, canon-divergent, depictions of war, mild nudity, Slow Burn)

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3. hi there. this is an itmf request for baoshan sanren coming down from her mountain and claiming wwx as her grandson/disciple. in front of gentry would be great, but other instances are also welcome. thanks for all your hard work!

Become Tomorrow by ShanaStoryteller (Not rated, 39k, wangxian, BSSR/LY, Alternate Universe, a story full of tragic pining gays, and one chaotic gremlin, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, WWX is BSSR’s disciple)

Can't Tell Me Nothin by natacup82 (T, 35k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, Family Feels, Communication, BAMF Women)

🧡 Ghosts Shouldn’t by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 15k, WangXian, Grief/Mourning, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)

🔒Through the Storm by marhikit (T, 33k, WangXian, WX/OMC, Not JC Friendly, Canon Divergence, Not Madam Yu Friendly, Not Jiang Family Friendly, WWX gets big siblings that love and adore him, JZX ends up with someone different, No Golden Core Transfer, Creepy JGS, JZX & WWX Friendship, WWX in a different sect)

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4. Hi!! 👋🥰

It's me! I'm on vacation finally, I missed you all so much, but I couldn't read fanfics during my exams (it's too distracting). But now I'm free again, so I'm here to ask a ITMF! Yey!

Lately I'd like to read fanfics in which:

A) LQ discover about the absence of WWX's core and decides to help WWX and the Wens. And bring all of them to Gusu.

B) LQ discover about the abuse of Madam Yu and decides that WWX will stay in Gusu. (I love when this happens during the Cloud Recesses Study Arc, but it's ok if this happens in other moment).

I like happy endings, and I prefer when the good people live (Wens, JY, JC...) and only bad people dies. Long fics if it's possible, but shorts are ok too. No modern fics.

Thank you for everything! 🤟🥰💕 @wangxiansgirl

4A)

Righteous at a Cost by thunderwear (G, 21k, wangxian, LQR & WWX, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, no one dies, LQR finds out about WWX’s core, WWX and LQR are friends??, In My Fic?, its more likely than you think, LWJ in the bg like whats happening?, Fluff, WWX goes to Gusu, Mutual Pining, Golden Core Reveal)

Weep You No More, Sad Fountains by athena_crikey (T, 59k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & JGY, Canon Divergence, Fix-it fic, Whump, Curses, Fever, Delirium, Stabbing, Loneliness, Confessions, LWJ's emotional repression, WWX giving everything as always, LXC realising sympathy is not support, LQR Being an Asshole) Not quite the request, since it's LXC who ends up inviting WWX & the Wens to come to CR, but iirc LQR grudgingly agrees the Wens need help & can stay? So may be close enough to scratch that itch

Discordant Rhapsody by nirejseki (T, 49k, LQR & WWX, wangxian, JC & WWX, WQ & WWX & WN, LWJ & LQR & LXC, canon divergence, fix-it, hurt/comfort, trauma, politics, protective LQR, protective LWJ, protective WWX, LQR centric, whump, angst) 4a similar. It's been a while since I read the fic so I don't remember if there's an eventually Golden Core reveal, but it's not the reason LQR has for inviting WWX and the Wen to the Cloud Recesses. But hopefully this is similar enough that the requester will enjoy it anyway.

No Strings Attached by stiltonbasket (G, 3k, WangXian, NieLan,Canon Divergence, Fix-It, LQR is a good uncle, Smitten LWJ, Golden Core Reveal)

Righteous and Devoted by thunderwear (T, 7k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Golden Core Reveal, LWJ's POV, Barely Any Pining, thanks lqr, Fluff, lots of fluff, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies)

4B)

Lessons relearned by Iamnotawriter (T, 44k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Not Madam Yu Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inventor WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Golden Core Transfer, YZY Bashing)

🔒🧡 rain falls and soaks into the earth series by RoseThorne (T, 57k, WangXian, WIP, Near Death Experience, Attempt Drowning, Madam Yu Bashing, Recovery, No war AU)

💙 Holding shreds by barisan (T, 5k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, No Sunshot Campaign, Body Swap, Not for sexy shenanigans, Chronic Pain, Hurt WWX, Hurt LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abusive YZY, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, Good Uncle LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, POV WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jiāng Family Bashing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Getting Together, Smart WWX)

🔒 Warming up (to him) by barisan (T, 9k, LQR & WWX, WangXian, Hypothermia, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Temporary Character Death, Medical Inaccuracies, YZY Abuses WWX, JFM Bashing, pre-wangxian, Good Uncle LQR, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort)

~*~

5. Hello everyone! I am on the search for case fics which are spooky and creepy! The kind of thing you would want to read to set the mood for Halloween, but it is actually July and thunderstorming and the wind is howling and you want to curl up with a scary story and a cat on your lap. Preferably everyone lives in the end, but I am down for angst or temporary character death in the in between. Thank you!!

You are what you eat by deliciousblizzardshark (E, 17k, WangXian, Graphic Depiction of Violence, Major Character Death, Canon Divergence, Eldritch WWX, Horny LWJ, Body Horror, Possession, of a sort, Cannibalism, kind of, Mild Gore, Teeth, When the eldritch abomination possessing you is less of a pining idiot than you are, I did not expect there to be so much fluff when I started writing a fic about an eldrich horror, Fluff and Humor, Smut, LWJ is so fucking thirsty, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Monster sex, Switching, Light BDSM, Rimming, Self-Lubrication, Seriousness treated Crackily, Implied/Referenced Torture, Dead WWX, Podfic Available) Eldritch horror!WWX

build me no shrines by occultings (microcomets) (M, 54k, WangXian, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, First Time, Getting Together, Confessions, Sharing a Bed, Hair Washing, Sentient Burial Mounds, Case Fic, Post-Canon, CQL Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Light Angst, Flashbacks, mild body horror, foot washing, Happy Ending, Non-Sexual Intimacy..., then sexual intimacy, playing fast and loose with mdzs lore, WWX learning to accept intimacy without deflection, occasional LWJ humor agenda, 🔒 [Podfic] build me no shrines by flamingwell)

in your skin by darkredloveknot (enheduane) (E, 10k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Getting Together, Horror, Body Horror, Blood and Gore, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Non-Consensual Body Modification, kinda??, Reflections over death and self-worth, mentions of canon suicide, Near Death Experiences, 🔒 [Podfic] in your skin by flamingwell)

爱不释手; never let me go by yiqie (E, 68k, WangXian, Case Fic, Blood and Injury, Demons, Body Horror, [Podfic] 爱不释手; never let me go by argentumlupine)

lan wangji sees dead people by mountainrain898

~*~

6. Hi, I'm ITMF a fic where; (a) teenage wangxian meets adult wangxian maybe during cloud recess study arc and older wangxian time travel on purpose or accidentally and find themselves itn cloud recess (or something similar) (b) the other sects gather to plot against wei ying and they spy on burial mounds or find a way to view wei ying's memories (similar plot to seek and ye shall find) (c) do you know any au's where wangxian are professional gamers or play gaming competitions. @purplefuzzypickle

6A)

River Stones by littlesystems (M, 18k, WangXian, Time Travel, Post-Canon, Cloud Recesses Study arc, Junior Quartet, Oblivious WWX, Suffering LWJ, Voyeurism)

How did I end up with this Frozen Heart? by Grace_ShadowWolf (TaubeLePigeon) (T, 53k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel, Fix-It, PTSD, Angst with a Happy Ending, YP!WWX, twin prides of yunmeng are horrified at the relationship between their future selves, YP!WWX has short hair, Canon Divergence, Self-Indulgent, wangxian get together early, Songfic, JC Bashing, LXC Bashing)

Timely by apathyinreverie (T, 8k, WangXian, Time Travel, Domestic WangXian, Fluff, Fix-It, Post-Canon, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Mutual Pining, wwx is sunshine personified, Smitten LWJ, Genius WWX, Romance) I'll also throw in Timely which just has Lan Wangji's spirit traveling from his teen years to when he's married to Wei Wuxian.

6B)

💖 The Path by Seastar98 (Not Rated, 279k, WangXian, CQL Verse, Golden core reveal, Fix-it of sorts, Angst with a happy ending)

6C)

simping for hanguang-jun by defractum (nyargles) (T, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, YouTubers WangXian, Fluff, Among us game, Streamer AU)

~*~

7. Hello, could you please recommend works where WY and LZ meet for the first time when they are older. For example over 30.

Thank you!

The Fault in Our Stars by Vamillepudding (T, 17k, WangXian, Modern AU, Getting Together, Romantic Comedy, Comedy of Errors, Misunderstandings, the title makes it sound like a cancer story, it's not a cancer story)

International Baby by AceBij (E, 21k, WangXian, Modern AU, Pilot!LWJ, CFO!LWJ, Regional Manager!WWX, CEO!LXC, CEO!JC, CFO!JYL, Secretary!WQ, Meet-Cute, baby!A-Yuan, baby!JL Mpreg, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Carrier!WWX, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mild Hurt/Comfort, WWX's canonical breeding kink, LWJ's Canonical Breed WWX Kink, Communication, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, It's only at the start and will not go into much detail, Love confessions)

Deep Dive by MimiSpearmint (E, 24k, WangXian, Modern AU, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Feels, Are Bad at Communicating, LWJ is a Panicked Gay, Therapy, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending, Career Ending Injuries, counsellor!lwj, give lwj friends agenda, background NieLan, Melbourne, Eventual Smut, Crack, Baby JL, domestic abuse is discussed but does not happen, Baby LSZ, Baby LJY, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Good Sex Practices, Implied Slight D/s, WangXian Have a Breeding Kink, Cameos by various minor characters)

Breathless by tiptoe39 (E, 69k, WangXian, Fashion & Models, Modeling, Getting Together, drunk lwj, Cranky LWJ, Model!LWJ, stylist!wwx, Happy Ending, WangXian Endgame, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst and then fluff again, Mustache-Twirling Villainy Just Off Camera, JYL Deals With So Much Brother Shit, LWJ Is Working Through His Own Shit, WWX is WWX, LWJ's Bunny Obsession, MianMian Is In Charge of Shoes, JC's Issues Have Issues)

不屈从于天 | not submitting to fate by starborst (E, 20k, WIP, WangXian, BAMF WWX, God!wwx, dream of red tower, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, but loosely based, there's a lot of oc characters & gods, Character Death, time skip, from when wwx was dead and also a god, lots of landscape description, it'll be really really slow paced) Technically it's god!WWX meeting reincarnated!LWJ bit if it's just about their relationship then this might fit! LWJ shows up at the end of chapter 3 and chapter 4 is basically just about their interactions in different situations. Might also fit for #10, seeing as LWJ is a reincarnation (I asked to make sure)

We Meet at the Thousandth Step by Admiranda, Rynne (T, 316k, WangXian, CSSR/WCZ, Canon Divergence, No Sunshot Campaign, CSSR & WCZ Live, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Different First Meeting, Night Hunts, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Plot, Romance, Drama, Fluff, Strangers to married, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Everyone Lives, Developing Relationship, Minor Violence, Case Fic, Mystery, Flirting, WWX's Canon-Typical Flower Flirting, Arson, There Was Only One Bed, Getting Together, First Kiss, Meeting the Parents, Resolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Romantic Tension, WWX Is a Good Big Brother, New Relationship Bliss, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Blood and Injury, Yiling siblings, Married WangXian, Honeymoon, Wangxian's Baby Fever) I can't remember how old Wei Ying & Lan Zhan are in We Meet at the Thousandth Step but I'm quite certain they're at least in their mid- to late-20s when they meet.

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8. itmf a wangxian fic where Jin Guangyao is forced to apologize to Lan Xichen for tricking into helping with Nie Mingjue's murder. Preferably a fic where wangxian comfort him afterwards. Any lxc ship is OK (xicheng, nielan, xiyao), I just want Lan Xichen to get a proper apology and for jgy to acknowledge how truly messed up it was and accept responsibility for being an asshole to poor lxc (and nmj tbh)

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9. Hello! For your next ITMF, could you find me some baby trapping fics please? Whether LWJ traps WWX or WWX traps him 🤗

(and I'd love you forever if you manage to find a fic where Lan Qiren think Wwx is baby trapping his precious cabbage and either it's all Part of LWJ's Plan or the baby was a mutual decision from the both of them)

Thank you!!

truly a love story for the ages by sweetlolixo (E, 4k, WangXian, Modern AU, Dark LWJ, Dark WWX, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Dark!Wangxian, Power Couple, Happy Wangxian Ending, slight daddy kink, Humor, Crack, Pregnant WWX) Of course I gotta rec the mutual baby trapping fic

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10. Do you have a comp fic of reincarnation? If not can you make this for next ITMF? (No comp as of yet though it is on the list! ~Mod L)

不屈从于天 | not submitting to fate by starborst (E, 20k, WIP, WangXian, BAMF WWX, God!wwx, dream of red tower, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, but loosely based, there's a lot of oc characters & gods, Character Death, time skip, from when wwx was dead and also a god, lots of landscape description, it'll be really really slow paced) (link in #7) Technically it's god!WWX meeting reincarnated!LWJ bit if it's just about their relationship then this might fit! LWJ shows up at the end of chapter 3 and chapter 4 is basically just about their interactions in different situations.

the recluse at the end of the moonlit path by beesinspades (T, 28k, WangXian, Modern AU, Reincarnation, Post-Canon, Jack of All Trades Artist WWX, Immortal! LWJ, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, Reunions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Asexual Character, good vibes, [Podfic] the recluse at the end of the moonlit path by b_ofdale by Beria1021)

🧡 We Were Never Strangers by NeverEnoughWangxian (M, 36k, WangXian, Modern AU, Reincarnation, Modern Cultivators, POV WWX, (mostly), College Student WWX, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Immortal LWJ, Immortal LSZ, Dreams, Pining, Sharing a Bed, brief mentions of wwx's past death(s), WangXian.mp3, Getting Together, I guess getting back together technically, Happy Ending, Sexual Tension, Sexual Content)

🧡 All Old Things are New Again by The Feels Whale (miscellea) (M, 51k, WangXian, Reincarnation, Modern AU, canon still happened, extreme post canon, Sugar Daddy, Kink Negotiation, gentle dom!LWJ, canonical levels of consent play, Modern Cultivators, cultivators can recognize important people from previous lives, vaguely, this started out as a cute sugar fantasy and got just incredibly horny very fast, blame LWJ)

忘不了你的爱 (can't forget your love) by PorcupineGirl (G, 25k, WangXian, Time Travel, Modern with Magic, Modern Cultivators AU, Canon Divergence, Time Traveler WWX, discussion of canonical character deaths, a whole lot of handwaving, conveniently localized fires, Discussion of Canonical Suicide Attempt, mostly happy but slightly bittersweet ending)

Closer Than Eternity by Netrixie (T, 26k, WangXian, Modern AU, Reincarnation, an unhealthy addiction to starbucks, Immortals, cultivation is -kinda- commonplace, Self-Doubt, POV Alternating, Minor Original Character(s), Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Temporary Character Death, Angst with a Happy Ending, not for jc fans, This is not a reconciliation fic)

Have We Met Before by thelastdboy (T, 7k, WangXian, POV WWX, Modern: No Powers, First Meetings, College/University, Reincarnation, Strangers to Lovers, Slow Burn, Getting Together, Developing Relationship, Love Confessions, First Kiss, CSSR and WCZ Live, WWX Has a Family, Older Sibling WWX, Queer Themes, Demisexual WWX, Parent-Child Relationship, Friendship, Heteronormativity, Pining WWX, Fluff, Madam Lan Lives)

living in my memory/living in my mouth by tardigradeschool (T, 32k, WangXian, Reincarnation, Canon Divergence, College/University, Modern with Magic, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed, Nightmares, Light Angst, Epistolary, (sort of), POV Alternating, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers)

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11. hi everyone! I am looking for modern cultivation aus where, this may sound redundant but ya know, cultivation is used in tandem with modern living. For example, I really liked in “The Shade of Old Trees” by Kryal how WWX used his cultivation to do sick tricks on a skateboard. Or in "Truth Will Out" by KizuKatana how the night hunts were filmed and uploaded to an internet forum. So yeah! Cultivation working with modern things, cool magic in tandem with modern science and tech. thanks tlm!!

speeding up my heartbeat by plonk (Not Rated, 24k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Gyms) has cultivation specific gyms and sports, with WWX doing cultivator level parkour

🧡🔒Night of the Living History (an edutainment special!) by Aerlalaith (T, 51k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Workplace Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Museums, living history, Some Plot, Slice of Life, Injury, a minor haunting) has cultivation working (or not, as the case may be!) alongside modern tech

A Different Yarn by donutsweeper (T, 1k, WangXian, Urban Fantasy, Yarn store AU, Modern with Magic, Modern Cultivation) it's really short but in it knitting and crochet is used for talismans

Hear a song this deeply by so_shhy (T, 87k, wangxian, modern cultivation, academia au, music, kid fic, action/adventure, canon-typical violence, canon-typical JGY behavior, slow burn, fluff & angst, happy ending) has modern cultivation history researcher LZ and municipal cultivation employee WWX working within (or not, on occasion!) modern day cultivation rules, laws, and customs

and so my heart beats wildly by lily_winterwood (E, 106k, WangXian, JYL/JZX, Modern Cultivation, Rivalry, Competition, Competition-Set Fic, Athletes, Multimedia, Miscommunication, frenemies to lovers, Rivals to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Seemingly One-sided But Actually Mutual Pining, Oblivious WWX, Competitive Cultivation, Anal Sex, First Time, Angst with a Happy Ending, Olympics, Inappropriate use of an Olympic gold medal, Breathplay, Rough Sex, Food Porn, Tanabata, Lily's back on her Qixi bullshit, Switching, Bottom LWJ) has cultivation Olympics

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12. Hi all! Im in the mood for Jiang yanli bashing! I want her to also be angry and entitled like Jiang Cheng and then get, well, bashed for it!

Dispersing Clouds by dreamingofcake (E, 283k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Abusive YZY, Canonical Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (Background Character), Background Character Deaths, child deaths, Canon JC, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Cultivation Sect Politics, Homophobia, Heteronormativity, Feelings Realization, WWX is Not Oblivious) I wouldn't say she's angry, but she very much expects WWX to be a doormat for the sake of keeping things how she is used to them being

Hua Xianle by Tiffany_Guinne (Not rated, 260k, hualian, wangxian, TGCF, canon divergence, not Jiang friendly, madam lan lives, WWX adopted by hualian, WWX with different name, overprotective hualian, hurt WWX, WIP) crossover with TGCF, Hualian raises WWX, plenty of Jiang bashing all around

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13. for the in the mood for, may i have your most gutwrenching jiang cheng & wei wuxian sibling hurt/comfort please. preferably with reconciliation. 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

ransom by alessandriana (G, 3k, JC & WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Dizziness, Fainting, Character is Injured while Protecting Another, Yunmeng Shuangjie, Yunmeng reconciliation, [PODFIC] ransom by Gwogobo) 

love lies beyond words by acrosticacrumpet (G, 4k, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Whump, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, canon-typical dysfunctional relationships, Yunmeng Shuangjie Reconciliation, not a completed reconciliation but the beginning of one, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Feels, Self-Worth Issues, WWX's notoriously poor self-worth vs JC's legendary rejection sensitivity: FIGHT, painful conversations with a tasteful smidgeon of, Cuddling & Snuggling)

we’re starting at the end by Miss_Enthusiasimal (M, 92k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Golden Core Reveal, Burial Mounds, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Starvation, emaciation, Cannibalism, Self-Harm, Amputation, Suicidal Thoughts, Sunshot Campaign, let JZX and WWX be friends club)

JC and WWX's Get Along Sweater series by newamsterdam (T, 29k, JC & WWX, Trapped In A Closet, Cultivation as Plot Device, Reconciliation, Miscommunication, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Novel Spoilers, Post-Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Night Hunting, Ghosts, Action/Adventure, Brotherly Love, Complicated Relationships, Yunmeng Shuangjie)

In The Dark Right Now by phnelt (T, 10k, WangXian, graphic depictions of injuries, trapped in a cave, Near Death Experience, fatalistic thinking, established wangxian, Family Feels, mention of unnamed illness of an offscreen character, Nobody dies in this fic, Alternate Universe - Modern AU, jc and wwx are caved in and lan zhan talks to them through the radio, Hurt/Comfort) if modern AU is acceptable

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14. For the next itmf, can you please recommend to me some fics where Jiang Cheng raises both Jin Ling and Wen Yuan . Preferably where both or at least A-yuan knows his father is Wei Wuxian

What Remains After the War by Swan_Song (T, 44k, JC & JL, JC & LSZ, JL & LSZ, WIP, Canon Divergence, LSZ is a Jiang, Good Uncle JC, Cousins JL & LSZ, JC Needs a Hug, JC Needs Therapy, The juniors solve a mystery, Junior Ensemble Shenanigans, Good Uncle LQR, he tries his best, LSZ Needs a Hug)

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15. itmf fics where instead of lan xichen, lan wangji becomes sect leader/king/emperor/etc. With happy ending for wangxian! Any length and rating works and if there's smut, can I get top plan wangji please? And nothing where lan wangji is with someone else romantically/sexually even for a bit in the course of the fic I don't have any other triggers/squicks!

The Wrong Man by Remma3760 (Not Rated, 103k, WangXian, WIP, Sect Leader LWJ, Evil JGS, Canon Divergence, Golden Core Reveal) Not exactly LWJ becoming sect leader *instead of* LXC, but does have LXC getting killed off in chapter 1, & LWJ becoming sect leader & instituting sweeping reforms. Still a WIP but the main story is over & is a happy ending (WWX is actually alive in this, so no having to wait for resurrection)

I Am Happy I Met You by Bhargavee00 (Not Rated, 34k, WIP, WangXian, Get a Happy Ending, Sect Leader LWJ, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Dragon LWJ, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, Madam Lan Lives, Minor Madam Lan/Qingheng-jun, Qingheng-jun, Lives, Dark LWJ, Protective LWJ, Protective Gusu Lan Sect, Protective LXC, Protective LQR, Good Uncle LQR, WangXian Are Soulmates, WWX Goes to Gusu, Yunmeng Jiang Sect Bashing, Jiang Family Bashing, LWJ is So Whipped, Older LWJ, Good Older Sibling LXC, Sunshot Campaign, No Golden Core Transfer, WWX is a Lan, WWX is So Whipped)

The Straightest Path by meyari (T, 30k, WangXian, NieLan, MingLi, ChengSang, war and death, Grief/Mourning, Politics, plotting for neuroatypicals, Autistic LWJ, WWX Has ADHD, Non-Canon Relationship, No Yīn Iron, Sect Leader LWJ) LXC and LQR die leaving Lan Zhan to becoming Sect Leader

🧡 Discarded by teawater (E, 260k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Dying Lan children, Hurt/Comfort, YL WWX, Golden Core Reveal, Case Fic, Depression, Family Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending, and it's not always dark, POV Multiple, BAMF WWX, dubious morals in the Lan sect Feels, Pining, Grief, Fix-It, BAMF LWJ)

golden when the day met the night by glitteringmoonlight (Not rated, 95k, slow burn, sugar daddy LWJ, light, angst, fluff, developing relationship, eventual smut, WIP)

Temptation by Karmiya (E, 23k, WangXian, JYL & WWX, WIP, Sect Leader LWJ, domestic abuse) LXC dies after the Sunshot Campaign and LZ becomes Sect Leader

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16. Hii!! does this count as an itmf? if anyone knows a fic where LZ gets married or bethroted during the thirteen years but then WY comes back anything like that ?? if it doesnt it definitely should ill take anything similar tho @yesibest

patching the road with vague intentions by loosingletters (T, 39k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Humor, Developing Friendships, WWX Resurrected By Others, Trans WWX, Case Fic, POV WWX, POV LQR, Family, Good Uncle LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, MXY Lives) To be fair, LWJs wife is the one who summons WWX into her body so it might not fully fit

Love Song In Reverse by timetoboldlygo (T, 237k, WangXian, Amnesia, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Falling In Love, Slow Burn, agressively mixing and matching novel and cql canon, No Homophobia, Mentions of Starvation, Parental WWX) For 16, if what you're looking for is wangxian struggle with their feelings for each other post ressurection while lwj is already commited to someone else, you might like Love Song in Reverse where WY comes back but without his memories so he believes he's MXY and he and LZ navigate their feelings while LZ is still commited to his feelings for WY.

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17. for the next itmf what about a fic from when lwj and jc are searching for wwx when he was in the burial mounds

in our respective ways by Lise (T, 5k, JC & WWX, JC & LWJ, Missing Scene, Bonding, (sort of??), POV JC, Canon Compliant, that brief period of time when lwj and jc were solidly on the same page, JC's jealousy could be a third character, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Feels, Brothers, Canon Era, Not Friends to Still Not Friends, canon typical abuse of pows)

waiting, shivering by kornevable (T, 2k, JC & WWX, Introspection, Missing Scene, background wangxian)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[ghoulsbounty]

From a Previous Life (Pt 4)

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Preg!Reader

Summary: You and the Ghoul quickly learn that your actions—and your words—carry significant consequences.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, pregnancy, doctor examination, sickness/radiation poisoning, arguing, angst, grief, yearning, rejection, slow burn, stubbornness, canon-typical violence, miscommunication, mention of blood/wound, reader throws things.

Word Count: 7.1K

A/N: It's been a while since I posted for this story, part 4 has been kicking my butt! Lots of angst and drama as usual, but the happy ending is on the horizon! I'd love to know what you think 💌

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

After thoroughly scouring the house and filling his saddlebag with every vial he could find in the basement, the Ghoul was adamant that you both leave immediately and put as much distance as possible between yourselves and the grim scene. You offered no resistance; despite the crushing fatigue that weighed heavily on your body and muddled your thoughts, you were eager to escape the horrors of that place. The pervasive stench of blood and decay had seeped into your clothing, becoming nearly suffocating, making it difficult to breathe and causing a deep ache in your chest.

As you left, you couldn't resist the urge to glance back at the lifeless forms of Mags and her family. The scene struck you deeply, like a blow to the gut that stole your breath away. In her final moments, Mags had dragged herself to her son, her fingers interlocking with his as she drew her last breath. That image seared itself into your mind, intensifying your desperation to leave until you were nearly sprinting out of the door.

The house now loomed as a grim testament to the violence that had transpired within its walls. Shadows gathered thickly in the corners, murmuring unsettling recollections you wished to erase from your mind. Each groan of the floorboards and whisper of the wind through shattered windows seemed to echo with ghostly reminders of the atrocities you had witnessed—and narrowly escaped. This sinister ambiance was compounded by a deeper regret: your inability to rescue the Ghoul, resulting in your needing to be rescued by him once again.

The Ghoul moved with a newfound intensity and focus that left your nerves frayed. Normally cautious, almost paranoid about traveling after dark with you in tow, his demeanour had shifted dramatically. Driven by a sense of urgency, he hurriedly led the way outside. "We can't stay here," he growled under his breath, more to himself than to you, his voice a tense murmur. "It's not safe. The next town isn't far; we can make it if we hurry." His words were laced with determination, pushing both of you forward into the encroaching darkness.

His usual paranoia had transformed into a fierce resolve. The normally measured pace was replaced by swift, almost frantic strides, and you struggled to keep up. Each step was a battle against the pain and exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm you, but the Ghoul's insistence was infectious, propelling you forward despite the fatigue weighing down your limbs.

"We're close," he assured, though it was unclear whether he was speaking to you or trying to convince himself. The path ahead was cloaked in shadows, the only light coming from the dim glow of the moon partially hidden by clouds. The noises of the night—distant howls, rustling amongst the dunes, the occasional whistle of the wind—kept your nerves on edge, but the Ghoul's presence offered a small measure of comfort despite your earlier confrontation.

You remained silent, too afraid to question why he was so determined to leave the house in such a hurry. You had your own reasons to comply—each step a painful reminder as your shirt rubbed against the scratch on your pregnant belly—but his urgency unnerved you. He was usually the epitome of calm under pressure, but now he appeared almost desperate, causing your own anxiety to simmer just below the surface.

You cast a wary glance at the Ghoul, observing the tension etched into his features. His jaw was clenched tight, and his eyes flicked restlessly from side to side, meticulously scanning the surroundings for any potential threats. The silence stretched taut between you, a palpable tension hanging in the air. As you approached the edge of the property line, the urge to speak became overwhelming. Unable to suppress your curiosity and growing unease, you finally broke the silence.

"What's chasing us?" you whispered, the question escaping your lips before you could rein it in. His head snapped towards you, eyes narrowing for a moment before he responded, his voice low and gravelly.

"You don't need to worry about that," he murmured. The edge in his tone cut through the night air, sending a chill down your spine. "Just hurry up," he said louder this time, his voice firm. As the faint outline of the town emerged, he quickened his pace, and you struggled to keep up, your backpack bouncing painfully against your spine with each hurried step.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, the icy air searing your lungs as a sudden, sharp pang shot through your abdomen. Clutching your stomach, you recoiled in horror when your hand came away slick with thick, crimson blood. Lifting your shirt, the dim light revealed the alarming state of your wound. What had started as a mere surface scratch had transformed into a grotesque display of infected tissue, marked by unsettling shades of green and purple. Yellowish pus oozed from the lesion, trickling down your trembling thigh, each drop intensifying your dread.

The sight alone was enough to send waves of panic through you, but it was the accompanying symptoms—the feverish chills, the throbbing pain, and the overwhelming weakness—that truly underscored the gravity of your situation. Your heart pounded in your chest, a frantic rhythm that mirrored the escalating fear gripping your mind as you realized just how dire your circumstances had become.

Dizziness overwhelmed you, a disorienting fog clouding your thoughts as a wave of nausea surged, making your mouth water uncontrollably. The chilling night air felt like icy tendrils wrapping around you, adding to the disorientation. You fought to steady your breathing and quell the nausea, each breath a struggle against the rising panic that threatened to consume you. Your vision blurred, and the ground beneath your feet seemed to sway.

You knew you should tell him about your worsening condition, but you were reluctant to add to his worry. The Ghoul had enough on his mind without your complications, you rationalized, though a niggling part of you wanted to keep it secret just to spite him. Despite his presence and support, the unresolved tension between you lingered, feeding your stubbornness.

"We're almost there," you muttered to yourself, a mantra to keep your legs moving. The Ghoul glanced back at you, his eyes narrowing as he noticed your distress.

"Everything okay?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

You forced a weak smile, nodding slightly. "I'm fine," you lied, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. The effort to appear composed was draining, and the dizziness intensified, making it harder to focus on the path ahead.

The town's lights shimmered in the distance, their soft glow promising relief and safety. Each step felt heavier, your legs trembling with the effort to keep moving. The Ghoul eyed you warily, noting the beads of sweat that dripped from your brow despite the harsh coolness of the evening. His hand reached out suddenly, gripping your arm and stopping you in your tracks. You swayed on unsteady feet, his firm hold the only thing keeping you upright. His eyes, filled with concern, searched your face for an explanation you weren't ready to give.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low and demanding.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. "It's nothing," you mumbled, but your body betrayed you, another wave of dizziness making you clutch at his side for support.

"Don't lie to me," he said, his grip tightening. "You're not fine. Tell me what's going on."

Your vision blurred again, dark spots dancing at the edges, and you stumbled, the infection's toll on your body becoming undeniable. Each pulse of pain radiating from the wound sapped your strength, making it increasingly difficult to stay upright. Despite this, a stubborn part of you resisted admitting the severity of your condition, not wanting to appear weak or vulnerable.

The Ghoul tightened his grip on your arm as he shook you gently but firmly, trying to snap you out of your daze. "Tell me. Now." He urged, his voice low but intense. He dipped his head to meet your eyes, which wandered aimlessly, struggling to focus.

"I... I'm not feeling well," you stammered to the Ghoul, your voice quivering as you struggled to focus on him through the growing haze of discomfort. His eyes widened as he pulled your hand away from your stomach, revealing the crimson stain seeping through your wet shirt. He lifted the hem, his teeth clenching at the sight of the grievous wound.

His gloved hands moved with a mixture of desperation and gentleness as he examined the area around the infected wound. He was careful not to press too hard, yet his touch was thorough, probing the extent of the damage. The seriousness of the situation was unmistakable in his expression—the furrowed brow, the tight set of his jaw, and the flicker of panic in his eyes. You could see him mentally calculating the next steps, his mind racing to figure out how best to manage the injury in the desolate surroundings.

The cold air bit at your exposed skin, adding to your discomfort, while the distant lights of the town seemed both tantalizingly close and frustratingly far. The Ghoul's demeanour was a blend of determination and fear as he quickly formulated a plan in his mind.

"Is it bad?" you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper, thin with fear. You weren't sure if you truly wanted to know the answer, and even less sure that he would tell you. His eyes flickered with something unreadable and he hesitated for a moment, as if weighing how much to reveal.

He grasped your wrist and began rapidly tapping on the screen of your Pip-Boy, his eyes scanning the information with growing alarm. The glow from the screen illuminated the deep lines around his sunken eyes, and in your hazy state, you thought about how handsome he looked. When he finally looked up, you felt unsteady under his worried gaze.

"We need to go—now," he declared, his voice leaving no room for hesitation. His grip tightened around your forearm, the pressure both reassuring and insistent, as he tried to pull you up. The intensity in his eyes and the firmness of his hold made it clear that there was no time to waste, and your mind struggling to keep pace with the rapid escalation of the situation.

Despite his urgency, your legs betrayed you. They faltered, stumbling and ultimately failing as you collapsed onto the sandy ground with a soft thud. The Ghoul's voice echoed as if from a distance, his words urging you to get up, but your body felt disconnected, heavy, and unresponsive. A visceral wave of panic surged through you, tightening its grip around your chest, making it hard to breathe. The edges of your vision began to blur, darkness creeping in, threatening to engulf your senses like a spreading shadow.

As you lay sprawled on the cold, sandy ground, the Ghoul quickly bent down to your level, his face etched with unease. He searched your eyes, looking for any flicker of awareness, but your responses were slow, your eyelids heavy and fluttering, making his movements appear surreal and drawn out, as if you were both submerged underwater.

Despite the chill that pervaded the air, beads of sweat continued to form on your forehead, streaming down your face as a fever raged within you. In a feeble attempt to find solace, you reached out blindly, seeking the familiar touch of your companion, only to grasp at the empty, chilling air.

Then, a profound dizziness overwhelmed you, like being pulled into a deep, dark chasm. You lost all sense of direction, no longer aware of what was up or down, past or present. The world around you faded to nothingness as you slipped further away, drifting into an inescapable void that swallowed all consciousness.

A faint voice, soft yet persistent, gently coaxed you back from the void's embrace. Wrapped in a dense fog, your mind meandered through scattered memories, teetering on the edge of consciousness. Slowly, sensations began to return as if awakening from a deep slumber; nerves tingled and flickered back to life under your tentative command. The first movement was a mere twitch of a finger, but it felt monumental, the brush of thin cotton against your skin amplifying the moment.

What happened? Where were you? These questions nudged at the corners of your slowly clearing mind. With effort, you drew a deep breath, marshalling the strength to pry your eyes open. They fluttered initially, rebelling against the harshness of light and the strain of waking. Gradually, your vision steadied, focusing upward at a ceiling marred by stains and the passage of time. You lay still for a moment, taking in your surroundings, trying to piece together how you had arrived at this unfamiliar place.

"Thought I'd lost you again," the voice spoke, its timbre resonating with relief and lingering anxiety. You turned your head slowly, your neck stiff and uncooperative, to see the Ghoul sitting in a dusty armchair nestled in the corner of the room. He had one leg crossed over the other, and his hands were clenched into tight fists resting in his lap. His posture betrayed the tension that had not yet left him.

"You seem to have a nasty habit of getting away from me," he added, a faint, wry smile playing at the edges of his lips, softening the sternness that had settled over his features. The combination of relief and reproach in his eyes alluded to the worry he had endured. The dusty armchair creaked slightly as he shifted, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward, his gaze never leaving you.

Your lips parted to respond, but the pain and dryness in your throat silenced you, leaving only a strained whisper. The effort made your vision blur momentarily, and you felt a wave of dizziness threaten to pull you back under.

The Ghoul jumped from his seat, closing the distance between you in two swift strides. He grabbed a glass of water from the side table and held it to your lips. His hand gently rested underneath your chin, helping you tilt your head back into the pillow as you swallowed painfully. The cool water soothed your raw throat, each gulp easing the burning sensation and bringing a momentary relief from the discomfort. His gloved touch was surprisingly tender, his eyes filled with concern as he looked down at you.

"Easy now," he murmured, his voice softer than you had ever heard it. The rough exterior he usually presented was momentarily stripped away, revealing a depth of care you hadn't fully realized before. As you finished the water, he set the glass aside, his hand lingering on your chin before carefully adjusting the pillow behind your head, ensuring you were comfortable.

"Thanks," you managed to whisper, your voice still hoarse but filled with gratitude. "Guess you can't get rid of me, can you?" You joked, your voice light despite the underlying exhaustion. 

A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Wouldn't want to," he replied, his tone gruff but softened by a note of sincerity. A flutter rose in your stomach at his words, and you felt an ache at the growing distance between you as he returned to his seat. Your fingers flexed against the bedsheet, wanting to reach out to him, but the memory of his words in the house still lingered.

The room seemed colder without his proximity, the silence stretching out once more. You watched him, noting the tension still evident in his posture, the way his hands clenched and unclenched restlessly in his lap. His gaze was fixed on some distant point, lost in thoughts you couldn't decipher.

As your eyes adjusted and began to focus, you took in more of the surroundings. You were in a bedroom, worn and slightly dishevelled. The vanity mirror across from the bed was cracked, its spiderweb fractures distorting the reflections it caught. A large, old wardrobe stood partially open, its doors unable to fully close, with clothes spilling out like colourful waterfalls onto the dusty floor.

The walls were faded, peeling wallpaper hinting at a time long past, while the floorboards creaked softly under any movement. A small nightstand next to the bed held your Pip-Boy and the empty glass. The bed you lay in had a wrought iron frame, rusted and showing signs of age, with a thin, threadbare quilt covering you. A faint scent of dust and age hung in the air, mingling with a lingering hint of antiseptic from recent efforts to clean and treat your injuries.

Despite its state, the room had a certain charm, a sense of having been lived in and cared for, even if that care had become sporadic over the years. The small details—a chipped teacup on the vanity, a child's drawing pinned to the wall—made it feel almost homely.

Your eyes widened in a flash of panic as you turned back to the Ghoul, but he cut you off before you could speak. "We aren't back there," he quickly interjected, his voice firm but reassuring, keen to alleviate your fears even momentarily. "We're safe."

His words settled some of the immediate panic, and you took a deep breath, trying to ground yourself in the present. Of course he hadn't taken you back to Mags' house, he'd wanted to get away from there almost as much as you had. Maybe more.

"Where are we?" you croaked, trying to make sense of your surroundings. Your gaze shifted to the window, where thin curtains let slivers of daylight filter through, casting faint patterns on the floor. The sounds of street vendors calling out their wares and distant bird calls drifted in, mingling with the occasional clatter of footsteps and murmured conversations from passers-by.

He shifted slightly in his seat, the gentle sunlight casting a warm glow on his worn features. "A makeshift clinic, managed by an old friend," he explained, his voice calm but laced with a hint of unease. "It's safe, for now." His eyes flickered towards the window, as if to reassure himself of the safety he promised, before returning to you with a determined expression.

He paused, his face reflecting deep thought as he carefully considered his next words. "You've been unconscious for almost two days," he disclosed, his voice heavy with the weight of the vigilance he had maintained while watching over you. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, the lines on his face more pronounced from the sleepless nights.

"You should have told me," he said, his voice a mix of frustration and concern. "How could you be so reckless to keep this to yourself?" His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away, the weight of his stare drilling into your conscience. The guilt welled up inside you, sharp and consuming, making your chest tighten with regret.

"I didn't want to bother you," you said softly.

He scoffed in response, rolling his eyes. "That's ridiculous," he muttered.

Narrowing your eyes in determination, you pushed yourself up to rest against the pillow, wincing slightly from the effort. The fabric rustled as you settled into a more upright position, your gaze locked onto his, the resolve in your eyes challenging the storm of emotions swirling in his.

"I'm tired of being a burden," you continued, your voice steadier now. The weight of your words hung in the air, the unspoken resentment evident in your tone. The room felt still, the sounds from outside momentarily fading as the intensity of the moment drew both of your focuses inward.

He shook his head, a sneer playing on his lips as he looked at you. "That's not your choice to make," he said, his tone carrying a cold edge. His eyes shifted away from you, staring out the window as if searching for answers in the distance.

The room seemed to grow colder, the sunlight no longer providing its gentle warmth but instead highlighting the tension between you. Each breath you took felt heavier than the last, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on both of you. The air was thick with emotions, and the distance between you felt insurmountable.

A chill ran through you, his words settling like a heavy weight in the space between you. "Seems I don't get much choice over anything nowadays," your voice wavered slightly, but you held his gaze when it snapped back to you, determined to confront him. You could see his jaw tighten, his eyes flickering with a mixture of frustration and something you couldn't quite identify. Each second stretched out painfully as you waited for his response.

"If you've got a death wish, that's between you and that baby," he growled through clenched teeth, pointing at your pregnant belly. "But don't drag me into it. I'm not hauling my ass across the desert just for you to throw your life away at every turn," he spat, his words sharp and biting.

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sunk in. "Glad to see where your priorities truly lie," you said, tears welling in your eyes. Anger surged through you at his insinuation. You didn't have a death wish—far from it. Since the bombings, you had fought tooth and nail to survive and to keep your baby safe, and he knew that.

His words felt like a betrayal. Whether he was trying to push you further away to save face or make it clear that he really did feel nothing for you, his harshness cut deep. The tears spilled over, tracing hot paths down your cheeks. "You know I've done everything to keep us alive," you continued, voice trembling with emotion. "I can't believe you'd think otherwise."

His eyes flickered with a brief moment of regret, but it was quickly masked by the anger that still lingered. "I'm just trying to keep you safe," he muttered, but the words felt hollow against the backdrop of your pain.

"I never wanted this!" you shouted, your voice cracking. "You captured me. I didn't ask for any of this!"

The anger and fear boiled over, and your desperate cries filled the room, making the air between you almost suffocating. The walls seemed to echo your words, amplifying the magnitude of the moment. His expression remained hard, but you could see a flicker of something cross them.

"You think I wanted this?" he shot back, his voice rising. "None of this was supposed to happen!"

"You should have just left me out there!" You cried, voice breaking under the weight of your anguish.

"I wish I did!" The raw emotion in his voice startling you as he stood up, his figure towering over you. The intensity of his words cut through your anger, slicing deep into your heart and leaving you both teetering on the brink of something irreversible. His face was flushed with a mixture of regret and pure fury, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes was a stark contrast to the harshness of his words.

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken words and unresolved pain. Each of you grappled with the complex web of emotions that bound you together, the weight of your shared past and uncertain future pressing down heavily.

You wrapped your arms protectively around your belly, your gaze dropping to the intricately patterned bedsheets. The delicate floral design blurred as tears welled up in your eyes. "Get out," you whispered, your voice barely audible, but the sharp flinch of his jaw from the corner of your eye told you that he had heard you clearly.

The words felt like lead on your tongue, heavy and final, as you struggled to maintain your composure. The room, once a refuge, now felt like a battleground. You could sense his presence still looming over you, his conflicting emotions almost tangible in the air between you. The moment stretched, every second amplifying the tension.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you thought back to the memories you'd shared together. Each recollection felt like a dagger to the heart—the lingering gazes, the fleeting moments when you sought solace in his arms, the fragile bond you believed was forming between you. Perhaps it had all been a figment of your imagination, a desperate illusion in the midst of chaos.

The realization struck you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless and reeling. The weight of it pressed down on you, squeezing the air from your lungs and making your chest ache. You remembered the way his eyes would soften, the rare, fleeting smiles that had given you hope, the comforting warmth of his embrace. But now, those memories felt like cruel jokes, mocking your naïve belief in a connection that perhaps never truly existed.

The Ghoul sighed, running his tongue over his teeth as his gaze briefly flickered to the ground before locking back onto you. "What are you gonna do?" he asked, his tone softer but still edged with irritation. "Don't be so foolish; you wouldn't last a second out there alone."

"Maybe not, but that's no concern of yours," you retorted, refusing to meet his gaze. "If you don't want us, then we don't want you either." You placed a firm hand on the swell of your belly, feeling the life growing inside you.

A small flurry of movement, a determined kick from within, gave you a momentary pause. The sensation was both a reminder and a source of strength. You sniffed, drawing in a shaky breath, and willed your voice to work as you finally looked up at him through bleary eyes, the tears making everything a blur. "Leave," you commanded, your voice trembling but resolute.

He sighed again and moved toward you with an outstretched hand, but you stopped him mid-step. "Go! Get out!" you shouted, your voice echoing off the walls.

The Ghoul looked at you exasperatedly. "There's nothing for you here with me, do you understand? Dispel any romantic notions you have about me, darlin'. I am not a good man," he said, his eyes pleading with you. "But it doesn't mean I want you in harms way—far from it. Just listen to me, dammit."

His words cut through the air like a knife, sharp and final. "I said get out!" You shouted again, your hand gripped the Pip-Boy on the nightstand, and with a surge of adrenaline, you hurled it towards him. He ducked just in time, the metal device shattering against the wall behind him. Shards of glass and metal scattered across the floor, the sharp sound punctuating the tension in the room.

He straightened up, his eyes wide with shock. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by your heavy breathing. You sat there, chest heaving, eyes blazing with a mix of fury and desperation. The broken pieces of the Pip-Boy lay on the floor, a stark reminder of the irreparable rift between you.

"Just leave," you said, your voice now a raw whisper. "We don't need you." The determination in your eyes left no room for argument. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on you, before turning and walking out of the room, the door closing behind him with a finality that echoed through the stillness.

A few hours later, a knock on the door startled you from your sobs. The door creaked open, and an elderly man entered. His features bore the unmistakable signs of ghoulification: mottled, decaying skin and sunken eyes. Despite his unsettling appearance, his expression was warm and kind, a gentle smile softening the harsh lines of his face.

You eyed him warily as he stepped into the room, each movement slow and deliberate, as if he was conscious of not alarming you further. The contrast between his ghastly visage and the kindness in his eyes created a strange, almost disorienting juxtaposition, leaving you uncertain but cautiously hopeful.

"Good to see you awake," he greeted with a gentle smile, his voice carrying a soothing, raspy tone. He moved toward your bedside with a practiced ease that spoke of long experience and familiarity with such situations. His steps were steady and confident, his presence oddly comforting in the wake of the Ghoul's absence. 

He stopped next to you, his eyes briefly scanning the room before focusing on the IV bag connected to your arm. With expert hands, he adjusted the flow, his touch slow and precise. "Your friend said you were feeling better," he remarked, glancing back at you with a reassuring nod. "Looks like the RadAway is working," he commented, his tone imbued with calm confidence. 

The mention of 'your friend' had your eyes darting to the door, replaying the memory of him walking out of it hours before. A sudden dread gripped you as the realization struck: perhaps it really would be the last time you saw him. Why wouldn't it be? You'd told him to leave, said you didn't want him, which was only partially true.

The truth was more complicated. You wanted him. You undeniably craved his affection and needed his approval, but your stubbornness—almost a mirror of his own—kept you from admitting it. He had made it clear that he didn't want you, or at least that's what his words said. Yet, his actions often told a different story, leaving you confused and frustrated.

You weren't going to beg. Pride and self-respect wouldn't allow it, no matter how much your heart ached for him to come back. The conflicting emotions swirled within you, a storm of longing, pride, and hurt. You drew a shaky breath, pushing the thoughts aside as you refocused on the present, determined not to let your vulnerability show.

"Dry your eyes, pet," the doctor said softly, offering you a handkerchief from his pocket. You took it with a grateful smile, dabbed at your wet cheeks until you felt the tears ebb.

"Thank you," you whispered, watching as the yellow liquid filled the tube attached to your arm. "What is RadAway?" you queried, your eyes narrowing slightly with caution as the elderly ghoul continued his examination, his fingers pressing against your wrist to check your pulse.

"It's a medical treatment used to flush radiation from the body," he explained, his voice steady and informative. "It speeds up recovery, especially with injuries like yours." He paused, then gave you a concerned look. "It's essential out here. I'm surprised you don't know about it."

His eyes held a hint of curiosity, perhaps even worry, as he studied your reaction. The weight of his gaze made you acutely aware of your vulnerability and the gaps in your survival skills, but his tone remained kind, without a trace of judgment.

You sniffed and feigned a smile. "I'm still getting my bearings on the surface," you said, your voice small.

His eyes flickered with an unspoken understanding, a subtle nod acknowledging the enormity of adjusting to life above ground. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly in a sympathetic smile, and he placed a reassuring hand on your arm.

"That makes sense," he replied softly, his voice full of understanding. "It's a lot to take in, but you're lucky your friend got you here when he did. He almost woke the whole town with his hollering. I was in the middle of a quiet evening when the commotion started. I looked out the window and saw him rushing through the streets, carrying you in his arms. Poor feller, the colour drained straight from his face with all the worry—well, as much as it can drain from us irradiated folk."

He paused, shaking his head slightly with a wry smile. "He was frantic, you know, practically bursting through the door, demanding help. I've seen people in desperate situations before, but the way he looked at you... It was clear you mean a lot to him."

The doctor's words painted a vivid picture, but you shook your head, dispelling the hopeful image he conjured. The Ghoul's actions came about as a result of you flaking out on him during his urgency to get away from that house. Despite wanting to believe otherwise, you reminded yourself that you didn't mean anything to him.

"He was just trying to get away," you murmured, more to yourself than to the doctor. "I collapsed, and he didn't have a choice."

The doctor studied you for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe," he conceded gently, "but actions speak louder than words. Sometimes, people show they care in ways they can't admit to themselves."

You didn't respond, letting his words linger in the air as he pulled a rusted stethoscope from his coat, preparing to listen to your heart. The cold metal pressed against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of your conflicting thoughts.

As the doctor listened intently, you couldn't help but replay the moments of the Ghoul's protectiveness in your mind. The anguish on his face when he found you at the house, the curl of his finger beckoning you closer, his arms wrapping tightly around you as you lost yourself in his touch. Had you really imagined those moments? The ones before those? They felt as real as the beat of your heart pounding against your chest at the thought of them.

The tenderness in his eyes, the security of his embrace—it all seemed too genuine to be mere figments of your imagination. Yet, his harsh words and actions contradicted those fleeting instances of connection, leaving you in a state of confusion and doubt.

But sometimes, kind words did slip through. You remembered what he had said hours ago, before the shouting: you had told him that he couldn't get rid of you, and his response had been a soft admission, almost lost in the tension of the moment. "Wouldn't want to," he'd said.

You were so hurt by his past rejection, by his constant pushing you away rather than addressing any feelings he may harbour, that you didn't stop to consider, in the heat of the moment, that perhaps you were doing the exact same thing when you told him to leave.

The doctor finished his examination and removed the stethoscope, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Your heart sounds strong," he said, his tone reassuring. "Physically, you're doing better. But don't ignore what's happening inside here," he added, gently tapping his temple.

You nodded absently, his advice barely registering as you continued to grapple with your emotions. The lines between reality and wishful thinking blurred, and you found yourself longing for clarity in the midst of the turmoil.

"Would you like me to check?" he asked, gesturing to your stomach that you still hugged protectively. You blinked, slow to understand until he mouthed 'the baby.' He was a genuine doctor, or as close to one as you could find in the wastelands. The individuals who had held you captive in the vault were more torturers disguised as scientists than actual healers. However, the risk of revealing your pregnancy was not lost on you, especially after recent events.

His hands stilled as he met your gaze with an understanding that seemed to stretch beyond the typical patient-doctor exchange. It was evident he had a wealth of experience dealing with the unique challenges of the wasteland, a far cry from the so-called doctors of your past who had hidden cruelty behind their clinical masks.

"Yes please," you replied, your voice tinged with apprehension. You hesitated, weighing the risk of revealing too much against the need to know your child's fate. "Is my baby okay? Can you tell me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, yet laden with the weight of your worries and hopes.

The elderly ghoul's expression softened further, and he nodded slowly, placing a reassuring hand on your arm. "Let's take a look," he said gently, reaching for a small, somewhat battered handheld device from his bag. He moved the device slowly over your abdomen, his eyes focused intently on the faint screen.

After a moment, he looked up, a small smile breaking through his weathered features. "From what I can see, your baby seems to be doing just fine," he announced softly. "The heartbeat is strong and steady. You're both fighters, that's clear."

Relief washed over you upon hearing the doctor's reassuring words, easing some of the persistent tension that had gripped you since you regained consciousness. Your eyes instinctively sought the Ghoul's, and your heart dropped at the sight of the empty chair.

"A few more days of rest and you should be back on your feet," the doctor said, gently covering your stomach with the thin sheet. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small bottle of pills. "Take one a day with food, and if you come into contact with any large bouts of radiation, double the dose until you can get some RadAway," he instructed, handing you the bottle.

The torn label read Rad-X, and you turned it in your hand, trying to decipher the rest of the words. The doctor watched you with a patient expression, his gaunt features softening as he spoke. "Rad-X is used to increase your resistance to radiation," he explained, his voice steady. "It’s different from RadAway, but just as important, especially with your...relations," he finished, and your cheeks burned at his insinuation.

You thanked the doctor when he promised to check on you again soon before leaving the room. As the door closed behind him, you sighed and settled back into your pillow. Relief washed over you knowing your baby was healthy, but the sense of being on your own left your heart heavy. The room felt both too big and too small, the deafening silence pressing in on you as you stared at the Rad-X label, contemplating the uncertain future that lay ahead.

You didn't see the Ghoul after that, but a supply of RadAway and bullets appeared on your bedside table. The sight of the neatly arranged supplies made you pause, a mix of surprise and gratitude washing over you. You assumed it was his doing, imagining him sneaking in during the night amidst the few hours you'd managed to sleep. The thought of him moving silently through the darkened room, leaving behind the essentials you needed, brought a bittersweet pang to your heart.

A woman named Ada, who you had come to learn was the owner of the establishment, dropped in regularly to bring you warm meals. They were hearty and nourishing, intended to build your strength, but your appetite was often suppressed by the weight of your thoughts and the loneliness that settled in your heart. Ada's gentle encouragement and understanding smile were small comforts in the otherwise stark and quiet room.

She chatted with you during her visits, sharing stories about the settlement and its inhabitants, giving you a glimpse of the life that awaited you once you were well enough to leave the confines of your room, if you were to stay in town. Her tales painted a picture of a tight-knit community, resilient and resourceful, each person playing a vital role in their collective survival.

"The Ghoul, he's gone," she informed you on morning, her voice gentle but firm. "I do hope you'll consider staying. He's covered your keep for more than enough time." She rested her hand on your shoulder, her touch warm and reassuring. "It's not safe out there alone."

Her words hit you like a wave, the reality of his absence sinking in. The weight of his generosity and care pressed heavily on your heart. Her eyes were filled with concern, reflecting the danger that awaited beyond the safety of this town, and her kindness was a small comfort in the midst of your turmoil, a reminder that you still had allies even in his absence.

"Thank you, Ada," you said, offering her a smile despite the worry inside of you. "But I have to go."

The morning sun cast a gentle glow on her face, highlighting the kindness in her eyes. She nodded, her own smile reflecting a mixture of pride and concern. "Where will you go?"

You eyed the map in your hands, the one you had taken from the Ghoul the day you left to find the vials. Your eyes traced the path that led to the haven, a route marked with careful notations and warnings. The map had become a lifeline, a tangible connection to him and his meticulous planning.

During the last few days of your bedrest, you had spent hours poring over it, mapping out your journey, and planning stops for resting and loading up on supplies. The intricate details on the map showed the effort he had put into ensuring your safety on your journey to the haven, each mark a testament to his care.

It wasn't until that morning, as you packed your bag and ran your hand over the tattered paper, that your resolve solidified. The realization that he had crafted this map specifically for you, considering every possible danger and refuge along the way, filled you with a bittersweet determination.

"I'm going to find him," you told her, your eyes steely with persistence as you adjusted your backpack over your shoulder. "There are some things I left unsaid," you finished, your voice resolute. 

You hugged her goodbye and thanked the doctor for his car on your way out. When you left the clinic, your gun felt heavier on your hip, the burden of not having the Ghoul there for your protection weighing it down.

Navigating through the bustling streets, you kept a firm grip on the map, each step taking you further from the comfort of Ada and the doctor's care and deeper into the unknown. Vendors continued to call out, their voices blending into a distant hum as you made your way toward the town's edge.

As you reached the outskirts of the town, the lively sounds of the marketplace faded behind you, replaced by the vast silence of the open desert. You paused for a moment, breathing deeply, taking in the endless expanse of sand and scrub stretching out before you. The horizon shimmered with heat, the sun high and relentless in the sky.

You questioned whether you were making the right choice in attempting to find the Ghoul. The vast, treacherous wasteland stretched out in every direction, offering countless places for him to disappear. He could have gone anywhere, but deep down, you felt certain that he wouldn't retrace his steps. He would likely stay as far away from Mags' home as possible, avoiding any place with too many memories or potential danger.

Then, the hairs on your arm stood to attention at the familiar sound of spurs jingling on the ground behind you. The distinct, rhythmic clinking sent a surge of recognition through you, and a hopeful smile began to tug at your lips. However, before you could turn around, the cold, unyielding metal of a gun barrel pressed firmly against your temple, sending a chill down your spine and freezing you in place.

Your breath caught in your throat, and your heart pounded in your chest, the sudden shift from hope to fear almost too much to process. The coolness of the barrel contrasted starkly with the warmth of the sun on your skin.

"I'll ask you this just once," a rough voice growled from behind, the command filled with menace. "Where is Cooper Howard?"

Taglist: @cheshirecat484 @lothiriel9 @ancientbeing10 @maeplaysbass @moon-trash1507 @rebelmarylou @giggle-shade @skrzydlak

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Safe Keeping | 4

Part 1 2 3 4 5

"What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 8k+ | cw: fem!reader, DEATH of characters/animals/monsters, POV shifts, mentions/depictions of violence, forced marriage, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional constipation, miscommunication, The Hound being abrasive, canon typical casual misogyny/violence, themes/mentions of menstruation/pregnancy/miscarriage, baby fever, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: ❗❗please proceed this chapter with caution. i killed a bunch of characters/animals (well and monsters but i think deserve lmao)!!! ALSO POV SHIFTSS!!!! originally posted on ao3 but felt like posting it on here. also fyi i post this story on ao3 first

Tagging: @otteropera @poisonsage808 @glitterandgoldfinds @the-queen-of-sorrows @j3nn-1

The Hound found himself wrong about the thieving, wrong about the missing livestock. He was so wrong it nearly cost him lives, including his own.

He was so sure about himself when he went into the woods, so sure that he was going to find at least two men, at most five, luring sheep there. It was the men he was prepared for. Fuck the livestock, the farmers can get them back after he killed the fucks stealing them.

Ah, the farmers, barging into his wife's estate... into their house, into house Clegane. 

Fuck 'em, fuck the lot of them, complaining again, complaining about their sheep and their cows. He had enough of their yapping, now was the time to act.

Fuck 'em twice for being shocked when he said he'd go into the forest to kill the fucker causing all of them trouble.

The superstitious peasants warned him. The Hound heard; he even humored them by letting a few spring chickens, boy-soldiers in the making, 'aid' him as he went to the forest.

Between the young farmer's lad, Andrew, and the man-boy, Carter, who he had been training be a soldier, it was actually the Hound who was the one most frightened by that thing that stared back at them.

It looked as though it was twice his damn size. It was darker than tar, and stinkier than shit. It made an unholy sound before attacking them.

He doesn't remember what happened after that in all honesty. His instincts kicked in and he can't recall what he had done. All he knew was, in the end, the two boys were cheering and dragging a black corpse all the way back out of the woods.

The villagers looked at him. They walked towards him and shouted. It was not an unfamiliar greeting-- being pursued by villagers, and yet, it shakes him; it takes him off-guard. They come upon him and begin to weep at his feet. They thank him. They thank them as they hug each other. The thank him as they wave at him. They thank him as they touch his armor like a devout would touch an idol.

The Hound is perturbed.

"Thank you, milord! You killed the beast!"

"You saved our sheep!"

"You saved our families!"

"You saved our lives!"

The Hound was never one to back down, but Sandor found himself taking steps back when a group of children ran up to him and began to ask him how he killed it. Their little hands and big eyes demanded answers from him. His insides rise up to his mouth.

The children begin to talk about how they can go to the woods now.

"Oi!" Carter calls to the ones in front the Sandor, "you do know there's more than one woodland monsters, aye?!"

"But now milord Cligay killed one! He'll teach us how to kill the o'vers."

"It's Clegane. Lord Clegane! And even then, you buggers can't just play in the forest. The brown bears still live here."

"I haven't seen a brown bear!" a little girl cries out. She looks to the Hound, walking up to him, grabbing his hand, "there aren't any brown bears in the woods, right, milord?"

Sandor looks at the small thing. His hand burns at her touch. Her hand was not even hot, not even big enough to grasp half his palm and yet he feels lightheaded. He feels like he's going to pass out.

The Hound finds their sentiment to be all too much at one point. He grumbles he's going home; he's got much work to do. The villagers thank him as he leaves.

When he gets home, just as he gets near the gate, he beholds Lady Clegane, the people's champion, his poor bride. She is outside, speaking to some peasants; it was all she did as of late.

A breeze blows and her dress dances with the wind. Her hair follows as well, and along goes the air from his lungs.

She is the sun. He is a mountain trying to reach her.

Sandor, who hadn't realized that he stopped in his place to gawk, is shaken out of his trance when the stable boy opened the gates for him. The small child named Polly, about as old as his wife when she fled this place, nods at him and motions, "pardon, milord," he says nervously, "I didn't know you were waiting for me to open the gates."

The Hound looks at the boy as he walks in, "I wasn't," he gruffs, eyeing him as he passed, "don't worry about it, laddie."

Lord Clegane looks away from the stable boy when he hears the shrill cry of a babe. He spots the maester walking over to his wife with a wailing child in his arms.

He thinks about the letter he had to write to the Citadel, requesting a maester come to Brown Wood.

Lady Clegane thinks her husband's initiative for it stems from his sense of duty as a Lord, but she'll never know he did it for her, for her to know if she really did have a late blood cycle, or if she lost a baby. Maester Yannick told him it was, regretfully, the latter.

The Hound waited for his lady wife to tell him about it, to ask him to hold a mourning ceremony for the unborn child. She never did.

Sandor watches Lady Clegane willingly embraces the woman who thanked her up and down, over and under, for saving her baby. She tells the weeping woman that it was not her work but maester Yannick that saved the babe. Maester Yannick says it was not his work but the gods.

Sandor tastes something putrid in his mouth when his wife coos at the child, who immediately calmed when the maester reunited the small thing to mama. His insides tingle at the sound of his lady's laugh.

He curses under his breath when she turns to him. He realizes then he had stopped in his tracks again.

The Hound begins his march.

Lady Clegane greets him, but he is not strong enough to reply with a greeting himself. He doesn't know why he stops to tell her that he killed a woodland monsters though. She looked very shocked after hearing that.

He wonders if she was disappointed. He wonders if she wanted him dead.

She touches him and questions if he was injured. Sandor flinches and steps back. She recoils her hand quickly and wipes it on her skirt-- disgusted.

The Hound says she shouldn't worry her pretty squirrel head, then walks away.

His footsteps are heavy as he heads to his office. He didn't want to go through the fucking endless piles of paperwork, but the apprentice he had couldn't grasp basic mathematics quite yet, so, there he went, to go through paperwork in a musty office.

He wonders if doing this shit made a difference to her, or if she'd always see him for what he was: a groom, forced upon her as a joke from a stupid blonde boy; a beast with ill features and temper; a Hound.

He is almost tempted to look over his shoulder at the loud sound of baby's laughter. He doesn't, cause he wouldn't see anything but a wall of he did anyway.

He wonders when she'd ask him again, when she'd ask for a child from him.

He promises he'd be gentler this time, gentler.

He doesn't mean to be so rabid with her.

She just had such an ablaze spirit, she was so fierce, and so vivid that he found himself wanting to devour her whole-- a true predator.

He wishes he could be more than that. He could be more than that to her, but it's so hard to fill in to be someone you're not. The Hound was not a proper lord, he was not that pretty boy Alistair. He can only do so much.

Sandor would do much and more for her than that scrawny, faerie pretty-boy ever could.

She might not like it, but he'll do his best to give her what she wants, to give her a family in stead of the one she lost. She will never love him, but he knows she'll love all the children he could give her, and that was more than enough, more than he could ever hope for or deserve. 

I carefully walk up to the office, clutching my hands together as I prepare myself to knock on the door.

I clear my throat and retell myself what I mean to tell my husband. My palms begin to gush like geyser. I dread the fight I know will be had because of this topic.

I let out a soft gasp when someone calls me from behind.

It was the stable boy, Polly. He had run up to bow and greet me good morning. I smile at him and reach out to him. I brush his hair back, "good morrow, Polly, dear."

The boy grins and bows again, "I'll be learning how to ride a horse soon, milady!"

I link my hands together as I chuckle, "my! Will you now? How awfully courageous of you."

The boy pushes his shoulders back, "it's no'ffin, milady. Just what a man ought to do. I would go to war for you, milady, I would!"

"My boy," shake my head, "I pray you never need to do such a thing. I hope you enjoy riding though. I find that I do not."

"Do you find riding scary? I wouldn't! I'll let you ride with me once I know how, promise," the boy nods as he places a hand on his chest.

"You are very kind," I smile, "I thank you for it, Polly."

The boy puffs his chest out and bows, "I'll be goin' then, milady!"

I chuckle as I watch Polly run off as quick as a rabbit.

My soul nearly leaves me when I turn around and see the Hound looming over me.

I gasp and step back. He reaches out to me and grabs my arm. He keeps me upright and leans down, "you better stop calling the boy dear." He releases me and begins to walk off, "he's already in love with you as is."

I blink rapidly at his words. I turn to him and watch him march away before scurrying after, "he's a child."

"Aye," says Sandor, "all the children adore you."

My stomach curdles at his words; I am unsure why. I rub my hands together, not sure what to make of myself, or what to reply.

"What were you doing outside my office?" he asks.

I run up in front of him and grab his arm, "there is something I needed to discuss with you."

Sandor stops. He looks at my hand on his arm, "can't it wait?"

I pull my hand away and shake my head, "I understand that you are very busy, my lord, but I-"

"Fine," he mutters, "I'll lay with you tonight."

My eyes widen and I topple back at his words, "what?"

The Hound steps forward, keeping me upright again, "that's why you're here, aren't you?" He releases me, "your bloods have waned."

I feel my face burn. I gulp and force a smile, "I-" I chuckle nervously and straighten up, "y-yes. My bloods have waned."

Sandor watches me closely.

I rub my neck and blink rapidly, "I thank you for your thoughtfulness," I dig my thumb nail into my pointer finger. I turn from my feet then to Sandor, "but that is not what I wished to speak about."

His face falls. It's not anything noticeable but I have become quite good at it, reading his face. He purses his lips then says, "be done with it then, I've got work to do, pretty squirrel."

I feel my face burn even more at his horrible nickname.

A group of women had been complimenting my dress when the Hound passed. I knew they did not know he would react that way, but it did not help the embarrassment I felt when the women asked my husband if he thought my dress suited me and he replied 'pretty for a squirrel'.

"I wanted to tell you that I... I still very much wish to be the one to speak to the people about their concerns," I am unable to look at him when I say this, "it is not because I think you are unfit for the task, my lord, but I have seen the way you act around them."

"Like a dog?"

I knit my brows deeply and look to him, "Daisy is a dog. And I love her very much."

"That makes one of us."

We stare at each other for a long, blistering moment. My throat constricts at his words, "... Sandor."

His face contorts. He scoffs and averts his gaze, "don't say my name like that."

My heart begins to race, it twists and clenches. I step forward and reach out to him, "I see how you try to listen, how you try to help, but it scares you-"

I gasp when he rips his arm away before I can even touch him. He grabs me instead though, ripping me close as he leans down, "I'm not scared of peasants."

My eyes water. It's not even because his grip hurt, but because it was as painfully clear as it could get that this man did not like me at all, no matter what I did.

The Hound mutters softly, "do what you wish," he releases my arm, "you want to do my work so badly then? Fine. I didn't want ya to do anything you're not meant to, but have it your way."

I scratch my eyes before my tears could fall. I try to look at him as I speak, but the tears threaten to fall when I do. Instead, I fix my eyes on the floor, "I do not do this to upset you, Hound. I do this because I mean to help you. I swear it."

He is deeply disturbed by the softness in which these words are spoken. Hearing himself be called Hound was unreasonably heart piercing.

"I do not like it when you are angry," I whisper, "it would have been fine if it was only directed at me, but you spur everyone around you."

I flinch when he calls my name.

I shake my head, "if it pleases you, lord, I will do as you said the other day. I will no longer speak to you. I will not bother you. I will not stand in your way." I step back and pick at my fingernails.

Sandor holds back from stepping forward.

"Maester Yannick has been giving me herbs to help with conception, but he said that I should be in good spirits when... consummating... I do not think we should do anything tonight--" I look to him through my wet lashes, "unless you want to--"

"No, I do not," he says coldly.

I gulp. Tears begin to stream down my face. My lips quiver. I shudder. Of course he doesn't want me.

I curtsy and walk off. I break into a sprint after a few steps, as I am no longer able to hold in my sobs.

Sandor watches this. He furrows his brows, unnerved by the interaction, gutted by the fact it ended in tears yet again. He replays the conversation. Was his touch truly that hard? He looks at his hand. He curses loudly and storms off to fuck all.

Sandor wakes before the sky does. He opens his heavy lids and sighs. He turns to his right on instinct; he watches his wife stretch out her arms in the expanse of nothingness between them. He likes to think that she is reaching out to him. He likes to think that if he reaches back, it'll make everything fine between them.

But then again, it had never been fine between them in the first place.

He makes sure not to touch or move her. Last time he did, she woke up. She truly was a light sleeper.

He slowly gets up. He quickly gets dressed. The moment he gets out of the room, he heads to his office.

He's finished his work by the time he hears a dog barking. He looks to the window, the sun looks back at him. He stands, stretches, and walks over to the sill, pushing the curtains open. He sees her, Lady Clegane, cuddling the mutt she named Daisy. Fucking Daisy. Polly, the stable boy was waving a stick, but the bitch could not care less about it, too preoccupied by her master.

He watches Daisy lick her neck. He watches how she scolds the dog for it but giggles anyway. Sandor sniffles. His mind wanders to the one time he had his face pressed on her neck like that. Fucking dog.

He watches the pair go inside. The Hound heads to the dining room promptly after.

He mutters to himself, trying to decide how to start, "I don't meant to make you cry-- I keep making you cry-- Fuck-- .... I know you don't like me," he stops in his tracks before he can get to his destination. He mutters to himself some more.

Fuck it.

He hears the telltale patter of Daisy's paws. It makes his fingers tingle.

When he gets to the dining room, he furrows his brows at the emptiness.

Lucy gasps at the sight of him. She topples back then regains her composure. She puts the plate of food she was holding down on the table with a bang. She looks at him and curtsies, "your food, milord."

"Where is she?"

Lucy's glare darkens, "she is dining with the servants."

He chuckles drily. He feels disappointment. He feels hurt. He immediately plays it off, "pretty squirrel's finally had enough of me."

"WILL YOU STOP CALLING 'ER THAT!" Lucy bursts, taking the Hound off-guard.

They both stare at each other, as if equally as shocked by the outburst.

Lucy fumes. Sandor freezes. The former decides she's already spoken, so she might as well continue, "she is a lady! You took her for this," she motions vaguely. "You need her," she speaks firmly, "just as much as she needs you."

The Hound scoffs. His insides burn and curdle at the idea of the little girl needing a beast to keep her safe. He snaps, "well, go ahead and tell her I will gladly be her hound and breed her little monsters as thanks for her nice, warm castle!"

Lucy makes no attempt to hide the revulsion she feels at the sound of the hound's words.

"You know what," he snarls, "why don't I breed her right now as a thank you?"

Lucy's face drops. She runs up to the Hound when he begins to storm off. She crumples like paper when he shoves her away. He doesn't do it hard enough that she shoots off to the table, but it's enough for her to get the message: he was deadly strong.

Lucy does her best to stop him. She cries and begs and screams. She digs her heels into floor and yanks him back but it doesn't do much, it doesn't do anything.

The Hound only stops when he finally sees her.

Lady Clegane is laughing with the servants as they watch Daisy roll on her belly for food. She feeds the dog just as Lucy runs up in front of him, severely distraught and tear stained. Lucy pushes her hands on his chest and begs him to punish her instead.

The Hound is sickened when Daisy runs up to him and whines. He recoils his hand when the bitch licks it.

"Lucy?"

Sandor flinches at the sound of his wife's voice and turns the other way.

I was in the middle of playing fetch with Daisy when she caught wind of something and ran off to the gate. Usually, this meant Sandor was home. Lo and behold, this moment was not any different.

I turn away immediately when we lock gazes.

The Hound had a large cut of meat on his shoulder. He grunts as Daisy barks and runs up to him, "fuck off, bitch."

He does his best to avoid the dog, nudging her away firmly with his leg as he walks up to a wagon and plops the hind of a cow on there. He hisses at Daisy when she gets on her two back legs and rests one good leg and bad one on his hips.

"Daisy!" I call.

She ignores me.

Sandor looks over his shoulder, "your mam's calling you, dog. Go on!"

Daisy clearly doesn't understand, or doesn't care, and barks at Sandor when he shoves her away. 

"Daisy!" I call and jog up to her when she follows Sandor out of the estate. I run up to the gate and watch as she is chased by the Hound. She runs as fast as her three paws will allow, clearly enjoying what she thought to be a game.

"Come here, you stupid bitch!" the Hound screams.

I turn to one of the men near me. I call Arron over and tell him to tell the Hound not to chase after her. He does just that, "milord! She will stop running if you stop chasing!"

I make a face as Lord Clegane curses and does his final attempt at catching the dog.

"Shall I bait Daisy with some meat, milady?" Arron asks.

I am about to respond but then there is a loud shriek from afar. It makes my blood go still.

The Hound immediately stops, straightens up, and looks at the distance.

I turn to Arron in a panic and tell him to get bait for Daisy. He quickly does that and calls for the dog to come back.

A bunch of peasants run and scream towards the estate; they scream milord.

Sandor goes to them.

When he reaches the panicked townspeople, he tells them all to shut the fuck up and explain what's happening. The old one clamours out that her daughter's been taken, says she was herding the cows then she was suddenly screaming, and he tried to reach her but it was too late. He says his son went to the woods to try and save her sister.

The Hound nods. He easily decides to go into the woods. The man's other son to leads the way.

In truth, the boy didn't have to go with him, he could just head to where the animals were fleeing, but he allowed it because he recognized the boy to be one of the ones in training. He has no idea what his name was though.

He was glad to hear the screams when he did, at least the ones that sounded human.

The Hound sees a lad and a lass running up to him, "RUN WHILE IT'S DISTRACTED!"

The boy by his side screams back, "the Hound is here! He's going to kill it!"

Well, Sandor was only meant to save the girl, and now that the girl was about to run past him, he didn't have to do anything, really. For some reason, he felt compelled to press on. Maybe it was the lack of his sense of self-preservation as of late, or no, don't call it that; it was his need for a distraction, his need prove something.

He sees it, the monster and its fresh kill. It must have been one of the girl's cows, or at least what was left of it. Gods, the abomination was a messy eater. He was glad, at least, it seemed to be starved and solely focused on eating.

His boots stomp into a puddle of blood when he charges at the thing and cuts its head off. That's was quick... and simple...

He's shocked when he hears a hellish scream behind him and gets knocked into a tree.

The Hound is dazed. He hears the battle cry of two voices. He watches the brothers do their best to stab at the thing that towers and claws at them. He promptly gets on his feet and charges at the disgusting fuck, managing to chop off its arm before it chops off the boy's head.

Just as he thinks he's about to get the upper hand, another vile beast pops up from the shadows. He fixes his footing and slashes his sword for his life.

One of the boys get injured. The boy's scream attract the monsters towards him, allowing the Hound to stab through one of them when it's attention is averted.

By the time one of the two vile cretins drop to the ground, the two boys are running for their lives with one monster on their tail. The Hound is forced to chase after them and curses the boys for running. He's not as quick as he was before.

He screams and grabs a rock, chucking it at the slimy tar creature. He throws and shouts some more until the monster is turned back and running towards him.

He slashes the stupid fuck with his sword when its close enough. It still picks a fight though.

He's losing his breath.

The next thing he knows, there's another monster screaming from behind him. The Hound prepares for the one behind him, but it doesn't reach him because its busy ripping something off it with a growl. It chucks something to the side. There is a separate whine that hisses with the wind.

The Hound finally kills the first monster that attacked him. It doesn't take much for him to kill the other as its belly was already gushing with viscous blood.

Once he's the only thing alive and standing, catches his breath and curses. He looks upon the fallen black creatures before him and reckons he ought to get out there before more come out.

But then he hears a rustle to his side. He immediately goes on the defensive and readies for another fight.

He follows the sound of heavy breathing.

His face drops when he hears the way the dog whines when he's spotted.

The Hound sheathes his sword and drops to his knees. He looks at Daisy, her one front paw bent, the other one not. Her hind legs were twisted unnaturally, her side was clawed. She was soaking in red, both hers and otherwise. She was panting and quickly losing blood.

Sandor reaches out to her. Her eyes were wide and teary. She leans into Sandor's touch and licks her nose in a panic.

He begins to feel a rage burn in him. He begins to feel loathe. He whisper-yells, "you stupid dog. You should have stayed home."

Daisy's breath quickens. He realizes see that she is trying not to whine. Gods, the pain she must be in.

He is about to tell her she was stupid for doing that, he is about to tell her she didn't need her help, he is about to tell her she was so fearless for no reason, but then Daisy whines. It was the most horrible thing he's ever heard.

Sandor huffs like he had been stabbed. He grips his hilt tightly, "thank you for saving me, Daisy."

Sandor screws his eyes shut and decides on what he has to do.

He draws his sword. Daisy does not flinch when he presses the sword onto her neck. He thinks about the day they'd first met. 

Fearless.

He strokes her face with his hand once. He screws his eyes shut when he feels her shiver. 

So afraid.

"You're a good dog."

His next stroke pulls Daisy's final breath.

The Hound stands. He looks upon his dog.

He screams.

He screams.

He screams, hell-bent on summoning more monsters. He kills three more stupid fuck, particularly enjoying how he butchered killing a young one.

He takes Daisy's body after. She is rigid against his chest when he reaches the village. He barks out an order to the villagers: burn those fucking monsters he killed. They were more than happy to oblige.

He passes the family he had helped. They are about to come up to thank him but they don't when they see what was in his arms.

He is swarmed with dread with what he is faced with when he reaches the estate. It was very clearly as search party for Daisy.

"SANDOR!" I cry out when I spot him from the distance. "DID YOU SEE DAISY WHEN-" I stop myself when I realize he is covered in blood. Suddenly, I feel awful for not asking him if he was injured before anything else.

His form becomes clearer as I jog up to him and call, "ARE YOU AL-"

I stop in my tracks when I see him adjust something in his arms. I knit my brows and continue walking towards him. Was it a head of a monster? Why was it brownish and not black?

The Hound gives me a solemn look as he inches closer. I furrow my brows at his expression.

It takes a second then suddenly, it clicks.

I let out a horrified cry.

The Hound buries Daisy in the garden himself. Everyone in Brown Wood watches. I force a glance at my poor dog, even though I wanted to do nothing but turn away. Her injuries chill me to the bone. Lucy stands beside me, clutching my arm as she weeps, but does not look at Daisy once.

Maester Yannick speaks some words for her, as per my request, before Sandor covers the grave.

Once it was done, maester Yannick comes to me and says he will plant daisies at her grave come morrow. I cannot find solace, I cannot find myself to care.

"Did you have to slit her throat?!" I demand lowly, voice aching and angry. I eye the Hound with hot contempt and cynicism, "was there REALLY no saving her?!"

"My lady," the maester holds me back, "I saw her body. Lord Clegane showed her mercy."

"Did you enjoy executing your mercy?!" I wail, ripping my arms away from Lucy and Yannick. My gaze does not trail to them at all, as I am intent on getting answers from my dog's executioner.

The Hound's face is blank, it enrages me.

I snarl through tears, "gods, I hope you did! I hope you savored finally being free of your bitch!"

Lucy calls after me as when I storm away. She means to run after me but shoots a glare at the Hound before doing so. She is momentarily stunned when he sees how distraught he looks at the moment. 

Sandor marches out of the estate.

I jolt awake when I hear the front door opening. I wipe my face and quickly stand from the chair in the middle of the living space. The fireplace near me had already burned out.

After the sound of locks disappear in the darkness, I take the unlit candle on the table beside me and walk up to the burning candelabra to light it.

I hear heavy footsteps draw closer.

Boots skid, "fuck."

I look up after lighting my candle. The Hound looks back at me.

"What are you doing?"

I purse my lips and turn to my feet. I clutch my candle, finding it hard to speak. 

"Lucy kick you out of her bed?" he mutters then begins to walk off.

I look up and follow after him. I finally muster out, "you arrive later and later."

He scoffs.

"It's been five days. I fear you'll not return by the tenth."

I pull my head back and stop in my tracks just as the Hound turns and chuckles, "don't worry, little girl. I like the wages of a Lord. Your hound isn't running."

"I know you're not running!" I snap, "I wonder why you think so poorly of yourself!"

"I think poorly of myself?" he hisses and points to his chest.

"Yes!" I bark and push myself up on my tiptoes to prove a point, "and since you are so keen to put words in my mouth, I hope you shove all the fucking pie the unwitting peasants gave you down your blasted throat!"

The Hound is shocked by my profanity. His face slips into confusion.

I heave and pull back, intent on walking away. And I do. I should have never waited for him.

"What fucking pie?"

I snap and turn back at him, "the one you could have eaten fresh had you spared a moment this morning before leaving for a monster hunt!"

Sandor is wholeheartedly confused.

I am aggravated by his expression. I wave my hands, unintentionally putting out the flame of my candle, "they love you, Hound! They're thankful and grateful!"

Though it was darker now, I see his face pinch in to a sort of disgusted disbelief. The sight infuriates me, it squeezes my heart, it pricks me frustration. I wipe my face and repeat the words that were spoken to me, "tell Lord Clegane that without him my children would be dead. Tell Lord Clegane that he has saved me family from hunger. Tell Lord Clegane that me, and my sons, and my sheep are happy to-"

"I didn't do it for them," Sandor cuts me off with a hand raise.

I purse my lips and slowly pull my head back at his words.

He lowers his hand and eyes me for a moment. I see how his gaze drinks my figure. He clenches his jaw and looks away, "you should be asleep."

My jaw slacks.

I wait for him to look at me. I wait for him to ask if I was going to sleep with Lucy again. I wait for him to apologize for keeping me up worrying. I wait for him to bring up Daisy. I wait him to do something, but he doesn't.

My eyes water, "my lo-"

"Good night," he dismisses and turns around to walk away.

"Aren't you-" my voice cracks, "-going to ask me to go to bed with you?"

He stops in his tracks. He does not look back, "do you want me to?"

I furrow my brows deeply. I feel like I was drowning. I let out a shaky breath and wrap my arms around myself. I shake my head and turn away. I chuckle dryly, "forgive me for even asking."

Sandor turns back, jaw hanging, hands clenched. He does nothing but watch.

"Do you know what's going to happen now, little girl?"

"Yes."

"What's going to happen?"

"You're going to fuck me."

Sandor laughs lowly, placing his hands on my cheeks. He swipes his thumb on my lips, "filthy mouth."

He kisses me deeply.

"Tell me honest," he mutters through kisses, "have you ever done this before?" he speaks as his hands paw at my sides, "I would not judge you if you did."

I squeak when he touches me between my thighs.

He draws out a deep breath, "no, of course you haven't; you're a good girl."

I gasp at the sound of thunder. I jolt up from my bed-- I turn to my side, seeing a sleeping Lucy's form-- or I mean, Lucy's bed. I look for Daisy in the room as I slowly push the blankets off me. I still when I realize she wasn't here.

I huff and wipe my face. I try to push away the thoughts of Daisy out of my head. I try not to think of her so much because I end up melancholy and furious. I, instead, find myself drifting to the dream I just had-- been having.

The mind can be so treacherous. I nibble my lower lip and rub my belly.

I tried, you know. I went to the Hound the morning after we fought about his coming home late. I tried to make peace with him. I tried to persuade him. I tried to kiss him.

I gasp again when another crack of thunder echoes through the room.

He wasn't having it though. He pushed me away and told me it was wrong, that we shouldn't be doing that. He left the estate shortly after. He hasn't been home since.

I get out of bed and light a candle for myself. I walk to my bedroom and light any of the candles that went off on my way. I wrap my arms around myself and rub my skin. I open the door to room as softly as possible, though it didn't really matter in the end because it was pouring outside and the noise wouldn't be loud.

With a barely audible creak, the door opens.

And it was also empty.

I sigh at the made bed. I walk towards it and smoothen out the already smooth sheets. I decide to get dressed for the day.

I head to the office, which as empty as the bedroom. I light the candles there.

I sit down on the desk and go through the papers, the letters of requests, the list of complaints, the finances, the works. I rub my eyes, willing my sleep away. I look out my window, seeing barely any hint of sun through the dark clouds.

I don't know how exactly how much time passed between then and when Arron burst in, but it must have been a while, considering how nice it felt to stand after hearing him shout, "HE'S HOME, MILADY!"

I immediately blow out the candles as Arron tells me the Hound was in the living area. I thank him for telling me, gather my skirts, and jog out of the room.

I cannot hear the click of my heels over the sound of the persisting rain-- the persisting storm.

I stop in my tracks when I see a trail of water in the corridor that led to my bedroom.

A crack of lightning bolts through the sky when I walk in and ask "where have you been?!"

The Hound is dripping in rain water. He has his back turned to me. He is undoing his armor.

I clench my fists and storm up to him. I circle in front of him the same time he walks towards the closet. He stops there, still undoing his armor, back turned to me again.

I scowl, "Hound! I'm speaking to you!"

He looks over his shoulder, the one he was trying to undo, "what? I can't hear you over the rain."

I burn hot with anger and march up to him, "I asked where you've been!"

The Hound looks down at me. He releases the grip on his shoulder, "does it matter where I've been?"

"Yes!" I snap, "you haven't come home in 7 days."

He scoffs, "thrilling to know you've been counting," he points to the window, "well, as you can see, it's fucking storming."

"It wasn't storming the day you left," I hiss.

"Well, it was when I decided to come to my beautiful wife," he leans down and jeers.

I knit my brows at him and pull back when I smell the alcohol in his breath.

He takes my chin between his fingers, "come on give us a smile."

I pull away from him, heart racing, chin burning, even though his touch got my skin damp with rain water.

The Hound straightens up and undoes his armor again.

I step away from him, "Job said he saw you in the next town over."

"Who the fuck is Job?" he asks, not bothering to look at me.

"Polly's father."

"The stable boy?" he turns to me.

"Yes," I hiss and I feel anger build up in me.

He says nothing.

I nearly choke when I say the next words, "he said he saw you coming out of brothel."

The Hound stills. He drops his hands to the side.

Both of us just stand there for a moment. The rain seems to intensify, and so does the tension between us.

"Tell me the truth," I mutter, "do you-"

"It was the town with the fucking unavailable inn," he shifts in his spot to turn to me, "I went to the brothel instead and paid for lodging there."

I purse my lips at his words. That was not what I was going to ask him. I battle with myself, trying to find the words I want to say. I revise my words over and over again in my head. There were so many things I wanted to say, yet so little ways to make it easy to speak out.

I shake my head, "am I very hard to want?"

Sandor feels rain water drip from his fingers.

I don't know how I feel about the bewildered and perplexed expression that spreads across his face. I do know one thing at least, I feel too exhausted to cry.

I sigh and shrug, "I am no fool, Hound. I learned through the gossip of my maids and my aunts growing up that men are simply like... this. It is their nature to stray. Of course, I hoped different for myself, but we cannot have it all, can we?"

"But I didn't do anything," he snaps. He deflates, "I swear by the gods, old and new."

I press my lips into a tight smile. I slowly walk up to him. He watches me intently. I hear his breath hitch when I begin to undo his armor for him. I half expect him to make me stop. He doesn't.

Sandor steps forward. There's barely any space between us anymore. His heart is racing. His hands itch to touch. He releases a breath when his hand comes to my side.

My stomach swirls at the feel of his palm but I do nothing. Neither do I look at him when I mutter, "maybe you should."

Sandor watches me remove his armor. He furrow his brows and whispers, "what?"

I drop the steel plate to the ground with a clank. It is loud even with the sound of pouring rain.

He doesn't like it when he receives no reply. He takes my wrist. I stop my task. His hand is warm albeit the dampness, and so very gentle. 

I finally look up at him.

He leans closer and speaks louder. He shakes his head and furrows his brows, "what did you say, pretty squirrel?"

I raise my brows, "maybe you should."

"Should what?"

"Do something in the brothels."

His face falls. We stare at each other for a moment. He is clearly in disbelief.

I pull my hand out of his grip. He almost doesn't let me.

"It's not a trick, I swear it."

"What are you saying?" he shakes his head faster and finds himself playing on the offensive, "you want me to be with someone else?!"

"I want a baby," I mutter.

Sandor's face falls again, but then it twists. It is unbearable to look at.

"Find a woman you desire," I turn away from him, "and give her your seed. You may keep her here if you like, and I will let her take care of the babe, but the babe will be mine."

His lips part.

"You're right. I don't want the memory of my family to be tainted by monstrosity-"

He shakes his head once more.

"-and I am the last of my line. My line lives on with House Clegane. People remember names, not blood."

He takes my hand, "I desire you."

I cannot help it. I begin to cry because of that. I break into both tears and laughter, "you needn't shield my heart, Sandor."

Sandor's stomach drops, both at the fact his own words have been used against him and with how his name was spoken.

I place a hand on his cheek.

His knees go weak.

"We've both hurt enough," I smile, "I know you think otherwise, but I'm not a little girl. I know sometimes winning means admitting defeat when the loss is great."

He grabs both my wrists when I try to pull away. I gasp when he does so. He holds me for a second then releases my wrists to capture my cheeks instead. He wipes my tears with his thumbs. He swipes my lips, "I love you."

I screw my eyes shut and cling onto his forearm. I let out another laugh, "I don't think you hurt people that you love, my lord."

The Hound is pierced through his armor.

He doesn't put up a fight when I pull his hands off me.

I continue to undo his armor. He doesn't move an inch.

"Will you sleep with me tonight?" he whispers. The sound of the rain is too loud that only him and the gods heard it.

Sandor had been out of it ever since his pretty squirrel ate his insides. He was thick faced, literally and figuratively; he's learned to take pride in it, to find solace in the fact all the years of flesh ripping torture-- figuratively and literally, had made him indifferent to what people think, made him apathetic, numb.

And yet her smile that day was worse than a sword through the spleen. Her disbelief in his words-- because she was right, you don't hurt people you love-- was heart wrenching, blood draining.

What do you say to that? How do you fix that?

You don't.

He knows you don't. You can't fix something like that.

And since this truth has dawned on him, since this truth has slit his throat, he's been a headless, mindless fucker. He was a dead man walking, and one more unwitting monster attack away from making it real.

"MILORD!" Carter cries, raising his sword to hack at the monster who managed to swipe his lately-been-aloof Lord Clegane.

The boy is fired up; his blood is pumping enough to enable him to cut the black demon's arm off and sequentially pierce it through its heart. Carter does it with a scream and regrets it a moment later; after all, they were in the middle of the woods.

They have to get out of here.

Sandor makes a pained noise. He feels heat surge down his arm and cold shiver up his spine.

"YOU'RE BLEEDING!" Carter gasps, mortified that his lord's armor was scraped off his back. The boy realizes suddenly that his Lord, the fearsome Hound, was not invincible. This newfound truth rips into his ribs the way, he thinks, the monsters would.

The boy immediately takes the Hound in his arms, though it wasn't like he could actually carry him if he wanted. Sandor steadies himself on the boy; Carter struggles even with that task. 

Still, the smaller manages to support his Lord out of the woods.

The next thing Sandor knows, he's screaming and thrashing. He vaguely hears the sound of footsteps skidding away from him.

"What's happening, Maester Yannick?!"

A deep sigh, "he probably feels the pain now."

Sandor realizes he's sat down on a stool, leaned against a table, or at least he was before he started flailing his arms around. He lets out a guttural cry as he pushes himself up. He realizes he's in the ward, being attended by the maester, and his wife was present and very troubled.

"My lord!" Yannick exclaims, raising his hands in both surrender and an attempt to soothe, "it's alright. I have stitched your wounds closed. Do not tear them open "

Sandor huffs through his nostrils. He turns to his side when he hears the soft way his name was spoken. Lady Clegane walks closer, hand wanting to reach out to him. He almost reaches back but then she digs her nails into her palms.

He sinks into the stool and watches her look at him. Her eyes are glassy. Why are they always glassy?

"My lord," Yannick walks towards him, "I'm going to wrap your wounds now."

Sandor huffs in agreement, or more accurately, acknowledgement. His eyes are still fixed on her though. He watches her hover around him, evidently unsure about approaching him.

He wants to reach out to her. He wants to touch her, to soothe her so, so badly.

He's shocked when she decides to take his hand and whispers, "shall I get you milk of the poppy?" 

Sandor looks up at her. Her voice was shaky and he hates how worried it sounded, how desperate. He hates how her eyes were constantly red. He knits his brows, "no."

She hisses, "are you certain? Your gashes are deep. No one in the world would fault you for wanting something to relieve the pain."

"I want to feel it," he mutters, "I want to feel."

She looks between the two of them in a panic, "but you've lost so much blood--"

"Perhaps," Yannick interrupts firmly. He starts binding his wounds, "he wants to feel precisely because he's light headed after losing blood."

Sandor straightens up slowly as he is instructed to. His attention is solely focused on the sensation on his hand though, on how the jittery squirrel was rubbing her soft fingers on his calloused skin.

She persists with this action until his chest and back is bound, she persists until Maester Yannick leaves the room, she persists until, next moment, she drops on her knees beside him. The Hound reacts in an instant.

He gets on the floor beside her, uncaring how it hurt his back, and clutches her face. He calls her name in horror.

"Are you punishing me?" she whispers as water in her eyes threaten to spill.

Sandor knits his brows deeply. He can't speak. He's too afraid to. Everything he's said up until that point has done nothing but rip them both apart. He was a hound after all.

"Are you trying to kill yourself to get back at me?" she mutters, distressed, pained, and defeated.

His face contorts even more. He hesitates but then shakes his head, "no."

"The boy said you've been acting differently as of late!" she grabs his wrists, "ever since I told you what I wanted from you."

His lips twitch. He looks away.

She tightens her grip, "please."

He is suddenly so acutely aware of his injuries. The pain throbs all the way through his heart.

"Please," she begs softly, "just tell me what you want from me-"

"Everything."

The way he responded was quick, as if it was practiced, as if it was reflex.

He avoids her gaze. He takes a deep breath. He waits for a response he somehow knows will never come.

When he turns to her, he notices how her face dropped. Gods, Sandor. Get it together.

"I want-" he starts but cannot continue because of how guilty he feels over the sight of her wobbling lip.

Sandor's hands loosen. They melt from her cheeks, down her shoulders. He grips the area, as if she was water about to slip through his fingers. He releases a breath, and with it, it seems, his thoughts escape. He mutters somethings that mean nothing. She doesn't understand anything.

She whimpers, "I have nothing left to give; you already have it all."

The Hound freezes when his cheek is touched, when his scar is touched. It's like it's being burned all over again.

"Is there something I can give you now?" she huffs uneasily.

He sighs. He feels the wounds throbbing; he feels his head pounding, "no."

"Then will you let me go now?" 

No. No, no, no, no-

"Or, please, at least loosen your grip."

Immediately, Sandor releases her shoulders. She sequentially lets out a breath and rubs the area. There is an imprint on the area of her exposed skin.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck-

"Do you want me to stay?"

Yes. "Do you want to stay?"

"I had planned to finish some errands before going to bed."

Sandor averts his gaze then slowly crawls back to his stool, "then leave."

It almost hurts as much as his cuts how quickly she stands. She looks down at him, "I will leave you to your solidarity."

Please don't go.

"I will tell Maester Yannick to come back to attend to you, Hound."

Hound. It sounds like shattering glass.

Sandor listens to the click of her heels as she leaves him.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Vidas Pasadas (Past Lives)

PART ONE: THE SHOW MUST GO ON

Mini-Series Masterlist

Also on AO3

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Latina!Reader (Spanish speaking)

WC: 2.5k words

Series Summary: Before the great war, you were an actress—A good friend and frequent co-star of Cooper Howard. After two hundred years in cryogenic stasis, you’re being sent to New Vegas as a performer, but on the way there, things don’t go quite as planned.

Warnings: MINORS DNI, series is 18+, canon typical violence, some angst, friends to lovers-ish?, some miscommunications, eventual smut, chem use, there’ll be some Spanish in there for sure (with translations), cursing, the ghoul being the ghoul, aaaaand that’s all I can think of for now but lmk if anything else!

A/N: This is INCREDIBLY self indulgent, but imagine yourself in these shoes for a moment why don’t you? :) hope you enjoy! pt.1 dedicada ao meu amor @the-devils-littlegirl <33

——————-

The holotape was a little over two hundred years old, but it was in relatively good condition. It contained a talk show interview with two actors who were promoting a Western film. The image was in black and white, fuzzy with time, and the voices sounded tinny. 

“So tell me, both of you, what’s it been like working on so many pictures together?” The interviewer, Holden Boyd, asked. “This must be — what, the fourth one?”

“That’s right. You know, Holden, in all my years in this industry, I have never met anyone more professional,” Cooper Howard, the handsome hero of the film, turned to you, sitting beside him. “But she also knows how to keep things balanced between work and play. We laugh a lot behind the scenes, actually.”

“Really?” Holden asked, leaning forward with renewed interest. “Well, that doesn’t surprise me, you two have some incredible chemistry on screen.”

“Well, gee, Coop, do we really?” You couldn’t help but grin at him, making him chuckle. “Maybe that’s why we keep getting cast together.”

“And how’s his Spanish? Are you teaching him any?” Holden asked you. 

“I’ve certainly tried,” you said, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “Say something, why don’t you?”

Cooper’s smile turned sheepish, shaking his head. “Errr… No muy bueno, pero intento.”

His thick southern accent made you and Holden laugh, invariably charmed. In the background, claps and cheers from the live audience, equally smitten. Cooper always knew how to win people over, it was like second nature to him.

“He’s a natural!” Holden exclaimed. “Say the line Coop, you know the one.”

Cooper cleared his throat, squared his shoulders and pretended to point a gun, his expression fully serious.“Feo, Fuerte, y Formal.”

An eruption of cheers, louder than before. You clapped in delight, smiling ear to ear as you bumped your shoulder against his playfully.

“Ah, I see you’ve found our tapes,” the mechanical voice of vault thirty-one’s overseer startled you. 

You looked down at… it, still not used to interacting with a motorized brain suspended in some sort of tank. Bud, you thought it said its name was. Vaguely familiar, but your memories were still hazy, having been in cryogenic stasis for so long. 

“Why do you have these?” You asked.

“Everything pertaining to Hollywood was preserved for archival purposes. Feel free to watch anything you like,” Bud said. “We have all of your films, as well as interviews, press clippings, and pictures.”

You looked back at the screen, crossing your arms over your chest and trying not to shudder. You had me, too. You thought, stomach turning. A shiny toy shelved away for later use.

You’d gotten a spot in vault thirty one in exchange for compliance — after all, the future would need entertainers, right? And the nostalgia factor would just sell so well. You would be totally set for whatever came… or so they’d said.

It hadn’t seemed like a terrible deal at the time, but you hadn’t truly realized how tremendous the losses would be. Or how much things could veer off course in two centuries. 

Cooper was gone, and so was everyone else you had ever cared for. Bud hadn’t said what happened to your former co-star, but it didn't need to. 

 You had entered the vault all by yourself, with no family or spouse to consider. And just a few days ago, you had been greeted by that same loneliness when you’d emerged from the pod. 

Some things never changed, it seemed. Perhaps New Vegas wouldn’t be a terrible distraction, all things considered.

“Feels like it was only yesterday…” you said, keeping the melancholy out of  your voice.

“Doesn’t it? That’s the best part of the stasis pods. Keeps one fresh,” Bud said, chipper. “How’s your head feeling, by the way?”

“Better,” you sighed. “Barely any pain left.”

“Oh, good. You should be ready to travel to New Vegas in a couple more days. I’ve been in touch with a trusted courier that should be able to escort you there safely.”

A tinge of fear in your chest. “How… bad is it out there?”

“Well, er, it’s… not great. But we’ll get there! I’ve heard New Vegas has a lot more going for it than these parts,” Bud said quickly, not wanting to linger on the negative. “Vault twenty one, where you’ll be staying, was turned into a hotel. Lots of people passing by. I’m sure it’ll be easy for you to attract the crowds.” 

Stepping towards the projector, you ejected the holotape, unable to watch any more. The memories would consume you far too easily, if you let them. That life had crumbled to dust long ago, and there was nothing you could do to change that, either.

What other choice did you have but to trudge forward?

“For both our sakes, Bud, I really hope that’s true.”

————————————-

As with most things, Bud had severely understated just how bad things were on the surface. The sight of it had instantly struck you— Nothing was left but ruins and desert plains stretching as far as the eye could see. No one but you and the courier — a weathered, gruff looking middle-aged man — around for miles.

You’d left your vault suit behind in exchange for the clothes you’d worn when you first went in. You were also given a small survival pack, a tranquilizer gun, and a pip boy, but that was the extent of your belongings.

 The courier handed you a hat and an old scarf to cover yourself from the sun and the sand, instructing you to keep close before whirling around and starting to walk.

Did he even say what his name was? You couldn’t recall, but you were too busy being in shock to care too much.

It was all so unceremonious, unlike what you’d been used to in the past. No cars or any other mode of transportation, no roads to smoothly cruise on. No kind words offered for your departure, except for Bud’s overly enthusiastic Good luck! before opening the vault’s enormous door. 

“Say, how long do you think the… trip is going to take?” You asked, trying to keep your fear at bay. 

“Around three weeks, give or take. That is, if the weather holds and we keep a good pace during the day,” the courier said. “Can’t be out at night around these parts.”

You swallowed hard, wondering what sorts of dangers lurked out there. You had some stunt training, but no actual fighting skills. Hopefully, the tranq gun would be enough, but you also suspected your companion had far deadlier weapons.

Better to stay on his good side, you thought.

“First stop’s at a town called Filly. Got some quick business to take care of there, so we’ll be spending the night,” the courier continued when you didn’t respond. “Keep your head down and let me do the talking. Don’t want anybody to recognize you.”

You nodded, letting out a long sigh. 

“Hopefully they’ve got showers there,” you said, imagining how calming the hot stream of water might be. 

The courier looked at you over his shoulder, incredulous, and barked out a laugh. Your face heated up at his ridicule, mumbling something about vault dwellers to himself with a shake of his head. 

You walked in silence for the next couple of hours, trying to guess what area you might be passing through. Briefly, you wondered if the ruins of your old house still stood somewhere, and if you’d be able to find them. 

But you reminded yourself not to dwell on what no longer existed. 

Soon enough, you started to see signs of humanity. A few stragglers here and there, but the courier steered you in different directions whenever he spotted larger groups. Raiders, he’d told you, a grim look on his face.

 You hurried your step, wanting to put as much distance between you and them as possible. Bud had given you a very basic rundown of what you might encounter on the surface, but while some of it was hard to believe without seeing it firsthand, raiders did not fall under that category.

Still, despite the danger, at least you were reassured that you weren’t the only people left around. 

Filly was a ramshackle town made up of scraps;  A small testament of humanity’s endurance. Vendors were hawking questionable food and other wares at the outskirts of it, the tight pack of more bodies making you nervous. 

Your senses were invaded by smells and noises and even the occasional passerby bumping into you. Life was still brimming, as chaotic as it may seem. Somehow, it made you feel the smallest flicker of hope.

The courier led you through the crowd and down a rickety stairway towards a small square, where there was a little more room to move. The sun was beginning to set, bright tendrils of orange and gold tinting the sky. 

For a brief moment, you stopped to look at it, moved almost to tears by the simple beauty of a sunset. At least, that hadn’t changed either, and you vowed to never take them for granted again. 

“This way,” the courier said, urging you to move. 

Unbeknownst to you, someone had taken notice of the two of you. More specifically, the courier. A hit had been placed on him, worth three hundred caps. There was no reason given for it, but he hadn’t thought to ask questions, anyway. He didn’t much like meddling unnecessarily.

He surreptitiously followed behind, keeping his distance so you wouldn’t notice him. He already stuck out like a sore thumb, what with being a ghoul and all. But, like any bounty hunter worth his salt, he still knew how to lay low.

The courier led you into a repurposed building that rented out closet sized rooms. You paid with a few of the caps Bud had put in your survival pack, relieved that you wouldn’t have to share a room. 

The courier was curt but prudent, in his own way. You were just a task to him, and you knew he would protect you as best as he could because of it. You had nothing against him so far, but you didn’t want to take your chances regardless. 

“Stay in your room, I’m gonna head out for a bit. I’ll bring back some food,” he said, turning to leave.

“Wait!” You hurried behind him, out into the open, where it was growing darker. “Wouldn’t it be better to, uh, stick together?”

“It’s private business,” he grunted, annoyed. “Besides, you’ll be safer in there.”

“But—”

“Hey, you,” you heard from behind you, followed by a commanding whistle. “Sabinez, is it?”

The courier looked up, his eyes immediately widening. “Oh, fuck.”

You followed his gaze, finding a… cowboy. His face was mostly obscured underneath the brim of his hat, but his lack of a nose was still strikingly apparent. Radiation burns marred what little skin you could see, the rest covered in old, tattered leathers. 

A ghoul, from what Bud had described. The see-it-to-believe-it kind of danger. Your stomach dropped.

He was pointing his revolver at the courier – Sabinez –  finger about to squeeze the trigger.

“No, please!” You exclaimed, panicked. 

Foolishly, without even thinking about it, you stepped in front of him, arms extended in an attempt to further shield him. The ghoul raised his hairless eyebrows, both amused and surprised.

“I need him,” you said, heart beating so fast you feared it might leap out of your chest. “Please.”

“How sweet,” the ghoul said mockingly, one hand on his chest. “But as it turns out, sweetheart, I need him, too.”

Before you could react, he raised the barrel of the revolver infinitesimally and fired. A dizzying moment in which the bullet whizzed by your head, and Sabinez’s body slumped behind you, his blood spraying at your back. 

Any onlookers that had stuck around scattered to safety, not wanting to be next in line for whatever the ghoul had planned. You let out a choked sound, too shocked to even scream. Shuddering, you slowly looked over your shoulder, only to avert your gaze quickly.

“No,” you murmured, horrified. “No, no, no…Fuck!”

It was just your luck, encountering death the very first day you finally returned to the surface. You wondered if you should fall to your knees and beg for mercy, but your body refused to move.

The ghoul’s spurs clinked as he stepped towards you, and you raised your hands in surrender, keeping your eyes down.

“You the cargo?” He asked, tilting his head to one side in curiosity. “Let’s get a better look at’cha.”

You whimpered as he grasped one of your arms, his other hand tugging down the scarf that covered half your face. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, eyes roaming over your features.

“Look at me,” he ordered, voice low.

Swallowing hard, you finally dared to look up at him. Tears clung to your lashes, a stray one running down your cheek. He looked more skeletal up close, his eyes sunken in, cheekbones prominent, and of course there was the cavern where his nose would be. 

He removed your hat next, letting go of you and taking a step back. There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite decipher, but you felt a creeping sense of deja vu the longer you looked at him. 

“You…” he said, something like recognition in his voice, as well as disbelief.

“I–Please, I don’t know w-what he did to you but I don’t–” You started to babble, but he interrupted. 

“Where were y’all heading off to?”

“U-um, New Vegas, uh, sir?” You tried to smile placatingly, but it was watery and would slip away at any moment. 

Not only was it strange for him to see you alive and in the flesh, but you were also fearing him. He remembered your earnest smiles, genuinely pleased to see him. Then again, you hadn’t yet recognized who he was. 

He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted you to know, but he also didn’t really want to let you go on your own way. Plus, he’d just killed your only guide, so it was only fair that he took on the job and saw it through.

That way, he could try to find out more about all that had happened, without giving himself away.

“New Vegas, huh,” he mused, letting out a low whistle. “That’s a long ways away, especially if you don’t know where you’re goin’...But it’s your lucky night, sweetheart, ‘cus I just so happen to know the way.”

“R-really? I could pay you if you’d h-help me!” you said quickly, rummaging through your pack to show him some caps. “I’m not sure how much would be enough but… I’ll be making more once I start working.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist now, we can do some negotiating later,” he drawled, lips curling in a smirk as he looked up at the building behind you. “Hope you don’t mind us bunking together.”

Your entire face heated up. “Uh, you can take his room. It’s already paid for.”

“Well, what a generous fella he was,” he said, tossing your stuff back at you. “Jus’ don’t come runnin’ when you get nightmares. I ain’t much of a cuddler.”

----

[thelightsandtheroses]

6. baby, if your love is in trouble

Frankie Morales x female reader | let's get lost chapter 6

Summary: You and Frankie aren’t together anymore but you’re in a good place. However, spending a week together for your mutual friends’ wedding on a luxury resort might challenge that slightly and realising you’re still in love with your ex is a sure-fire recipe for disaster … Tropes: it was always you, getting back with the ex, beach!Frankie (you know *that* photoshoot) miscommunication, only one bed, good parent Frankie Chapter Warnings: 18+ MDNI, mentions of alcohol, some difficult conversations and some kissing(you’ll have to keep reading to know which order that is), allusions to TF canon events, brief discussions or references to addiction recovery, lolabee typical flangst. Word Count: 4.4k Notes: The next chapter is the last full one (there may be an epilogue) so we are very close to the end now. Thank you so much for all your patience and love with this fic, I cannot tell you how much it means to me. Also this chapter is dedicated to @undercoverpena because her art for this fic (and our chat about it afterwards) really reminded me why I love this fic and helped get me out of a little block I had, even if she made me cry (in a good way, honest) - ily jo!

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Time is strange on vacation. The time leading up to it drags, every second feels like an hour, every hour feels like a day. It’s exhausting and draining which only makes you need the break more. Time seems to pass normally - well, almost normally - at the start of a vacation. It's usually somewhere around day two, when the post travel fatigue finally abates, that time changes again. It goes too fast, so just as you finally start to feel relaxed, it’s almost over.

You know the end is coming. Soon Benny and Lia’s wedding will be over, soon you’ll be on a flight home and then you and Frankie will go your separate ways. Back to an empty house that’s haunted by what could have been, to a job that you don’t know if you love, to a life you feel like is existence when it could be so much more.

You don’t want to leave here, not when you and Frankie feel so unresolved.

There are memories of the day before in every inch of this hotel room. The bed that Frankie took you apart so expertly on, the bathroom counter he kissed you against in a way that makes kissing feel like a small world. You remember it was good before, but not like that.

Love.

You still love Frankie. It’s not an easy epiphany; it’s messy and painful and raw. That’s love though. It’s a dangerous yet fragile emotion.

You love Frankie. Did you ever truly stop? When you hated him, when you were furious and your relationship was nothing but scorched earth, it was always more from heartbreak than hatred.

There’s part of you that wants to scream triumphantly, to run into his arms and declare it to the world. It wants to live in this vacation bubble fantasy forever.

You’re a parent though and Clara changes everything. You both need her to have stability in her world, to be able to have her parents as a strong foundation. You’re sensible and scarred and oh so reliable now.

Love isn’t pragmatic, it’s wild.

This morning you questioned if it was enough, if the love could be enough between the two of you to repair those wounds and fill between the holes of your breakup, of Will’s wedding, of the lost trust and bitterness on every side.

“You look serious,” Lia says, a nervous expression covering her face as she sips her drink.

You blink, shaking your head like it can shake away the gremlins in your mind. “Sorry, I was a million miles away.”

The sun warms your skin as you look out at the bright blue around you. Sparking, azure contrasts with the bright white of the catamaran. There’s music playing softly by the bar, light chatter around you and a sense of peacefulness.

“How are you feeling? Are you ready for tomorrow?” you ask, focusing on Lia - definitely not Frankie.

No, you’re definitely not paying attention to Frankie who is just in your eyeline and is wearing a suitably loud shirt that’s completely unbuttoned, allowing a peek of his tanned skin, the faint hints of hair below his navel racing down to -

You jolt at the sudden reminder of what you were doing just a couple of hours ago. The feeling of his skin against yours, the weight of his body that was so welcome. He looks relaxed though, a bottle of soda in his hand, head tilted back as he laughs.

Is it just you who’s panicking? No, no, you don’t think it is. You notice how he looks away just for a moment, the way his free hand is tapping against his leg nervously, the feeling that if you look away maybe he’ll steal a glance at you too.

You hear your name and look back at Lia, even more guilt rising. This, this is exactly what you wanted to avoid.

“Did you and Frankie have an argument?”

“What?”

“Well, you seem out of it and I caught you looking at him just now and … I thought things were better?” You hear the unspoken words ‘please don’t ruin this, please don’t ruin my wedding too’.

“We’re fine,” you say, “Good. It’s all good.”

“I know it must be awkward sharing with him, but you’ve nearly made it through the whole break!”

“Honestly, Lia, we’re fine. Good. Yeah, it’s not a thing.”

“I just - I’m very intuitive, I can feel tension when you two look at each other.” It’s the other type of tension, you think. The type of tension when just a few hours ago he was inside of you, where he was tracing kisses along your jawline. It’s the type of tension that only happens when after that you panic and make everything worse.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Frankie and I are -”

“Fine?” Lia squeezes your arm. “Just, just don’t let it fester.”

You want to tell her everything, you desperately crave her advice. You want to sip a cocktail and giggle with her about what happened, have her console your panic. This vacation isn’t about you though. It’s for her, for her and Benny. So your anxieties and secrets will have to fester, it’s the only way.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Nothing … relax Santi.”

“I’m not fucking relaxed when …” Santi says something you can’t hear. You shift nervously, aware that you’ve walked into something you shouldn’t be hearing. You just needed a break for a moment and you had no idea they were here though. You just wanted to get another drink.

“I was there, I remember.”

“Just, she’s not gonna ….” You need to get closer so you can hear more.

You edge just a little closer, feeling the condensation around the soda bottle as you lean just a little more so you can make out their words. You feel guilty but it’s a chance to finally understand where Frankie is in all this, especially after what’s happened today. It’s probably wrong to admit, but this feels like a litmus test of where this all could possibly end up, if there really is hope.

“She’s the mother of my child, Santi, she’s the person I love.” Frankie is so firm, so quietly assertive and matter of fact about this it takes your breath away.

He loves you. He still loves you and for the first time, maybe it does feel like enough. The warmth surges through your body and you smile to yourself.

“Love?” Santi spits. “After Will’s wedding? After that breakup? You might forget it was my sofa you crashed on, but I saw it all, Frankie.” And there’s the reality crush you were waiting for.

“I was high, I was high and it was a shit night for everyone and I’m sorry about that. It’s the past though. You’ve all gotta stop talking about it, stop waiting for her to react. It’s not right, Santi, not for her and not for me.”

“It’s not you, it’s-”

“She’s on eggshells, and so am I. We’re so scared of being the ones who wreck another - you have no idea what’s in her head. The pressure -” You watch how Frankie runs a hand through his hair, how he leans against the wall of the cabin.

He gets it, you think, he actually understands what’s happening for you and how you feel.

“Must be a lot for you.”

“Not just me, like I said.”

“Okay, I hear you.”

“Good.”

“You know, the way you’re being, it’s like you’re …” Santi pauses and looks at Frankie seriously “Frankie, oh shit. Oh shit. You two fucked?”

You freeze - how has Santi worked it out? Will everyone else now? The tension twists your stomach into knots. Is it that obvious?

“Don’t, Santi.”

“I warned you, I freaking told you that sharing a room was a bad idea.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever..”

“So, what now? Are you getting back together?”

“I don’t know. It’s not just up to me, right? It’s not that simple. Besides, it only happened today - it’s not been, we haven’t even had a chance to figure it out yet.“

“Oh, you slut, Frankie,” Santi teases affectionately. “So, I don’t even know what to say, bro. But you say you love her; she looks at you like … I don’t know. Sounds like you’re overcomplicating it. Isn’t it that simple?”

“There’s Clara - I can’t bring her down, bro, I just can’t be that fucking guy.” You watch as Frankie wipes his eyes roughly and wish you were closer to him so you could squeeze his arm and reassure him. You hadn’t realised he was worried about the same thing as you.

You hear your name being called and immediately cringe as Frankie looks around, a slightly startled expression on his face. Santi doesn’t say anything but he squeezes Frankie’s shoulders as he walks away.

He sees you standing there and just shakes his head a little - it’s not angry, it’s almost affectionate in fact. “You two are gonna be the fucking death of me, I swear,” he says in a whisper.

You don’t reply, you just wait because you know Frankie’s going to find you in a moment..

“How much of that did you hear?” Frankie asks when he spots you. He runs one hand in his hair and leans slightly against the door jamb. His eyes are downcast, avoiding you and you want to see them, to know what he’s thinking.

“Nothing.” It’s a terrible lie, the sort of tone Clara uses when she sneaks cookies or candy.

He says your name, draws it out teasingly as he cups your face to meet his eyes. He’s so warm, radiating body heat and ease. Comfort. It’s a pleasant warmth that eases your knotted stomach.

“I may have heard something about you being a slut,” you tease,” “And that maybe you’re worried about messing it all up too.”

“You didn’t know that?”

“I have been having my own existential crisis if you hadn’t noticed!”

“Yeah, your brain whirs pretty loud when those happen.”

“I’m always whirring,” you say.

He pulls you closer, one hand resting casually on your hip and he’s close enough you can smell the sea-salt on his skin, the slight ghost of his cologne and suncream too. You look at the hand on your skin, follow every detail of it up until you meet you his eyes. You catalogue every detail on the way; a mix of freckles, sun-stained skin and muscle, the stubble that just hours ago was on you, memories of it against your thighs intrude your soliloquy.

”I - I didn’t mean to make things awkward with you and Santi. I didn’t realise he … he had such a problem, with us, I mean. With me.”

“He doesn’t. Not really,” Frankie says softly, “How would Lia initially react? Santi is the one I went to after we broke up and maybe - maybe it’s hard for him to look at some of the triggers for back then. It’s not an excuse, I was - you know I relapsed before Clara, but it wasn’t bad then, it wasn’t as bad. It was just a few times and I was in meetings and dealing with it and then - then well, you remember what happened.”

“Oh.” You remember Frankie’s ashen face when he returned from Colombia. You’d been furious with him - exhausted from sleepless nights with Clara and an aching, terrifying fear that you were going about your life when Frankie was lying dead somewhere. It had been a catalyst for your relationships end, of course, but what it really did was light a spark for Frankie’s addiction. You wondered for a long time if Frankie ever came back to you or if he’d died like Tom, just in a less invisible way.

He’s back now though. He’s here.

He’s here.

You lean into him, kissing him lightly on the lips. A confirmation of the moment, of the feeling between the two of you. A reminder that you’re here too.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

“You heard that? I - if you want the truth, I never stopped. I’m not sure I could ever stop being in love with you,” Frankie admits.

“I’m scared of this, of what happens if it goes wrong again.”

“Then at least we tried, right? At least we know, because this limbo isn’t right either, baby. I think - I think we can do it this time. I’m clean and I don’t want to go to back, not when it risks Clara, not when it risks you. I don’t like the me back then.”

“I definitely got a lot wrong too.”

“We’ve got this.”

Frankie pulls you tightly against him, one hand entwined in yours as meets your lips again briefly.

“You and me?” you say, more as a question than a statement.

“You and me,” he repeats.

“We tell them after the wedding, we’re not taking over another wedding, Frankie.”

“That works for me.”

He kisses you again, deepening the kiss, as the two of you pour all the words you want to say but that get stuck in your throat into this moment. He spins you against the wall of the boat, moves his hand down from your shoulder to your chest, to the edge of your swimsuit and although he’s barely touching you, it immediately sends heat and shivers to your stomach. Frankie’s always had an effect on you, always been able to tease those sounds and crescendos of pleasure that seemed so far away before.

There’s something about his smile when he notices the effect he has on you. The hint of surprise in his eyes combine with a steely confidence, a slight cockiness that he is the one causing this, that you’re responding to him.

He moans into your mouth as you pull him closer against you yet, wanting to move somewhere else, somewhere you can be alone.

You stumble slightly and Frankie grabs your arm, places the other on the wall to steady yourselves. A tangle of limbs and the two of you smile. His phone falls out of his pocket, the sound echoing around you.

“Shit,” he says quietly.

You both spring apart and look around nervously. Close, so close. You wait for the voices, for one of your friends to call you or worse, to come over.

“We should -”

“Yeah, yeah. Uh - we should.”

You lean back against the wall and shut your eyes, willing your heart rate to slow down, letting the adrenaline burn off.

She’s the person I love.

Maybe, just maybe you were wrong earlier. Perhaps love is enough.

The rehearsal dinner is an informal affair. Lia and Benny deliberately opted for an earlier dinner time so that Clara could be part of it and have already said they’re eschewing as much of the formality for the rehearsal as they can.

It’s considerate and thoughtful and you’re so glad you’ve been able to make this wedding trip work as a family vacation too.

Of course, in practice, scheduling the dinner for just a couple of hours after getting back from the boat trip is far more stressful than they may have anticipated. Especially with a toddler.

“I wanted to stay in kids club,” she cries to Frankie, face screwed up with tears and arms folded.

“I know, baby, but you’ll get to go after the wedding.”

“Tomorrow?”

“No, tomorrow’s Uncle Benny and Aunt Lia’s wedding.”

“This isn’t fair,” she cries, “we were making puppets!”

Frankie looks up at you helplessly. You’re half-dressed, your dress unzipped and no-makeup yet, your hair still damp from the shower.

“Clara, we need to get ready for dinner now,” he says steadily.

“Daddy’s right, Clara, it’s time.”

“No.”

“Clara,” Frankie says, a hint of firmness slowly coming through in his voice. He looks exhausted but he’s meeting your daughter’s eyes, trying to gently assert that she needs to get moving. “It’s time to get ready now. You will get to go to the kids’ club again, but not right now. Now, we’re going to dinner and when we get back, you can watch one episode of your show before bed, okay?”

”Okay.” Clara had clearly forgotten she’d already negotiated that episode of her show earlier in the morning.

Frankie smiles at you as Clara toddles over to you, ready to comply.

“Need a hand?” he asks, pointing at the zip.

“Sure.”

Your eyes watch Clara carefully choosing between two pairs of shoes as Frankie comes up behind you, touches the back of your shoulder before he glides the zip up and gently kisses the side of your neck.

“Frankie.”

“She’s not looking,” he says in a low voice, “and that fucking dress always destroys me.”

You smile, “I know.”

“Why, are you planning to seduce me?”

”Maybe, haven’t decided yet. Play your cards right and perhaps you’ll see….”

Frankie laughs, low and with genuine happiness. He claps his hands together lightly as he moves over to Clara.

”C’mon, princesa, let’s get this show on the road.”

The dinner was a success and now everyone is milling around the bar, enjoying the sunset and each fleeting moment of this vacation.

Clara's on Frankie's hip as he talks to Will and Benny, one of his arms on Benny's shoulder as they all laugh.

You could get used to this again.

You're still at the table, having spent most of the dinner talking with Lia who is now working the rest of the party.

You take a sip of the dregs of your drink and shut your eyes, letting the moment sink in.

There's the sound of a chair being pulled next to you.

You open your eyes to see Sophie sititng next to you. She's wearing a stunning dress that seems to match the sunset and her makeup is immaculate as ever. You don't feel self conscious though, don't feel the usually creeping doubts rising.

You feel a little different actually. Maybe it's relaxing, maybe it's the vacation, maybe it's hope.

Sophie looks at you carefully and lowers her wine glass. “I know you are a good friend to Lia and that you care about Benny.”

“Of course.”

She leans closer to you, a subtle hint of alcohol and fruity cocktails radiating around her. “I also know that despite what you say, you and Frankie - you aren’t over. You still want to be with him. Everyone knows he’s not over you. I’ve seen your face this week.”

“What are you saying Soph?”

“If you two want to figure things out, to see if there’s something still there, then you guys do that. You’re both adults.”

“I’m sensing a but here.”

“I love you both. I do. It’s just you and Frankie are like storms. You’re beautiful and powerful and sometimes a little inspiring too. You endure and you survive, but you leave wreckage in your wake. Wreckage and destruction no-one wants on their wedding day. Trust me. I lived it with you that day.”

You burn with shame as her words land. The memories of Sophie and Will’s wedding feel like an albatross around your neck, something that can never be forgotten or erased.

You’re sick of it - it makes you think your friends will never truly support you and Frankie reconciling, despite Sophia’s words. If they’ll always be watching, guarded and waiting for the chaos or storm, then how can you and Frankie ever relax.

“What are you saying?” you ask in a low voice.

“I’m saying that this is Benny and Lia’s moment. I’m saying that I can’t - I can’t sit by and watch them go through what I - what we … you know what I’m saying. Not while you and Frankie are in a vacation bubble that isn’t - it isn’t real,”

“Things are different. We’re both different. Frankie’s clean now too.”

“I know, and I can’t pretend I know how it felt for you that day, or the ones that led up to it. I know you’ve been through a lot too. I just - Benny’s like my little brother and I know Will can’t say this to you, but we’re all worried. So, I’m going to be the bad guy, but it’s out of love, I promise. I promise. I love you both so much, and I love Benny and Lia too.”

“It wouldn’t be like that. It wouldn’t - that was a - we hit rock bottom, but it wouldn’t happen again.”

“You can’t know that,” Sophie says simply, “So I am begging you, please don’t pull us all back into that storm. Think of Clara.”

The final punch meets its target.

You feel deflated, completely and utterly deflated. You avert your gaze to the paved stones beneath your feet, blink back tears.

In a way, Sophie’s right. You can never know it won’t happen again, that’s love though, right? You have known for years that they saw you and Frankie’s demise as wreckage they were pulled into, that you two became the problem friends as you both lashed out after the breakup, trying to retain control of the uncontrollable in the only way you knew how. You knew this deep down.

It hurts though. It is agonising to realise that every one of your anxieties and fears here was correct, that your friends still treat you with kid gloves, that you and Frankie will always be the problem couple. Even if you get back together, even if it’s perfect, everyone will be waiting for the storm to hit.

“Oh no, I’ve overstepped, I’m sorry. I - I - I’ve drunk too much. Ignore me. Wine makes me funky,” Sophie says, looking panicked.

If it’s a fight, if love is truly a battle, then you need people in your corner. You need to know that the people you love are rooting for you as well, that there is a support network. You require someone to encourage the two of you as things get tough, as you do battle against your anxieties, Frankie’s demons and anything else life throws at you and to know they won’t judge either of you.

It’s clear now that your friends are not in your corner though. Instead, they view you and Frankie as adversaries, not allies, and they’re always waiting cautiously for the next round of hits to land.

How do you try again if no one else really wants you to? If they all think the worst?

You ruined Sophie’s wedding. What on earth makes you think you deserve a happy ending with Frankie after that?

You needed Sophi’s buy-in, you needed her support. You hadn’t realised that until now, but it’s clear. You knew it the moment Sophie started speaking to you. There’s an anxious and scared version of you that requires your friends’ validation, their support that trying all over again is a good thing, that it won’t fuck up your daughter, or your friendships all over again.

Without this, you’re at sea without a buoy, without a lighthouse. You’re floundering in the dark in a lifejacket and rapidly realising hope alone won’t get you to land.

“I need to go,” you say, brushing Sophie’s hand of your arm and heading down towards the beach.

You walk across the sand nervously. You’re hoping the sea will have answers, will calm you down. The sound of waves lapping in and out is like someone soothing you, saying it’s going to be okay.

You sit down rest your head against your knees. You just need a minute, to let it out.

So you do, you finally let yourself break.

Several minutes later, you hear footsteps behind you and a concerned voice saying your name,

You look over to see Frankie. His top three buttons are unbuttoned and his brow is furrowed as he takes in your general demeanour.

“Where’s Clara?” you sniffle.

“Lia’s taking her back to our room, and we’ll meet her there. She also said she needs an early night with the wedding tomorrow. Hey, hey what’s - what’s wrong?”

“I think we’ve made a terrible mistake, Frankie, I’m so sorry,” you manage to say before you burst into tears. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Frankie pales, sinking next to you. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t think any of our friends want us to get back together - how can they all be wrong?”

“Santi isn’t all our friends. I told you he’s projecting his own shit.”

“It’s not just Santi!”

“Who said something? What the fuck did they say? This is our relationship, okay? It’s not theirs. They don’t have a say.”

“When we ruined their wedding, they do.”

“So, it’s Will or Sophie. What did they say? I’m going to fucking -”

“And storm into the rehearsal dinner and prove their point, yell at Sophie? Cause a scene and have tonight go down as yet another of our disasters?”

“You’re crying. Sophie had no right to -”

“I’ve had wine, it’s fine. It’s just hot and I’m worried about going home and - I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“It’s a reality check. I hadn’t realised. I thought they’d be happy for us, but perhaps they can’t be.”

“They’ll see,” he says desperately, “we’ll show them it’s real. That it’s different this time.”

“Frankie, I need to know, what happens when we go back?” you ask.

He sits down beside you and takes your hand. “I want to say something smooth, talk you through how I’m going to woo you, and I am going to woo you, tell you that it’s all going to be great.”

“Good start.”

“I can’t promise that though, not right now. Not knowing what you’ve just said. I want to think our friends will be happy for us, but they might not be. Or they might be cautious. It’s us though, it’s you and me. I know that this vacation has reminded me of how much I lost, how much I want every day back with you and Clara.”

“If our friends aren’t supporting us, how do we even carry on? What do we do? Do we cut everyone we love -”

“No.”

“So what then, Frankie?” You barely recognise your voice between your sobs and the way it’s so shrill, so desperate. You had finally made peace with your decision, finally thought that maybe this was all going to be okay. That there was a future outside of this vacation bubble.

Frankie is silent for a moment. You feel how he’s rubbing your back, soothing you as you purge your emotions.

“You forgave me, right?” he says softly after a moment.

“What?”

“For the relapse, for the mess I put us all through, for not talking to you. It took time, it took months, but you did, right?”

You nod.

“Maybe it’s like that for them. And if it’s not, we’ll show ‘em either way. I just - I’ve only just got you back. Please, don’t go anywhere yet. We won’t tell them, not until we’re home, until we’re sure. That way it can’t affect us, can’t bring us down when we’re trying. Don’t give up on us because of Sophie’s drunken idiocy. Please.” He pulls you tighter to him, one arm wrapped around and the other hand reaching to wipe away tears on the side closest to him. His hands are warm, radiating comfort and peace as you feel so adrift.

Maybe he’s the rock, maybe he’s the buoy. Perhaps that is what you are to each other as well?

You laugh, an ugly half-sobbing sound. “Okay, okay, I won’t. I promise.”

Tag List

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Return to the Light

A Bad Batch Post S2 Oneshot

Gif by @spacemagicandlaserswords

Hunter x femaleJedi!reader

Summary: Being separated from one another had taken it's toll and the search had been hard but in all the darkness, a glimmer of hope remains

Warnings: Mentioned canon-typical violence, swearing, my made-up timeline, limited use of y/n, some choice interrogation techniques, sad flashbacks, mentions/descriptions of torture, mentions of death, mentions/descriptions of injury and sickness, reader is not in the greatest of headspaces and takes it out on Lyra, talks of self-sabotage/sacrifice and self-loathing, my interpretation of all things Force, dodgy Star Wars medical techniques, slight manipulation/miscommunication, kissing, overall a pretty angsty time but there's some fluff sprinkled in

Masterlist for S1 and S2

Word Count: 18.2K (don't look at me, idk what happened lol)

Rating: 18+

Author's note: Huge shoutout and thanks to my friend @burningfieldof-clover who supported and provided many helpful tips as I struggled though this!! And its finally here! I am so sorry it took so long but I hope you all enjoy it despite the wait! I have another one planned to follow that hopefully will not take as long haha so I'm excited to get to work on that too! Also praying that by posting this, I can manifest a S3 trailer haha

Nelvaan

Ever since the disaster of Ord Mantell and from the second they’d managed to flee; Hunter had been doing everything he could to find you and Omega again. He’d tormented himself with the various possibilities of what could be happening to the two of you. Every day he’d been apart from you both had seen him fighting with himself. Possible informants and Imperial soldiers he could cope with just fine, what had been proving to be a struggle was fighting the complete hopelessness that had overwhelmed him as the weeks dragged on with no sign or information on the whereabouts of either of you. Every failed lead had left the bitter taste of disappointment and there were times when he felt like he would be crushed by the weight each defeat brought.

Things had started to shift however when they came across the various wanted posters and holoimages of you that were strewn across the galaxy, particularly in the Outer Rim. So, when Echo had decided to do some work on his own and went back to working with his contacts within the Empire and reported back that you hadn’t actually been taken, he’d felt that flicker of hope he hadn’t been able to find for a long time and the plan changed. Echo would continue to utilise his allies in the search for Omega whilst he and Wrecker looked for you. Once Hunter had you back, the four of you would reconvene and find Omega.

To get to Omega, they needed your skills and… and Hunter just needed you but there were moments in the early stages of the search where it seemed impossible. Knowing you were out on your own helped with finding his way out of the darkness but knowing you were alive and finding you alive were very different things, the latter was proving to be incredibly challenging.

You may had stopped hiding what you were, but you were remarkably good at making an impression somewhere but still finding a way to go unseen. Every location they’d gone to, they’d been too late, and you appeared to have moved on. You never stuck around anywhere for too long and it was making things a lot harder.

The most recent trail of half-baked information he and Wrecker had followed had led them to this pawn shop- ‘Hidden Gems’. According to rumour, you’d been in asking about them, yet another piece of knowledge that only added to his frustration that they always seemed to miss you by a matter of weeks. Hunter opened the door, but the owner’s back was still turned to them as they pashed the threshold.

Kedrin heard the bell clang as the door opened and shut. “I’ll be with you in a flash.” He said as he finished writing up the recent sales. He closed the book and turned around with a salesman smile on his face, but that and his words of welcome instantly died on his lips as he saw who had walked in.

Immediately upon seeing these men, Kedrin was reminded of a description given to him a while ago by the Jedi everyone had been talking about and he did not want them here. He did not want to deal with this anymore. “Ah, well actually gentlemen, I was just closing up for the afternoon. You’ll have to come back.” He said, wringing his hands nervously as the bigger one split off and began wandering the shop whilst the one with the bandana stayed where he was.

Hunter leaned his back against the door and lazily played with his vibroblade. He knew by the beads of sweat on the owner’s brow and the anxious pounding of his heart that they were in the right place. “Where is she?” He asked, his voice low and hostile as he turned the sign from open to closed, his eyes never leaving the owner.

Kedrin retreated to behind the counter. “I um…” His throat was as dry as sand and he swallowed to get some moisture back so he could speak properly. “I don’t know who-” He cleared his throat again. “Who you are referring to. Perhaps-”

“There’s not point in lying to him. If I can tell you are, he definitely can.”

Kedrin’s eyes darted to the bigger one who had offered the advice, but he had to bring his attention back to the tattooed soldier who was staring at him with such cold and dark eyes that fear creeped up his spine, making his hair stand on end and goosebumps rise on his flesh.

“Where is she?” Hunter asked again as he pushed off the door and steadily walked towards the man.

“I’m- I’m afraid I don’t- don’t have the answer you seek.” Kedrin stuttered. As the soldier drew closer, Kedrin reached under the table and grabbed the blaster he kept concealed there. But, as he lifted it out, in the blink of an eye, the weapon was shot out of his hand and his head was smacked down and being pressed harshly into the countertop- a strong hand on the back of his neck reducing his struggles to break free to be no more than a pitiful effort. His resistance ceased altogether when he felt the sharp tip of a blade being pushed into the back of his hand and he cried out in discomfort as the metal broke the skin and blood began to spill from the cut but there would be no respite for him.

“Try again.” Hunter hissed as he brought his head down to the man’s level.

But all Kedrin could do was whimper in pain.

“She was here. We know she was here. Where did she go?” Hunter growled into his ear, applying more pressure to the point of the blade, ignoring the agonised yelp.

“I don’t know!” Kedrin protested in distress, his voice slightly muffled as his lips touched the cold material of the counter. He hated this part of the job, it wasn’t his fault he had access to other ports of information, it just worked out that way and for the most part he hadn’t gotten into too much bother. But ever since that Jedi woman had come to him with her threats, he’d vowed to himself that he would turn over a new leaf. He’d leave this element of his work behind, and he wouldn’t just be a pushover to whatever or whoever came in demanding his extra services. He felt the hand leave the back of his neck. He uneasily straightened up and tenderly analysed his injury on his hand but was grateful to see that it had felt and looked worse than it was. He took out a handkerchief from the lapel of his jacket and wrapped it up before he tidied his hair in an attempt to regain some calm and control over the situation. “Now, I ask that you leave this instance before I call the proper authorities.” He demanded, but he couldn’t shake the quiver in his speech which removed any forcefulness. He walked around the counter and gestured to the door.

Hunter ignored his requested. He simply took a step back and nodded sharply to Wrecker who cracked his knuckles and neck in intimidation.

Well, he could always start next week. “Wait wait wait! I actually might have something!” Kedrin back peddled fearfully as the larger one stalked towards him and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, raising him to his tiptoes. “My brother runs our partner pawn shop on Christophsis and he’s said there’s been Jedi activity there. Apparently, it’s been going on for a while now. Could be who you’re looking for?”

Wrecker glanced back at Hunter who signalled to him to drop the man.

Hunter silently turned on his heels and led the way out of the shop and back to the Marauder. He’d been powerless for far too long and had failed one too many times but that wasn’t going to happen anymore.

This time they weren’t going to miss you.

--

Christophsis

When the hour had finally got late enough, you grabbed your blaster and sheathed your vibroblade and made the final adjustments to your armour before you sneakily opened your door to dark and empty main room of the run-down apartment. You pulled your hood and mask up as you stepped out and headed for the exit.

You got as far as activating the panel for the door to open before the lights turned on.

“You’re going out again.”

You closed the door and huffed out an irritated breath. You swivelled on your heels to see Lyra standing in the doorway of her room. You tugged down your mask. “Yeah… and?”

“And I thought after the last time, you were going to take some time and-”

“You know I can’t do that.” You interrupted icily.

“You’ve barely recovered. I just think-”

“I’ve recovered enough.”

“It’s just one more night. If not for your sake, then do it for mine… please.”

“We’ve already settled here for you, didn’t we?” You retorted.

“After I begged you too! If it were up to you, we’d still be living on that hellhole of a ship and never staying anywhere for more than two weeks! And I don’t know if what we have right now is all that better!”

“I gave you an out months ago! Back on Ord Mantell and again on Corellia! You didn’t have to follow me!” You snapped angrily.

Lyra scoffed. “Corellia was when you finally deemed it fit to fill me in on the whole story after I saw you choke the life out of a man without laying a hand on him. I had known something was off in the weeks since Ord Mantell and then Corellia told me you needed someone. Forgive me if I wanted to stick around to try to help you!”

“I don’t need saving.” You said tightly. “And anyway, he got what was coming to him.” You said utterly uncaring with a simple shrug of your shoulders. “Now, can I go now? Are you done scolding me?”

Lyra looked at you imploringly. “Don’t you see what this is doing to you? You’re losing who you are and it’s-”

You couldn’t listen to the speech again. “I’m not doing this with you again, Lyra. Just go back to bed and I’ll be back later.”

Lyra looked at you in disbelief. “Later? Last time you said that I didn’t see you for three weeks and you came back tortured and half-dead! You’re no good to them if you die in the process of finding them!”

You just shook your head and lifted your mask and turned to open the door again.

“I can’t watch you kill yourself for this anymore.” Lyra said quietly to your back, her words laced with pity and sadness.

“Then don’t look.” With that, you stepped outside into the night.

--

Kirion stepped into the small kitchen in the back of his shop and sifted through the second cupboard. Instinct meant he didn’t need the light and he found what he was looking for.

“Trouble sleeping?”

Kirion yelped and dropped his mug. It smashed to the ground but that was not his concern anymore. The dark outline by the window was. “I don’t want any trouble.” His voice trembling.

“Do you know what they say about people who can’t sleep at night, Kirion?” You asked as you hopped off the counter, the yellow hue of the streetlights coming through the window illuminating your figure.

“N- no.”

“Plagued by a guilty conscience. The crushing weight of knowing you’re not doing enough, or you’ve gone too far can get to you. Or say, being a pawn shop owner intent on ripping everyone off for that extra bit of profit.”

Kirion cleared his throat nervously. He didn’t know how you knew that, but you’d gathered quite the reputation in the time you’d lived here, and he didn’t want you around. “Why are you here then?” He asked shakily. “Guilty conscience too?”

You laughed humourlessly. “You get the pleasure of my company because you have something for me.” Somewhere deep down, you had a different answer, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to bring that to the surface. It would get you nowhere.

“I don’t. I swear I-”

“Oh, this’ll go a lot better if you don’t lie to me.” You said, your voice hardening. You patted him roughly on the shoulder as you stepped past him.

“I don’t know if I have the information you’re looking for.”

“You know who I am?” You flicked the light on and waltzed into the storefront filled with clear glass cases with various pawned off items. Heirlooms, artifacts, jewellery, random items- all seemed to have a place here, whether they were genuine or not. You beckoned him to come in.

“It’s um kind of hard not to.” He wringed his hands anxiously as he followed you in and signalled to the front of the store. He took that opportunity to press the button under the table by the credit register.

You followed his stare and chuckled as you saw the backs of the posters in the front window. “I can sign one for you later.” You started scanning variety of items he possessed. “Quite the business you’ve got here.”

“Keeps-” He swallowed nervously. “Keeps the credits coming in.”

“Shame a lot of it is all garbage.” You smashed your elbow against one of the glass panels. “Anakin Skywalker’s lightsaber?” You snickered as you picked up the item and sure enough, you got nothing from it. “Please. Nothing here but a bunch of dressed up metal material and a design anyone with access to an old holonet could copy. Then again, you probably knew that, but it doesn’t stop you underpaying for it and then charging a steep fee for the poor sucker that falls for it.”

Kirion gulped as he watched you continue your assault on his store.

You shattered a few more glass panes with claims of ‘Jedi artifacts’ in them. “Some of this is just embarrassing. You actual convince people that this stuff is worth the price?”

“What do you want?” Kirion interjected swiftly as he saw you getting ready to break another one.

You paused your movement and angled yourself to face him. You mimed applause. “That’s the right question. See, you gave yourself away earlier, Kirion. I’d expect you to know who I am, but to know that I’m after information? You had no way of knowing that, not officially and it’s the fact that you do know, that makes you of use to me.”

“Of use?” Kirion repeated fretfully.

You stalked closer to the desk register, the broken glass crunching beneath your feet. “You run this place in a back alley and get everyone from all walks of life coming in here pawning off their shit that you then rip off, but I really don’t give a fuck about that. What I do give a fuck about is that you hear things. People will tell you their stories, the things they’ve seen and overheard in the streets or on their travels. You are a fountain of knowledge of the underground happenings in this galaxy. Or, at the very least, you know people that run in the circles that have what I’m searching for.

“I-”

You placed a finger on his lips to shush him. “Here’s how this will work: So long as you don’t lie to me, and you don’t call the Empire, I won’t hurt you and you get to keep your life. Are we clear?” You removed your finger.

“C-crystal.” Kirion stuttered, very much regretting what he’d done in the beginning of this meeting.

“Good.” You released a short breath. “Now, I’m looking for a group of clones. They don’t look like the ones you may come across these days, rare as that seems to be now. One wears a red bandana and has a tattoo on the left-side of his face. Looks like this.” You pointed to the white insignia on your top. “But it’s black. The other is tall and bald with a scar on his left temple and he’s blind in his left eye. Heard of anyone like that?”

“I don’t know. No one like that’s come here.” Kirion shifted his feet awkwardly.

You tossed your head back in aggravation. “I really don’t have time for this.” You summoned the Force and lifted him against the wall and started to compress his airway. “I told you; I don’t like liars.” You gave him a pitying stare as he couldn’t help but clutch desperately at his throat. “Wanna try again?” You relaxed your hold slightly to give him the chance to speak.

“Okay- they- they- could be- be- coming here.” He gasped.

“They’re coming here?” You double checked as you eased your grip and let him get his feet back on the ground.

Kirion panted as he felt the invisible hold around his neck loosen. “Yes, my other store got a visit from some men that match what you’re saying. The manager there told them there was a Jedi here and called me earlier to let me know they might pass this way. That’s all I know, please, get out!”

You narrowed your eyes at him because despite his now honest words, you could tell he was getting anxious, and it wasn’t all because of you now. It was then that you heard the familiar pounding footsteps grow closer and halt outside the front door. You released an exasperated sigh and tutted. “Kirion… I thought we had an understanding.”

“No- wait! I-”

You called on the Force and snapped his neck before he had a chance to finish his plea and a second later, you heard the door crash open.

“You’re-”

“Under arrest?” You finished as you watched Kirion’s limp body slide to the floor. You heaved a sigh and turned to face the squad of ten stormtroopers that were lining the rows and blocking the path between you and the door.

“Get-”

“On my knees? Place my hands behind my head?” You interrupted, boredom evident in your tone as you crossed your arms and leaned against the till counter.

The troopers faltered slightly at your blatant dismissiveness of them.

You pretended to look confused for a moment. “Now, I can never keep track of where the Empire is in that whole phasing out thing so I always gotta ask this- any of you got a CT number?” You straightened up and hovered your hand over your blaster. “It’s always much simpler when none of you do.”

“Last chance, Jedi!” One of them called out as they readjusted their stances.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Yeah… you all say the same thing.”

--

You quietly walked into your place and pulled your hood and mask down, ignoring the sting of pain as the material caught on the cuts on the bridge of your nose and your lip. You ran your tongue along your mouth and could still taste the harsh metallic taste of blood as it continued to ooze from the wound. Your nose was also still bleeding so you turned on the dim kitchen light to find something to stop it.

“Thought you’d be outta here by now.” You commented cooly without looking up as you heard her door open, and the soft padding of footsteps walk towards you. You fished out a cloth and ran it under some cold water and wiped away the congealed blood on your face before you held it to your nose.

“We don’t have a ship anymore, remember?” Lyra reminded you as she sat by the small kitchen table.

You’d forgotten about that. After the two of you had found this place, you’d sold it to someone who claimed to have word from Hunter. Unfortunately, that had turned out to be a rather bad deal and it was your first experience of dealing with the Imperials stationed here. “There are transports.”

Lyra just shook her head at you. “You still don’t get it.”

“Don’t really see what there is to get. Just hop on the next ship outta here, I won’t stop you.”

“I care about you, dumbass. Whatever is happening to you, I can’t just leave you alone in it.” Lyra replied wearily. Part of her wanted to, she’d even started packing a bag this time, but after these months spent with you and especially after what you went through recently told her you were one step away from a full-on breakdown and whether you would admit it or not, you still needed someone.

You ground out a sigh and stared down at the floor. She kept doing this. She kept having that faith in you that you couldn’t see but you didn’t deserve it. She should leave, she’d be better off without you but you didn’t have it in you to give her that final push. So, you worked on freezing her out, pushing her away until she realised you weren’t good for her or anyone else. But she refused, she was still here with you, and you couldn’t fathom why.

“Did you get what you were looking for?” Lyra asked, deliberately avoiding asking the state of the people that had clearly got in your way tonight. She’d seen what you were capable of but found that living in as much ignorance as she could saved her a lot of trouble. That and reminding herself you were not yourself right now.

“Yup.” You rinsed out the cloth and got ready to move into your room.

“I need to check your stitches. You weren’t ready for a fight yet.”

You knew what she would find if she looked. “No, you don’t.”

“(Y/N), let me see.” Lyra caught your arm as you went to move past her.

You huffed out another irritated breath but took your armour off before you lifted your first layer over your head. “Knock yourself out.”

She pushed up your vest top. “Yeah, you ripped a few open.” Lyra winced as she saw the lines of blood secreting from the sore and irritated looking now open wounds on your back.

“It’s fine.” You said dismissively. The pain wasn’t bothering you. You needed to come up with a plan of how to know when they got here.

“It’s not. Sit down.” She insisted as she went for the medkit. She had gotten well-acquainted with the item over the months, the most recent incident in particular had really tested her skills.

You released a resigned sigh and sat across from her and let her start cleaning them and closing them up again.

“They’re coming here, Lyra.” You found yourself whispering into the silence.

Lyra paused her process. “You’ve been told that before. The same thing happened on Cermau a couple months ago and it didn’t pan out. You-”

“I know what happened on Cermau. This isn’t like that.” You said defensively. It had to be different. You thought to yourself. You weren’t sure how many more dead ends you could take.

Lyra finished up the last few stitches. “You can’t know that.”

As soon as you felt her complete that last stitch, you stood. “Yes, I can.” You grabbed your armour and strode had over to your room without another word and shut the door.

You braced your hands against it and took a few deep breaths. You did have a way you could do but it had been so long since you’d gone near it, and you didn’t know if you could cope with the failure it might bring.

--

You settled in the middle of your crappy bed, the mattress sinking to the bedframe beneath as you shifted around to attempt to find some level of comfort. When you had found what you figured would be the ‘best’ spot, you crossed your legs and placed your hands on your knees.

You inhaled slowly, deeply, blocking out all the distractions of your mind and the sounds of the late-night life outside, and closed your eyes. You reached into the Force but what met you wasn’t any familiar signature. It was scenes and voices that you had tried so hard to forget.

Flashes of the people you’d hurt… you’d killed.

All that happened to you a week ago.

Tech hanging below the rail car.

Plan 99.

Omega, unconscious and injured on the ground.

Such an exquisite creature.

The torture he made you go through... and enjoyed.

His words to Hunter- To lose one of your own, it must weigh heavily on you as their leader.

Omega being carried off.

Hemlock letting you and Hunter have one last goodbye before you were taken away.

I love you.

No, it was too much. You couldn’t do it. Your breathing was shaky as you tore yourself out. You wiped the cold sweat from your palms. “Come on, get it together.” You told yourself as you took a long calming breath. You needed to do this right.

You centred yourself and went again. Except this time, all you could see was a vast space of darkness. No light, no hope, only darkness. Was this to be your fate? To be tormented by the fact you had let yourself fall and there was nothing left for you. How could you find them in this? You had no light left in you to give.

Spark.

You felt yourself twitch in discomfort. You knew that voice. That name. Only one person ever called you that.

Spark, you’re still not focused.

Let go of your anger. You’re not as lost as you view yourself to be.

No, no it couldn’t be. How could it be? No, this wasn’t right. You pulled yourself out and you looked around your room in a blind panic as you fought to get your distressed breathing back under control.

But it was only you in there. How could you hear him? It had to be some trick your mind was playing on you. Payback for all you’d done.

You exhaled heavily and braced your hands behind your neck as you looked to the ceiling. You stood and paced the confined space, shaking your hands as if you could shake away the bad feeling sitting on your chest.

You sat back on the bed and rolled your shoulders as you found your focus again. Faint rays of sun now came through the cracks in your window along with the sound of rain pattering against the fractured glass, but the new time meant nothing to you.

You didn’t care how long it would take; you were going to find them.

--

Hunter and Wrecker walked out of the ship and departed the bay to enter the streets of Christophsis- the rain sliding down their armour as they moved between the crowds.

“Well, we’re in the right place.” Wrecker commented as he nudged Hunter in the direction of the first holoscreen that had your image appear and a quick look at the immediate buildings followed that theme since they all had multiple paper posters in their windows and on their doors.

Hunter swallowed tightly as he saw holographic picture of you. There’d been one too many ‘right places’ in his search for you. He wasn’t going to accept that philosophy until he had something more than a wanted sign for you. “Come on. We’ll start with Kendrin’s brother.”

--

“So, you’re saying you saw a figure head in that direction after the disturbance last night?” A trooper pointed in said direction as she questioned the current resident on her list whilst the rest of her squad proceeded to clear the pawnshop.

“This looks like her handiwork, Sarge.” Wrecker uttered from the corner of the street they were observing from as he studied the scene ahead. Squads of troopers had cornered off the street and where questioning the civilians that appeared to live in the neighbourhood. And being carried out on stretchers were the dead bodies of troopers, but not all had blaster burns on their armour.

Hunter nodded his agreement and felt his heart beat that little bit faster with the flutter of hope. “Come on, we can’t stay here too long.” He directed as he and Wrecker turned away from the pawnshop.

As Hunter began to track your movements based on what he’d heard the trooper say, this finally being the right location was starting to feel a lot more plausible now.

--

There it was! You saw that faint glimmer of light in all the dark. It had to be them! You could feel it!

You jumped from your bed and grabbed your top and armour, hastily putting them on as you opened your door and bolted for the exit.

--

The weather had taken a turn for the worst, but you barely registered the pouring rain as you left the building. Your clothes were already soaked but it didn’t matter, you were too focused on holding onto that feeling of them.

“You’re the Jedi everyone is searching for.”

You whipped out your blaster and turned in the direction of the voice.

“No, wait! I don’t mean you any harm!” She came out from behind the skip with her hands in the air. “My name is-”

“Don’t tell me.” You interrupted sharply as you studied the Twilek before you. “How’d you find me?” You asked coldly. You didn’t lower your blaster either.

“It wasn’t easy. I’ve been following you since I knew of your arrival here. I thought I’d lost you when you disappeared for those three weeks.”

The fact you hadn’t sensed her presence at all told you that you were not what you used to be. You never used to be so sloppy. “I can’t have you knowing where I am.” You rested your hand over the trigger.

“Wait!” She reached a hand out to you. “I haven’t told anyone, and I won’t. I just need your help!”

“My help?” You repeated. “I can’t help you and I’ve got somewhere to be so-”

“Please.” She begged. “My sister, she’s sick and we barely have enough credits to feed ourselves, let alone get medicine.”

“Not my problem, I’m sorry.” Satisfied though that she wasn’t a true threat, you put your blaster away and got ready to leave.

“It wasn’t my sister’s problem that she got caught in a blaster fight and her wound got infected! No one asks for that!”

That made you pause. You’d had your fair share of shootouts in this place but you’d also you’re your best to minimise the damage to outsiders. “Where was the fight?” You found yourself asking quietly.

“About a month ago by the old shipyard on the outskirts of the city. We’d been told we could find some cheap transport off world, but something went down with the Imperials stationed there and my sister… I didn’t tug her down fast enough. I didn’t know what to do and then I heard of the Jedi that had landed in Christophsis and I knew I had to find you.”

A month ago… but that was where and when you’d gone to sell the ship… where’d you’d first been ambushed by the Imperials… no, there wasn’t meant to be anyone else there. Maybe you could… no, you didn’t have the time. Your aim was always good, it wouldn’t have been your shot that hit her. “I can’t.” You said dismissively, but there was a fading sense of conviction in your voice. Some part of you wanted to do the right thing by her. But it wasn’t enough to stop you pushing past her.

“I thought Jedi helped people!”

You stopped in your tracks and made a noise of resigned frustration as you turned around to face the young Twilek. “Wait here.”

You hastily ran back into your building, silently entered, and grabbed a few spare medical supplies from your kit before you ran back out to meet her again. “Alright, show me.”

--

Your place looked like a luxurious penthouse compared to where this young twilek and her sister were staying. It was virtually a single room with cracks in the walls and ceiling and there was a distinct damp aroma in the air. It was no wonder that they wanted to leave this place.

You then saw the smaller and younger twilek lying on a small mattress in the middle of the floor. There were drops of sweat dotted across her brow and she was shivering uncontrollably.

You’d never wanted anyone innocent to be affected by what you were doing yet it had happened with Lyra and now this child. “I’m sorry.” You whispered to her as you kneeled down beside her. You saw the bloodstain on her clothing and delicately lifted the end of her shirt to see the wound on her hip being covered by nothing more than a ripped piece of a shirt.  

“Can you help her?”

You half- turned to face the sister who was looking on fretfully. “I can clean the wound and reclose it. After that, it’ll be down to her. But the fact that she’d held on for so long is a good sign. She’s strong, she should be okay.”

The sister sighed in relief.

You brought out the supplies and recleaned and applied to bacta before you re-dressed the wound. “Do you have water?” You asked.

The sister nodded and dashed over to grab a cannister. She passed it to you.

“Lift her head.” You instructed gently.

She murmured words of comfort to her sister as she propped up her head.

As tenderly but as effectively as you could, you pushed the pill past her lips and got her to swallow it down with some water.

When her breathing had grown more controlled and her shivering had subsided, you go to your feet. “I’m leaving you some bacta and wound dressings along with some pills that’ll help with the fever. That’s all I can do now.”

“Thank you.” She clasped your hand tightly. “I won’t forget this.”

“It’s better that you do.” You said grimly. “And once she’s better, if you still need a way out of here, use the actual transports off this planet.” You chucked a bag of credits on the ground before you walked out of the room.

You rounded the corner but swiftly pressed your back against the wall since there was a group of stormtroopers directly in your path. You would have no chance of finding them with those soldiers in your way. You needed to find a way around them and what better way to do that than going from roof to roof. You summoned the Force and jumped to the top of the building and got moving.

You would get a better view from above anyway.

--

When another small squad of troopers made their presence known ahead, Hunter signalled him and Wrecker to an alleyway out of the line of their sight. He knew they were close to you, but the Imperial presence was making it hard to track you effectively.

“We can’t keep hiding like this, Hunter.” Wrecker grunted in frustration.

“I know, Wrecker.” Hunter agreed, equally as irritated. “If I could just-” He stopped suddenly.

“Hunter?”

“Someone’s here.” Hunter muttered quietly as his hand fell over his blaster.

“You’re getting sloppy, Sergeant. I’ve been following you the past 3 blocks.”

The voice that he’d been longing to hear and that was so familiar, he’d recognise it anywhere. His breath hitched with the realisation at what this finally meant. Hunter took off his helmet and turned around to the distant sound of feet hitting a puddle in the ground. And it was you. Standing there before him. It was finally you.

“Hello, Hunter.” You said softly, so softly you could barely hear the words themselves due to the sound of your own heart thundering in your ears. If it wasn’t for the flash of recognition in his eyes or the way Wrecker’s jaw dropped as he propped his helmet atop his head, you wouldn’t have been certain that you’d said anything at all. You tugged down your coverings and let yourself be unprotected to the rain.

He felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs. Hunter dropped his helmet and something akin to a choked gasp fell from his mouth as he could at long last lay his eyes on you. He started to slowly walk towards you but that soon became a run, water kicking up against him, but he didn’t care.

Your feet slapped against the wet ground as you met him halfway and crashed into his arms with a thankful sigh and buried your face in his neck. Even as you held him tightly to you, part of you still couldn’t believe that it was him. You felt something swell in your heart, a feeling you couldn’t place but knew you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Did you deserve this? Did you deserve to have him back after all you’d done? Pushing the thought away, you readjusted your embrace as if you could somehow hold him even closer.

He twisted his hands in your clothing and breathed you in. He’d imagined this moment for so long. When things seemed too dark and hopeless, he’d clung on to this. To think about how it would feel to finally see you again. To hold you again. And imagination couldn’t compare to the utter joy in his heart that reality brought him. He almost didn’t want to let you go for fear that you could be taken away again but practicality took precedence, the two of you couldn’t stay this way forever, as much as he might want to.

Tears mixed with rain streamed down both your cheeks as you parted from one another.

You cupped his face in your hands. “You’re here? You’re actually here?” You murmured, your voice cracking with emotion. You’d driven yourself crazy with picturing this moment, you needed to make sure this wasn’t your brain’s idea of a cruel joke.

Hunter removed your hands from his face and kissed your gloved knuckles. “I’m here.” He whispered back, his breathing still shaky as he pressed pressing his forehead into yours.

“You’re here.” You repeated as you looked into his soft brown eyes.

Hunter���s thumb gently caressed the cut on your lip, and he noticed the other wound on your nose. “Did they-”

You pulled his hand away. “Doesn’t matter. This is all I care about right now.”

Before Hunter could push the matter, he felt his brother approach.

“And what about me?”

You glanced past Hunter to the indignant but affectionate voice. “Hi, Wrecker.” You met his open armed invitation and let him swing your around as he hugged you.

“Good to see you, (Y/N)!”

“How’d you find me?” You asked as he placed you back down.

“You didn’t make it easy.” Wrecker griped. “We always seemed to be two steps behind you.”

“I haven’t exactly been hiding though.” You disputed as you pointed to a discarded wanted poster on the ground beside you.

“Between the Imperials and dead end leads and your rather annoying ability to hide in plain sight, it was tough. We got a lucky break with a guy whose brother owned another pawn shop here. Saw the results of a fight and figured we’d finally caught up with you.” Hunter explained as he came to stand in front of you and took his helmet from his brother.

You gulped. You’d be careful to make sure the people you’d gone after had no one they’d be leaving behind. You didn’t realise you’d messed up with that this time. “He- he had a brother?”

Hunter tilted his head at the unusually emotive response. “Apparently but I’m assuming you had a good reason for ending it the way you did.”

You coughed. “Yeah, totally.” You straightened your back and changed the subject. “Where’s Echo?”

“Using his contact to try to get more intel on Hemlock. We still don’t know where he’s holding Omega.” Hunter kicked the ground. “Don’t suppose you have anything?”

“I wish I did but everything I gathered was either old or what we knew already. He’s good at laying low.” You seethed.

“We’ll get him, though. We have too.” Wrecker stated firmly.

“How soon can you leave?” Hunter asked.

“Um, well-” You cut yourself off as your sight drifted past Hunter’s shoulder to the end of the alley at the lone trooper that had a blaster pointed at Hunter’s back.

“Watch out!” You yelled as you pushed Hunter out the way of the incoming blaster bolt. You drew your blaster and fired a shot that landed in the centre of the trooper’s chest, and he dropped to the ground. But you knew, where there was one stormtrooper, there would be at least five more behind them.

“We need to move out.” Hunter urged as he got back to his feet and put his helmet on. “A firefight will draw too much attention.”

“No time.” You stated simply as you pulled your hood and mask back up.

“We’ve got more incoming!” Wrecker confirmed as he lowered his helmet and opened fire on the small squad of troopers that had arrived.

The three of you took cover behind a skip, only firing defensive shots back. You needed to draw the soldiers closer before going on the offensive.

When they had gotten close enough, Hunter threw a smoke bomb, the action allowing the three of you to advance and take out the troopers one shot at a time.

As the firefight continued, however, you began to feel unsteady on your feet and your movements felt unbalanced. Your tingling limbs ensured that your aim was skewed too. All that, combined with the wetness you felt pooling from your stomach meant the trooper had better aim than you credited them for- you’d been hit. You couldn’t afford to think about what this meant, right now, you needed to get outta here.

But you’d been distracted long enough for one downed soldier you’d dismissed as being a threat to come around and jab their blaster against your knee. You grunted with the impact but turned your blaster on him and he lay limp on the ground.

Hunter and Wrecker tidied off the few retreating stragglers. They could deal with this small group but anything more would prove difficult.

With the last trooper taken care of, you braced yourself against the wet wall. The fading adrenaline in your system now being replaced by agony and you ripped your mask down and took deep but laboured breaths.

“Their reinforcements won’t be long. We made a bit of noise.” Wrecker said as he holstered his blaster.

But Hunter wasn’t paying attention to what Wrecker was saying. His gaze was fixed on you and the way you were struggling to hold yourself up against the wall. “(Y/N), what-” He stopped as he saw the crimson drops that mixed with the rainwater drip from the hand pressed to your stomach onto the ground. No, no, no. He thought to himself. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t lose you when he’d only just found you again.

Your knees buckled and you fell to the ground, Hunter catching your shoulder was the only reason you were able to stay sitting up but without the distraction of the fight, the pain was overwhelming. Black spots danced in the corners of your vision, but you couldn’t succumb to them, not now. Not after all this. You tried to lift your head to speak but all that left your mouth was a tortured groan.

As collected as he wanted to be to deal with this, he couldn’t totally keep his panic at bay. His hands trembled as he attempted to get you to look at him. He delicately brushed some loose strands of hair from your face. “Sshh, I’ve got you.” He whispered tenderly, fighting to keep the worry out of his voice. What made it all the worse was that he knew this wound didn’t occur through the fight they’d just seen out, you’d been hurt shoving him out the way of that first shot that drew the rest of the stormtroopers in.

How could he have allowed this to happen? What good were his enhanced senses if he couldn’t protect the people he loved. You shouldn’t have needed to push him out the way of that blaster bolt, he should’ve known the trooper was there and now you were paying the price for his mistake.

“What can we do?” Wrecker asked quickly.

You winced and tried for words again. “Medical centres are a no. Where’s- where’s the ship?”

“Landing bay 6.” Wrecker replied.

You inhaled sharply. Your current state made things all too easy for the Imperials to catch you making your way there. “Too far. We- we gotta get to my place. She- she might kill me but- argh!” You broke off with a cry of pain as you reached a hand up to Hunter. “But it’s safe there and- and she’ll know what to do.”

“Hold on.” Hunter rasped as he took a grip of your forearm and signalled to Wrecker to keep an eye out as he pulled you to your feet.

You pressed your hand into your side with a pained gasp as Hunter put his arm around you and supported most of your weight and the three of you got on the move.

--

“This is it?” Wrecker asked- his scepticism evident despite the pressing matter at hand- as he stared at the condemned building.

“All the regular penthouses were taken.” You kidded before you swayed on your feet as a wave of dizziness struck.

“Woah, easy.” Hunter cautioned as he strengthened his grip.

“Second floor.” You hissed. “And mind the fourth step on the second staircase. Half of it is missing.”

“It can never just be simple.” Hunter grumbled anxiously as Wrecker opened the decrepit door to the building.

“Would it really be a reunion if everything went well?” You joked deliriously.

“Right now, yes I would definitely prefer it.” Hunter fretted as he saw your head dip. You were losing the battle of staying conscious with each passing second. The next time it happened, he wasn’t sure you would be able to lift your head again.

--

Lyra had barely any time to process the familiar people standing in her doorway as she answered the pounding knock. All she could do was stare at you, half collapsed against Hunter’s side, your hand cradling your stomach, and then her eyes caught sight of the trail of blood that had followed your path up. “What-”

“Hey, girl. Remember- remember how I promised I wouldn’t put you through something like this again? Turns out, I shouldn’t- shouldn’t have done that.” You said through gritted teeth before you stumbled as you tried to take a step forward, prompting Hunter to lift you up.

“Please.” The hoarse plea was all Hunter managed to say.

“Lay her here.” Lyra quickly stepped aside to let the three of you in and pointed to the couch.

Hunter hustled inside and delicately placed you on the worn soft. He took off his helmet and kneeled by your head and stroked your hair back from your forehead. “You’re going to be alright. You need to hold on for me, okay? I’m not losing you again.” He whispered against your temple before he left a light kiss on your brow.

“Good news, it’s not as bad as last time.” Lyra said as she examined the wound before getting up to go gather the medical supplies.

“The bar is rather low on that front, Lyra.” You moaned.

“Last time?” Hunter found himself asking as he tore his stare from your bloody injury to Lyra.

Lyra didn’t respond, she was too busy staring at the depleted supply of medical care. She took a deep breath and braced her hands against the countertop. “(Y/N)… what happened to the bacta?”

Seemingly forgetting that you were currently in severe pain and bleeding out, you went to prop yourself up but Hunter’s hand gently pushing against your shoulder stopped you. “Hey.” You protested wearily.

“You can answer the question like that.” Hunter chastised.

“The bacta?” Lyra pressed as she rifled through the other cupboards in case it had somehow been misplaced.

No, not yet. You told yourself as the black dots returned. You blinked them away and took a strained breath before you answered. “I- I may have given it away…”

“You-” Lyra had to take a deep, calming breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You gave it away? What in all the galaxy would possess you to do that?”

“Well, I saw someone in need and decided-” You broke off with another pained wince. “Decided to finally be a good citizen.”

Lyra released an exasperated sigh. “Do I need to remind you of your track record? You need bacta like the rest of us need water.”

“In my defence, I wasn’t planning on needing it anymore. This- this time really wasn’t my fault.”

“I quite frankly don’t give a fuck! You can’t just-”

“Can we do this later?” Hunter interrupted as he saw your face contort in discomfort. “Preferably when she’s able to hold a conversation without convulsing in pain?”

“I can run back to our ship and get some.” Wrecker offered as he lifted his helmet.

“Go.” Hunter said with a nod, but Lyra held out a hand to stop the bigger clone from going.

“She doesn’t have that kinda time. I can cauterise it the old-fashioned way, but it’ll just hurt like hell.” Lyra said with a grimace.

“That’s fine because I don’t think I’m going to be conscious for much longer.” The darkness encroaching on your vision was all too tempting and you were completely exhausted.

“No, you stay awake.” Lyra ordered sternly.

Hunter and Wrecker turned their attention sharply to you.

“Come on, (Y/N). You gotta hang in there.” Wrecker urged as he reached over the back of the couch and placed a large hand on your shoulder.

“Sweetheart, keep your eyes on me.” Hunter begged as he saw them flicker open and shut but it was a battle that he knew you were going to lose.

You wanted to; you really did but you just couldn’t. You shut your eyes and embraced the peace of the darkness.

 “Hunter, she’s still breathing right?” Lyra asked as she picked up the last few things she needed.

“Shallowly but yes.” Hunter said with a thankful sigh.

“That’s good enough.” Lyra ran back to the couch and began to start to process of stabilising you.

--

You were in a dim corridor. The only light seemed to at the end of the long passageway. You made to walk towards it, hoping it would show you a way out but as you walked, it seemed to move away from you. You broke into a run but the distance between you and the light only grew. You paused your run as you thought about what this could mean. It was then though that a voice spoke up and a figure appeared next to you.

You won’t get to it.

You faced the figure. It almost sounded and looked like you but there was something off about it. There was a yellow shimmer in the eyes and the face was gaunt and mean-looking, with lips that seemed to be in a permanent sneer. The voice carried a cruel, sinister overtone that made your blood run cold and the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

It’ll keep staying away from you.

But why? You studied whatever it was before you as they circled you. When it walked, it was cast in constant shadow.

You think after all you’ve done; you can have that light back? You think you deserve it?

Before you could form a reply, your attention was drawn to a scene unfolding to your right.

Aww this was your first failure. But it brought me to the surface, so I remain pretty grateful.

Your breath caught in your throat as you recognised the moment. You saw your master completely surrounded by battle droids, taking hit after hit. And you saw yourself as a Jedi Knight sprinting to reach him. You went to turn away, but a strong hand grabbed the back of your neck, forcing you to keep looking.

There’s you. Being too late to save him. Do you remember the last words you said to him?

You did and they were words you had regretted ever since.

‘Stubborn, foolish, out of touch, old timer whose only purpose was to be a pawn for the orders of the Jedi Council’ I believe they were.

Stop it.

He died knowing you failed him.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you heard the final shot that sent your master crumbling to the ground.

You got a taste for it then.

Despite the fact you wanted to refuse, you found yourself opening your eyes to seeing yourself utterly decimate the remaining droids by your master’s dead body. You saw the merciless gleam in your eyes and the callous smile that graced your face as you destroyed them. You had enjoyed that. The scene finished with you repeatedly bringing your lightsaber down on the final droid, the blue blade moving in unrestrained fury. Why did you show me that? You asked bleakly.

But the darkness didn’t give you a proper answer. It only pushed an icy finger on your lips. Pay attention, we’re not done yet. It took you a while to accept that this was always in you. You worked on shutting me out. You managed for a while… but then she left.

You wanted nothing more than to leave this place and this darkness before you, but all control had been taken from your body. Your feet began moving of their own accord and you were directed to another moment on your left this time. You were stopped and the hand took a harsh grip of your neck again. You were forced to watch Ahsoka walk out the Council Chamber doors, with Anakin following her and then you viewed yourself in horror as you saw the rage written across your face and heard the venom in your words as you yelled at the Council. Had you really been that uncontrolled? That angry?

Even though you finally left those uptight pricks, you still insisted on keeping me hidden though. Rather irritating I must say. I wondered what it would take for you to accept me. And then he came into your life.

You were pushed along the hall again to the next part which was replaying your first interaction with Hunter and your chest felt tight. Leave him out of this.

Oh, but he’s the best part. Your figure taunted nastily.

The scene switched and were now being greeted with flashes of your intimate moments with Hunter. Enough.

The only reply came in the form was an unkind laugh.

Giving into that lust felt good, didn’t it? The possessiveness, the selfishness that came with having someone just for you was too enticing to pass up.

No, that wasn’t what it was at all. Stop.

You liked the feeling of knowing you could use that attachment to excuse any darker actions. You would be doing it for him, so it made it okay. It wasn’t love for him you were feeling, it was a love for the freedom to channel me that you craved. He was merely a convenient vessel.

No, you’re wrong! You insisted but your voice lacked conviction, everything was getting so twisted that you were now doubting the feelings you thought you never would.

The darkness just gave you a pitying look. Just keep watching and you’ll see I’m right.

So, you did. You were shoved further up the corridor to see you and the Batch together. Memories that you once would’ve looked back on in fondness were now tainted by pain and disappointment that you’d dragged them into your mess. The darkness took no notice of your distress, it just continued talking.  

Much to my delight, you grew to care for all of that group. I knew that attachment would lead to something marvellous for us and then it finally happened.

You moved along to the next scene and your breathing grew uneven as the image of Eriadu appeared. You couldn’t bear seeing this again but once more, you were left with no choice but to hear Tech say that dreaded plan and watch him fall to his death.

Of course, he was another one you were too slow to save but-

You wouldn’t hear this. No, we didn’t have the time. There was nothing I could’ve done. What happened was-

Oh, I know you tried telling yourself that, but my very existence tells me that you know if you’d allowed me in earlier, the situation itself wouldn’t have happened. You’d have killed Gerrera before he even had a chance to set those explosives off.

No, you’re wrong. You said through a shaken whisper, but you didn’t believe the words you were saying anymore.

Although I must say, I’m glad you didn’t quite give in then since I am rather pleased with how it all turned out. His death was the catalyst to a glorious chain of events. So much loss and broken trust. Finally, you had the reason to welcome me without restraint or regret.

You felt your anger rise as the voice kept talking whilst the scene changed from his death to Cid’s betrayal and Omega being captured and you being separated from Hunter. Nothing about that had been a blessing. It couldn’t have been. Shut up. You snarled. But the figure only smugly beamed.

There it is. There’s that power. You can deny it all you want but that was the best thing that happened to you. You let me in and from that point on, nothing stopped you getting what you wanted. And it felt divine. You know it did. Look at how formidable you are with me being a part of things.

You were dragged along the hall and all that appeared around you were the people in the galaxy you’d threatened, brutalised, and murdered. You had no other option but to watch and hear their tortured pleas and screams. You didn’t need the darkness to talk you through these this time, you recalled very clearly that during all of this, you’d felt not one bit of remorse. You’d thought they deserved it. You’d fallen so far, and a way back now seemed impossible.  

The darkness commented on a particular time where you were torturing a woman who’d been very difficult to track and get information from. Even when you did find her, she’d been loyal to the Empire, insisting you should’ve died with the rest of the Jedi traitors. You’d responded by cracking the individual bones in her fingers and hands before moving up to the bones in her arm. You’d broken her right clavicle before she’d finally told you what you needed to know. I particularly liked this moment. Do you remember how she couldn’t stand afterwards? All she could do was writhe on the floor in agony. Quite a humorous sight.

You remembered them all and it made you feel sick to your stomach now as you watched the endless stream of tormented and pained faces of people you had tortured and killed in your quest for information.

The last scene disappeared and despite the fact you had been walking along the corridor that whole time, the light had still remained far out of reach.

See? No matter how far you go, you’ll never reach that light. Why bother searching for it anymore? You know you’re better off alone. All you need is this power and you’ll be unstoppable. But since I know some part of you still cares for your clones, don’t trouble them with this. It’s not something that can be shared or fixed.  

The figure faded and you collapsed to your knees in defeat. You had succumbed to that darkness and hurt and killed too many people. You’d crossed that line, and you weren’t sure there was a way back for you and you wouldn’t take Hunter down with you. Or Wrecker and Echo. They deserved a chance to rescue Omega and set things right, and if being with Hunter meant that chance would be at risk, you wouldn’t take that from them. Even if it would kill you, it would be the last thing you did to protect your family. ‘No attachments. There is no emotion, there is peace.’ You had to finally listen to that part of the Jedi Code that you had fought against for years and… and you would let them go.

--

Once it seemed things were more under control, Wrecker broke the quiet. “I’m going to go keep watch.” He said before walking out.

There were a few minutes of silence, the only noise being the quiet hiss of Lyra sealing shut your injury now that she’d cleaned it.

“Didn’t know you had this skill set.” Hunter said into the quiet as he watched Lyra.

“I tell myself it’s not so different from stitching and making clothes. Plus, she kinda made it that I had to learn quick. There were just some things she couldn’t handle on her own.”

There was a dip in conversation again.

“I was sorry to hear about your kid... and Tech.” Lyra said quietly as she worked on you. She placed a bandage over your now closed injury and started to put away the medical supplies.

The mention of his brother’s name had him stiffening his posture. “Yeah, well, we’re going to find her.”

Lyra nodded understandingly before she indicated to you. “She’s been non-stop since Ord Mantell. She wouldn’t rest until she found you. Didn’t matter how dangerous things got, she wouldn’t stop.”

Hunter continued to stroke your brow. “She’s not the only one.”

“I almost wished she would. I thought the search was going to kill her. Especially after what happened last time.”

This wasn’t the first time she’d mentioned this now. And from the dynamic between the two of you since arriving here, he figured there was key subtext he was missing. He glanced over to Lyra. “What are you talking about?”

Lyra took a short breath. “It was a few weeks ago. She-” Lyra stopped as she heard you let out a soft groan.

“Hey you.” Hunter said softly as you slowly opened your eyes. “How are you feeling?”

You didn’t answer him. Whatever soreness you were experiencing wouldn’t come close to the misery your next course of action would cause you. “Thank you. Again.” You said to Lyra instead.

Lyra nodded. “I’ll go keep Wrecker company.” She said before grabbing her sniper rifle and making her exit.

Hunter brought his focus back to you and provided a supportive hand on your back as you sat up. “Take as long as you need. I figured once you’re feeling more up to it, you can say your goodbyes and leave with us. After-”

“You have to go.”

“Yes, I know…” Hunter said, tilting his head at you. “But you need a bit of time and-”

“No, you need to leave without me.”

Without you? No, you couldn’t mean that. “What’s-” He stopped for a moment to try and recover from the confusion your statement caused him. “What’s changed between that alleyway and now?”

You knew he wasn’t going to make this easy but every minute you had to do this was tearing you apart. “Everything has. The Empire knows what I am. It’ll add unnecessary heat.”

“We’ll cope.”

You swallowed harshly and grimaced as you readjusted your sitting position. “It’s not just that. Things changed when we got separated. I changed.”

“That doesn’t scare me.”

“It should. All I’ve done…” You trailed off and gulped. “I’m not who I used to be.”

 “I’ve done things I’m not proud of too. But we can-”

 “Hunter, I don’t belong with you anymore.”

Hunter couldn’t accept that. “You’re one of us. You always have been. Since the first moment you stepped in front of those droids on Devaron, you were one of us. I don’t understand why-”

“There’s someone else.” You blurted out and fuck you hated yourself for it. You knew by the way he recoiled from you and from deep hurt and betrayal that flashed across his face, you would’ve been better off hitting him. You knew you had to hurt him. Even if he left hating you, you could find a way to let him go. But you hated that you had to do it.

“There’s someone else.” Hunter repeated quietly, his throat bobbing as he kept his voice tight.

You had to push it. It was the only way, but it felt like your heart was being ripped out of your chest as you said the next words. You forced yourself to keep your voice cold and level. “I’ve moved on. I only needed to know that you were alive. And now I do. You can go now. Just leave and don’t think about me again. It’ll save us all a lot of bother.” You couldn’t face the wounded look in his eyes and you turned your own away from him and had to blink away the tears that threatened to fall.

Hunter clenched his jaw and swallowed thickly. “Look me in the eye and tell me that again.” He implored.

He knew you too well. You wouldn’t do it. If you did, he would know you were lying. So, you opted for something worse- you would manipulate his heart. “If any part of you still cares about me, you will go. That’s all I want now. I need you to leave. You’ll only be hurting me more if you stay.” You said firmly as you faced him again.

You sounded so sure, and even if he thought he could see something in your eyes that took the conviction out of your words, he’d never want to cause you pain, he wouldn’t be able to stand it. Better him be the one to take the hurt, no matter how unnatural it felt, no matter how much every fibre of his being yearned to stay by your side and work this out. So, Hunter got to his feet and walked over to the door. “Every part of me still cares about you.” He murmured back to you before the door opened and he walked out. He was walking out on you- something he thought he’d never do- and it left him feeling like he had a gaping hole in his chest.

--

As you heard the door shut, a broken sob left your lips and you let the tears fall.

--

“Where is she?” Lyra asked as Hunter came out from the door behind them.

“Keep her alive.” Hunter said numbly to Lyra before he walked away.

“Hunter-” Lyra started to say but the clone wasn’t stopping.

“Eh, well, I guess it was nice to see you.” Wrecker said hurriedly before he darted after his brother.

“Bye.” Lyra said with confusion as she watched the two clones go. She turned to go back inside and hopefully knock some sense into you.

--

You’d managed to drag yourself into the sanctity of your room, but the isolation wasn’t helping things. The regret you were feeling was overwhelming but what was done was done. You needed to stand by your choice, it was what was best for them, you just needed to learn how to cope. You needed something, anything, to distract your brain from the self-doubt running rampant in your head so, staying mindful of your wound, you tentatively sat back on your bed and closed your eyes, drowned out the pouring rain smacking against the glass, and found your centre again.

Not to your surprise, you were only surrounded by darkness. You’d let the last light in your life go, there was nothing left for you now.

Spark.

Not that voice. Not again, you couldn’t handle that. “No, I’m not doing this.”

Yes, you are. You need to listen to me, Spark.

You sighed and saw the figure of your old master appear in the vast space before you. “So, either I somehow took a turn and I’m dead or I’m hallucinating.”

Your master simply chuckled. Must it always be extremes with you?

“You taught me what I know, you tell me.”

Well, based off your past choices, I would say you’ve forgotten much of what I taught you.

“This is why you’re in my head? To lecture me about my choices? Yes, I broke the code, big whoop. I never liked it anyway. And now I’ve given into the dark side, sorry to have disappointed you.” You grumbled as you looked down at your feet.

He sighed. It hurt him to see you look so defeated, this wasn’t the young Jedi he’d raised. Evidently, you were going to need more help than he expected. This isn’t some meditative trick. I’ve always been with you, Spark, and now I’m with you because you need help. You’ve strayed from your path, and you need guidance.

“You’re a few months too late, Master.” The title came back into your vocabulary so naturally, you’d nearly missed the fact that you’d reverted back to your student/teacher dynamic so quickly.

That defeat you’re feeling is exactly why I’m here now. This dark side you seem to think is your destiny is not decided, but if you continue to stand by the decision that you just made, it will be. There’s a chance for you, Spark, don’t throw it away.

You couldn’t bring yourself to believe him. “If you’ve truly been around for all of this, you’ll know what I’ve done. You’ve seen what I’ve become. I wasn’t as strong I thought I was.”

You haven’t fallen yet. He reiterated. What you’ve gone through would wreck most people, the fact that you’ve only strayed from the light now is a credit to you. But this choice you’ve made to let them go is what will seal your fate.

“What are you talking about? I was on this path long before what happened on Ord Mantell. I saw it!” You said, your voice rising in frustration and distress. Why was everyone around you so insistent that you could heal from this? You’d shown your true colours years ago, you were only doing what you were obviously meant for.

He raised his hands to calm you. Spark, listen to me. You’re not-

“I had to let him go! I had to let them all go! You should be glad, Master! I’m finally following the teaching you worked so hard on getting through to me!” Your breathing grew more uneven and the word that left your mouth were filled with self-loathing, but you couldn’t stop them. “I’m damaged goods, I have been from the beginning, and I couldn’t bring him down with me! I couldn’t bring any of them down with me!” You felt tears slide down your cheeks as the emotion you had been trying to hard to push down came crashing to the surface.

And is letting attachments go part of the Jedi or Sith philosophy? He asked gently.

His genteel manner caught you off guard. You huffed out a quick breath. “Why does that matter?”

Answer the question, please.

You released an agitated sigh. “Jedi, I guess but-”

And let me ask you this, you said you saw what you’ve done? How?

You regained some composure. “I don’t know how to describe what it was I saw, but whatever it was took me down a lovely stroll through memory lane and I saw what I was. There’s no denying it now.”

It was starting to make sense to him now and with this new understanding, he finally knew the best way to help you. Yes, the dark side can be very manipulative that way. Especially when it knows there’s been pain plenty of pain and sorrow. It preys upon that and I’m just sorry it got to you before I could.

“What are you talking about?”  

What you saw, it wasn’t the whole truth.

Not the whole truth? “What do you mean?”

He looked at you with intrigue. What do you think I mean?

You inhaled deeply to find some patience. “Master, please. I’m not your padawan anymore.”

He bowed his head in acknowledgement. You’ll always be my padawan, Spark. But I understand this may not be the best time for one of my lessons.

Despite everything, the nostalgia his teaching persona brought you had you humming out a quiet laugh. “I guess working together on whatever cryptic lesson you’re going to impart on me will be fine, for old times sake if nothing else. Just don’t leave it all to me. I’m not clear-headed enough to do all the thinking.”

He nodded and smiled knowingly at you. It will be less cryptic that the lessons I used to give you. Let us begin.

You knew that gleam in his eye and you forgot that no matter how agitated or frustrated you’d been growing up as his pupil, he’d always found a way to put you at ease and you’d been more open to learning again. Even dead, he still seemed to possess that ability. And it was because of that, you found yourself getting ready to welcome whatever wisdom he felt could get you out of this hell you’d put yourself in.

Now, I understand that you are feeling a lot of guilt and self-loathing, correct?

Feeling it? You felt like you were drowning in it.

And you have convinced yourself that your clones, particularly… Hunter, isn’t it? He waited for your nod before continuing, are better off without you because you’ve done too much. Stepped over that line one too many times? A lost cause, yes?

“I guess you could say that.” You mumbled.

He hummed in thought before he spoke again. You mentioned something about you were this way from the beginning. Can you tell me to which beginning you are referring to?

You inhaled shakily. “I- I saw you die again. I watched myself destroy the rest of those droids in undisciplined rage and- and I was reminded of what I’d said to you.”

Ah yes, that was quite the day. Rather humiliating on my part, I must say. I should’ve just listened to you from the start. My we exchanged some choice words. He ruminated with a small chuckle.

You remembered him having a rather dry sense of humour, but this just seemed absurd. You’re laughing about this?! I was awful to you! I saw you die and all I could do was wreak havoc on a group of droids and I enjoyed it! I held your dead body in my arms and the last thing I had done was insult you and forget everything you’d taught me for some fucking battle droids!”

He held up his hands to appease you. You’re right, I shouldn’t have laughed but that wasn’t quite how it went.

You furrowed your brow. “What? I saw it! I remember it pretty clearly, even without the reminder. I’m haunted by it and you’re telling me that wasn’t what happened?!”

He shook his head. Not quite. Remember, the dark side has a remarkable ability to alter events to fit its needs. It only picks out the moments necessary to draw out those darker emotions. What you saw was true, from a certain point of view, but it didn’t show you everything.

“Then what am I missing?” You asked, desperation in your voice because if there was anything that could help ease the ache from that day, you needed it.

I wasn’t dead when I hit the ground. Fret not, no amount of medical attention would’ve saved me. He interjected hastily as he saw the panic that graced your face. Although the sadder truth is I did in fact die in your arms but… He angled his head to catch your eye again as you had shied away from him upon hearing that. He started again, but your last words to me were not fuelled by irritation or cruelty, you apologised for what you said as well as how you handled those droids. You told me that I was the best teacher you’d ever had, and you promised you would continue to work on what I taught you and to make me proud. That was the last thing you said to me before I passed on. And I can honestly say, Spark, that you kept your promise, despite how it might seem currently.

You went to speak but found that you didn’t have the words. All these years spent being tormented by a memory that in fact had another side to it, could that be right? Seeing it again had made it seem all the more true but there was nothing but sincerity in his face and voice as he told you this. He wasn’t looking to feed you a false narrative, there was no vindictiveness in his tone.

You don’t have to believe me immediately, I know things have been tough but we’re going to go through this and I’m going to help you see the truth, okay? He said tenderly.

You could only nod.

Okay. He straightened up. I’m going to make an educated guess and say that if that incident was the starting point, the next situation would’ve been that unfortunate time with Ahsoka and the Jedi Council and also the day you decided to leave?

You gulped and found your voice again. “Um, yeah.”

And I expect you were shown yourself in an untamed rage with little concern over the words you used?

You gave a stiff nod of your head.

Uh huh, well, once again, you were shown a manipulated memory created from shame. You were unhappy, and I can’t say I blame you, they really fucked that up if you pardon the phrase.

You couldn’t help but snort at his gentlemanly manner and you were reminded of the many telling offs for language you’d received growing up.

And while you were disappointed in them and frustrated, you never lost control of yourself. Your voice was raised but level. You were clear in your points, and you never said anything untoward save for some unsavoury language sprinkled in. He watched you impart the familiar eye roll as he said that last statement, but he took that as a positive sign. Your attachment to Ahsoka didn’t cloud your judgment, your decision to leave was made with a steady heart and a focused head. And I watched you do it and I knew it was the best decision for you. It did set things in motion, but they were good things for you, Spark, and it’s important that you realise that again. He looked at you earnestly.

You held his gaze, and, in his eyes, you saw the master that had been with you through thick and thin. The master that had put up with your questions and doubts about the Jedi Order that the Jedi Council could hardly tolerate. You saw the master that had mentored you and fought by your side for years. He was one of the people that had known you best. He wouldn’t lie to you, and you felt your heart opening up to what he was saying to you.

Shall we continue? He asked after giving you a minute to process.

You shook your shoulders and exhaled heavily before you looked at him and give him a single, firm nod.

--

He had taken you through various events bit by bit. Pointing out that elements that demonstrated you were still being pulled towards the light. Things like you would’ve either left or killed Lyra the second she’d gotten you out of Ord Mantell and her use was over. Things like you wouldn’t have offered so many opportunities for people to talk to you before you injured or killed them, you would have hurt them first and asked questions later- killing and pain had never been your first port of call. And any firefight that ensued, when possible, you made sure you remained the primary target and civilians would be out of harms way.

Concern for others and worry about the consequences of your actions… Sith and dark side users tend not to feel or allow for these things. He surmised.

Even if what he was revealing to you was the whole picture, there was still the pressing matter of how you’d been in the recent months. “But Eriadu and everything that followed after… I let something in, what was it if not the dark side?”

He gave you a sympathetic smile. You had never experienced loss and betrayal in such quick succession before. What you let in was the anger and anguish you were feeling which you weren’t trained to handle properly. The more you went on, the more those emotions twisted your brain which allowed the darkness to creep in and make it more effortless to act on said emotions. It was easier for you to get what you needed with your emotions being what they were, and you didn’t have to think about who was getting hurt. You got a rather bad case of tunnel vision- you were doing bad things for good reasons, but they were not senseless acts of violence.

“But I have done so many bad things.” You said with self-directed disgust.

Yes, but what you can do now is work towards finding that line again. To finding that control you had in the past. You’ve been on that path since this morning, the self-awareness of what you’ve been doing wasn’t present in the months before today. However, you cannot get back to that place alone anymore, you’ve changed since you left the Order and most of it was for the better, but more attachment means more support. You will not be able to find that balance if you let your family go. He said with a sense of urgency. He needed you to grasp what he was telling you, no matter how unnatural it might feel.

Your pulse quickened. Surely, he wasn’t suggesting what you thought he was? “What are you saying, Master?”

Do you know where your nickname originated?

Confused as you why this was suddenly relevant, you angled your head at him. “I always figured it was because word spread that I made my lightsaber slightly wrong the first time and nearly set it on fire when I first ignited it.”

He chortled. That acted more as a visual aid and a helpful addition to the true origin.

“Then where did it come from?”

He took a deep breath. In the weeks leading up to the time for us to choose a youngling to take under our wing, you caught my eye from the start. It wasn’t just your natural ability with a lightsaber or your quick grasp of the Force, it was how you interacted with the people around you. During the trials, you had a heightened care for how the others were performing and you aided them whenever you could without a second thought. It made you more focused, more effective. You were unique from your peers in that sense and in a way that I’d never seen before, and I knew I had to get to know you more to understand what it was I was picking up on.

“Yeah, I remember. I’d never expected someone to choose me so eagerly, especially since my disciplinary record was far from perfect, even at that age.” Youreminisced with a sigh.

Yes, my fellow Jedi were surprised at my decision, but there was just something within you I had to see for myself. As we got to understand each other and I could officially begin your training, I watched you continue to demonstrate this quality and I could feel it residing in the Force within you. You had this spark, this fire that drove you which would worry even the most disciplined Jedi Masters but with you, it was as much a part of you as the Force was with the rest of us. You were completely at peace with it, and it was something you probably didn’t realise was so rare. You could feel attachment without rejecting the light side of the Force to do so.

So, the name made a bit more sense after all these years, but you still couldn’t see why this was being brought up. “Okay…”

He could tell you were still hesitant to all this. Do you know which General had the most victories with the fewest casualty numbers? Quite a feat to have during war time I might add.

You huffed a heavy breath from your lips. “I have no idea. The war was such a mess and there were so many of us that it was hard to keep up with the results of each battle.”

Fair point. He conceded, but that doesn’t change the answer which is that it was you.

You were taken aback for a moment before you thought back to that period and part of it did make sense. Many of your strategies had seen you take on the most dangerous elements for the sake of the clones in your battalion despite protests from them, your master and pretty much everyone that was involved, but all that mattered to you was that they worked, and you did what you could to protect everyone else.

He knew you enough to recognise that face and he figured whatever it was you were thinking about would relate to his next question. And which General had the most visits to the medical wing? Another impressive award. He added with a hint of disapproval, his mask of control slipping slightly as he frowned at the memories of the countless notifications he’d receive of your admittance to the healing wards of the Jedi Temple.

You cringed as you remembered the fact you had been on a first name basis with all the medical personnel. “I did.”

He nodded. Attachments didn’t bring you down, they lifted you up. Their most negative consequence in that period seemed to be the recklessness they gave you- and my hair greying faster than I would’ve liked. He couldn’t help but say before he continued, but they didn’t unbalance you like they did most of us. And it is on that point my dear Spark, that I failed you.

“Failed me?” In what galaxy could he have possibly failed you when you were the one that had forgone all you stood for and was one slip away from total self-destruction.

When it became clear to me that this was indeed one of your best qualities and strengths, I was thrilled! It presented a challenge for me as you Master that I was looking forward to exploring! Your emotional attachment to people and causes was one I wanted to teach you to manage, not forbid. Your love and care didn’t make you more susceptible to the dark side and its dangers, it drew you closer to the light. That fire that burns within you isn’t a threat, it’s your way to become something greater. But the Council… He trailed off with a regretful sigh. They rejected my proposal that I mentor you in this way. So instead, as you got older, I worked on forcing you to dampen that flame within you but- He stopped for a moment and chuckled wryly. As you may remember, that was when the root of our conflicts started. Foolishly and rather selfishly-and this is an example of how even those of us that followed the Jedi Code to the letter slip from time to time- you passing your trials into Knighthood gave me profound relief. Not only did it mean I could see you become the Jedi you were always meant to be, but it meant my duty as your teacher was over and I could stop doing something I was against. But I shied away too much and stopped teaching you altogether, had I just been less of a ‘pawn of the Council’ as you quite rightly put it, what you’re experiencing now could have been avoided.

You took a moment to let his words sink in, but you wouldn’t let him blame himself for how you’d behaved in recent times. “I still made the choices to hurt those people, Master. You’re not responsible for my actions.”

Perhaps not, but I could’ve done more to make sure you were better equipped to deal with the loss attachment could bring rather than just tell you to stop feeling it altogether. Not that you listened to that anyway. He added with a slight grin.

You allowed yourself half a smile at that before his face turned sombre again.

But I should’ve stood up for you and for that I’m sorry.

You bowed your head in acceptance of his apology. “But what does all of what we’ve talked about have to do with where I am now?”

Everything I’ve shown you, everything you’ve felt in these recent months illustrates someone who had to cope with a tremendous amount of grief when they had been told their whole life to not feel or get attached. Even with your strength and abilities, Spark, that was a big ask, your actions, and the internal conflict you’re going through is an understandable outcome. But even in dealing with that struggle, you were never purely evil or sought to abandon your Jedi teachings. The only time I grew truly worried before now was whatever you did a few weeks ago. Even I couldn’t see you; it was like the very light around you was getting snuffed out. Care to tell me what you did?

You shook your head adamantly.  

Very well. As I was saying, all you’ve learned, all you’ve done and means you can heal from this. You are not a lost cause, not a source of darkness and despair. You are good at heart, Spark!

But Master, I-

No, don’t talk yourself out of this. Really think about what I’m telling you. You never abandoned Lyra, you did your best to ensure no civilian would be caught up in your fights, you offered chances to those people before you hurt them. And you were able to sense Hunter and Wrecker arrive. That source of light wouldn’t have shown itself if you were too far down that dark path.

Maybe so but-

He wouldn’t let you second guess yourself anymore. And when you realised that they were indeed on this planet… what did you do first?

You pondered for a moment before you remembered. I helped those sisters.

And when you found one another, you felt alive and hopeful again but because you’d been lost and confused for so long, it got manipulated into that guilt and regret and hurt you are experiencing right now that has left you exposed to this darkness. But before that, you were ready to free yourself of it, whether you truly realised it or not.

“Right…” You said distantly as you were slowly starting to understand what revelation he was guiding you towards.

I can see you working it out, you’re almost there. He encouraged.

Each lesson and aspect of this entire conversation began to click into place. “So, you’re saying that Hunter’s my light? He’s my way out of this?” You uttered quietly.

Isn’t he? He challenged with a supportive smile. And I believe he too made that fact very clear before you sent him away.

“I thought that was what I was supposed to do.” You said in dismay as your mind finally began to listen to what your Master had been telling you and you gained some proper clarity. What had you done?

He looked at you fondly. You were always a bad student when it came to applying and learning the history of our Code, it would fit that the first time you apply the philosophy to your life would be the poorer choice. They never unbalanced you, Spark. At the very least, they’re your way of staying true to the light side and your dark side knew that, hence it’s enthusiastic efforts to turn you.

You hid you head in your hands in embarrassment. You wouldn’t know a right decision if it smacked you in the face.  

Oh, and with regards to Cid and Hemlock, I leave that side of things entirely up to you, with your family by your side, I know punishing them however you like won’t ruin you.

“Thanks, Master.” You replied, a smile in your voice.

Not every Jedi gets the chance at a family, Spark, don’t throw it away now.

You glanced up in time to see him fade away but what was around you wasn’t pure darkness anymore; rays of light had broken into the gloomy space, with more fighting to get through.

--

You opened your eyes sharply and wiped away the damp residue of the tears that had escaped your eyes from your cheeks. He was right, they were the light in your life, and you’d been so stupid to let them go.

Ignoring the lingering pain of your injury, you hastily got to your feet, grabbed a couple bags of credits, and left your room only to be greeted by the disappointed and unhappy face of Lyra. “Hey, I was just-”

“You need to go after them. I’m sorry but I’m drawing the line here. I have not watched you put yourself through hell and risk your life month after month to find your family again only for you to throw it away for some stupid, fucked up, self-sabotaging reason! If you let them go, it will destroy you and as someone else who cares about you, I cannot allow you to do that! They’re your family, you need them, and they need you. And your kid needs you, you can’t just stop! And Hunter… that man is so in love with you it’s sickening, and you are as equally disgustingly in love with him! Whatever is holding you back, the two of you can get through together!”

“Lyra-” But she held up a finger to stop you.

“And you don’t need to worry about me, I will be fine. I’ll get a job and might even find a place that’s not a condemned building to live. You have to go!” She finished with a nervous exhale as she awaited your reaction.

“You’re right.” You agreed.

“Yeah, I am and- wait… what?” Lyra stared at you, shocked.

“I’m going after them.”

“You are?” She double checked.

“Yup.”

“Oh, thank fuck!” Lyra exclaimed before she darted forward and wrapped you up in her arms.

“How long were you coming up with that speech?” You kidded as the two of you hugged.

“For however long you were holed up in your room.” Lyra said with a laugh. “And in case you didn’t listen to that, I had my rifle set to stun and was fully prepared to drag you.”

“Glad we could avoid that.” You replied drily. “Also, ‘sickeningly in love?’” You quoted.

“I meant that as a compliment. Most people can only dream of that.”

You managed a short laugh. “I was an ass to you.” You mumbled shamefully.

“You were, but you were going through a lot.” Lyra said kindly as she removed herself from your hold.

“I was broken and hurting but that wasn’t an excuse to treat you how I did and I’m so sorry. I’m truly grateful for you and your friendship and well, just everything you’ve done for me. I won’t ever forget it. There are some spare bags of credits from those jobs I pulled whilst we were on the move in my bedside drawer, take them. And if there’s anything, and I mean anything you need, I will be there. You only have to get in touch.” You passed her the details of the Marauder’s comm channel.

“Go get ‘em.” Lyra said with a grin.

You gave her one last quick hug before you ran out the door, concern for your injury was pushed far to the back of your mind. You only prayed to the Force that you hadn’t left it too late.

--

“But I still don’t understand why we’re going without her. What you’ve said makes no sense.” Wrecker questioned as he followed Hunter up and down the Marauder as he got stuff ready for take-off.

“Not my problem, Wrecker. I don’t really want to relive it all again so that it makes sense to you.” Hunter said gruffly as he avoided making eye-contact with his brother and instead focused on keeping himself busy.

“She met someone else and you’re basically doing the whole ‘if you love someone you let them go?’”

“I guess that about sums it up.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Wrecker-”

“I’m sorry, Sarge, but it’s true.”

“You weren’t there. You didn’t hear her.”

“She can’t have meant it! She still has your insignia, if there was someone else, why would she keep that?!”

“Wrecker, drop it.” Hunter said sharply. His brother’s insistence that you were making all this up was only rubbing salt in the wound.

“We’re really just going to leave and forget about her?”

“Yup.”

Wrecker just couldn’t accept that. “If you love someone, you fight for them! Otherwise, what’s the point in what we’re doing right now, why should we bother going after Omega?”

Hunter paused his pacing by the doorway and released an exasperated sigh. “What do you expect me to do?”

Wrecker went to speak but changed his mind as to what he was going to say as he saw the figure in the background. “Actually, I don’t think you’ll have to do anything.” Wrecker said, looking past Hunter’s shoulder.

Hunter turned to follow his gaze and that was when he saw you. Standing in the torrential rain a few feet away from the steps to the Marauder, was you and you were obviously trying to catch your breath.

--

You started to speak before you caught your breath, so your words were leaving you in a desperate and winded manner. “I was always a bad student.” You raised your voice over the sound of the pouring way. You wiped some drops away from your face, a futile gesture given the intensity of the downpour, but the motion assisted in grounding you for this moment.

Hunter studied you from afar for a second, unsure as to why you’d started this way.

Sensing his uncertainty, you cleared your throat and started again but your words still spilled from your lips in a nervous ramble. “So, it turns out I was always a Jedi who developed attachments and love for people, but apparently that’s a pretty strong and unique quality and applying the Jedi philosophy of ‘letting attachment go’ is a mistake and- and it felt like one. I have such a poor grasp of that concept that even when I went to use it properly, I got it all wrong. I was always a terrible student but for once, for once in my life, I have never been more grateful for it.” Your voice quivered as you said these next words. “I love you! I love you so much it hurts but it’s the kind of hurt that I can’t imagine not having in my life. You, this team, are what keep me balanced and alive, and I was stupid to think letting you go was the solution to everything I have done!”

Hunter could feel his heart thundering in his chest as he listened to what you were saying.

“Finally seeing you again made me feel hope and brought a newfound sense of purpose in my life I didn’t think I’d have again but it got all twisted, I let it get all messed up! I saw you and Wrecker, and I felt that love again and it terrified me at first! I had been acting out and miserable for so long that I didn’t think I deserved to feel this way again or that I should burden you all with my past. I needed to be punished and this was the best way I could think of. I allowed whatever darkness that had been driving me for that period we were apart to convince me that you were better of alone and I had to say whatever I could to get that to happen and for that, I am sorry!” You were in full flow now, all the emotions you’d been supressing came crashing to the surface and for once, it actually felt good. You weren’t existing as a husk of armour anymore.

Hunter couldn’t stand the gap between you anymore and he got his feet in motion. He needed to be near you, he needed to hold you again. You didn’t seem to notice his movement though because you carried on talking.

“There was never anyone else, there could never be anyone else! You’re it for me and this-” You stopped and gestured to the half white skull insignia on your top layer. “When I had this and said that you were a part of me, I truly meant it! Even when we weren’t together, that feeling never faltered. Half my heart beats for myself and this family I was fortunate enough to find. The other half beats for you! You are so deeply engrained in my very being that when I didn’t have you, I could hardly call it living! And then I got you back, and I was flooded with all the emotions I’d been missing since that day we were separated, and they collided with everything I’d done wrong, and I just panicked! I entered self-sabotage mode and thought letting you out of my life was what I had to do! I ruined one of the few remaining good things in my life and was preparing myself to let it be so. Thankfully, it was pointed out to me just how incorrect I was and I’m sorry!”

Hunter kept slowly walking down the steps towards you, the heavy rain instantly cascading down his face and body, but he didn’t care. His sole focus was on you now and the words you were saying. The words that were now healing the open wound he’d had since leaving you in that run down apartment.

“I need to come back. I need to be with you and I’m sorry I got everything so wrong! I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, but you have to let me come back!”

“Yes.” He said as he continued to shorten the distance between you both.

“This family is the light of my life. You are the light of my life. So, either, let me come with you or just shoot me because without you, without this squad, I am just a shell of a human being and I’m done feeling like that now! You have to let me come back!”

“Yes.” Hunter said again as he stopped in front of you.

“And I-” You cut yourself off as you finally registered what he was saying and that the space between you both was now only a matter of inches. “Really?”

Hunter nodded and his hand fell to your waist whilst the other cradled the side of your face.

“I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” You whispered softly as your hand rested on his now unarmoured chest and you got utterly absorbed in the feeling of his heart pounding beneath your fingertips- each beat emphasising that this was real, you were actually with him now- and you had no doubt that he could pick up on the way your own pulse was racing.

“It’s okay.” He breathed. “I love you too.”

“I love you.” You croaked out again as you felt the emotions rise in the back of your throat.

“You never stopped being a part of me either.” He murmured, his breathing heavy as his self-restraint was hanging by a thread, but he needed you to be sure. “Can I-” Hunter started to ask as he angled his head and slowly brought his lips closer to yours.

“Yes.” You cut him off. If he didn’t kiss you now, you felt as though you might stop breathing.

Hunter swiftly bridged the remaining distance and the dread he’d been experiencing at the idea of never finding you, at the idea of leaving you behind instantly evaporated in this moment as he finally placed his lips on yours.

You sighed into the sensation of experiencing this again and what began as hesitant and careful, soon became a kiss between two people fuelled by passion who had been apart for far too long and who would never be apart again. You wrapped your arms around him and pressed yourself against him.

Hunter first made sure he held you securely in his arms but as the kiss progressed and both of you became more immersed in feeling each other once more, his hands started caressing everything he could find. The actions elicited a small but desperate noise from you which he already felt drunk off of and he needed to hear more of you. The rain that had once felt like a harsh cascade of cold, damp water now felt gentle and tepid. He got utterly absorbed in your warmth and he tasted the water on your lips, but the interference didn’t bother him, he just relished the feeling of having you back in his embrace again.

You faintly registered the sun breaking through and the rain lightened in its deluge as you kissed him. If it wasn’t such a perfect moment, you might’ve laughed at the cliched nature of it all, but you were too caught up in this feeling that you ignored it. You threaded your fingers in his hair and lightly tugged, soliciting that raspy and familiar groan from him and your stomach fluttered at the feeling.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t ignore your current injury any longer and you felt it strain as Hunter held you tighter to him in response to your actions.

Hunter forced himself to pull away upon feeling your wince, his chest heaving as he worked on getting oxygen back into his lungs, but you interrupted his incoming question by continuing to plant light, affectionate kisses on the rest of his face and he couldn’t help the low but happy laugh that he let out. He lightly grabbed your shoulders and took a slight step back to take you in. The way the sun fell across your face had his breath catching in his throat. Your eyes were bright and looking at him with an adoration that he knew was reflected in his own gaze and the blissful smile on your lips beautifully captured the feelings of this moment. He rested a hand on the side of your face.

You looked into his own shining dark brown eyes and leaned into his touch with a soft and content sigh.

Hunter continued to slowly caress your cheek. “Not to disrupt your healing journey, but I have to ask… where do you stand on Cid and Hemlock?”

“Oh, don’t worry, they’re getting fucked up. I have permission on that front.” You said with a decisive nod. “I just have to watch the line with those that aren’t exactly personally involved.”

Not going to question where this permission came from exactly, he was just grateful whatever had happened, had brought you back to him so he just focused on the last part. “I can help with that. And you can look out for me too. We don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

You gave him an agreeing and grateful smile before you planted another tender kiss to his lips and grabbed his hand as the two of you walked back to the ship.

“This you officially back with us now?” Wrecker asked with a grin as you stepped aboard.

“You won’t be able to get rid of me.” You replied with a small smile as you gazed around you. There were times where you had felt uncertain as to whether you would stand amongst these comforting and familiar walls again, and your senses were flooded with the memories you had created and shared here. You swallowed harshly as you saw Omega’s and Tech’s spaces, but you regained your composure as you walked along the hallway. Your hand traced along the bunk you shared with Hunter and a soft sigh left your lips as you were instantly reminded of the slightly more personal moments you had experienced there.

It felt good to be home.

“Ready?” Hunter asked as you finished in the cockpit. He came beside you and wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you tight to him as Wrecker put the ship in hyperspace.

You nodded. “Let’s go get our girl.”

Next Oneshot>

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[disjointed-art]

Hanahaki comic part 1: seedling second half:

Darn tumblrs 10 image max

Other half

Trigger warnings: blood, medical imagery, canon typical violence, disease/illness, implied vomiting, frustrating miscommunications

[eupheme]

— meet me in the woods

halsin x druid!reader/tav

rated e - 7.2k

tags: double druids, smut with feelings, aphrodisiac (in the form of a fertility solstice), mates/mating rituals, hinted at breeding kink, poly!halsin (but has a connection with you), pleasure dom!Halsin, canon-typical violence, masturbation, miscommunication, oral, PiV, size kink, multiple orgasms, cum play

Living in the city had muted your druidic powers, cut you off. That all had changed, in your journey across Faerûn. Something inside of you had cracked open - letting nature and instinct sink in.

And in spite of the feelings now burning inside you - you don’t know what it means to celebrate the Solstice. Luckily for you… Halsin is there to help you through your first.

The sky has started to slip from soft shades of blue to deep orange and purples. Your wrist aches from where you scrub at your hide armor, removing the layers of grime from the long days of travel.

Your eyes flick up, like they have three times already in the last ten minutes. Across the twist of smoke from the fire that Gale tends, a cauldron of stew that has begun to fill the camp with it's rich aroma.

To where he lounges. To where your eyes meet soft green.

You look away.

"Do you think he's looking at us?"

You don't mean to ask this question out loud. It's a thought that swirls in your mind - slipping between teeth and a tongue loosened from a warm afternoon under the sun and a flagon of crisp wine.

There's the cutting strike of shale against steel. Sharp eyes flicking across to where yours have slipped, once again.

A lip curling, with the click of a tongue.

"Chk. I've seen that look on a male before." Lae'zel's tone is knowing, the slightest hint of a smirk sent your way, as she sharpens the edge of her longsword, "A bear that wishes to devour."

You blink, glancing her way at the humor in her voice. Trying to ignore the fluttering flip in your stomach at the thought.

"Oh, I am not so sure he sees me that way." Your knuckles curl as they press into a stain, your eyes dropping in mock concentration.

A red eye cracks open near your hip, Astarion's head propped up on the wrap of your bedroll. Curled like a cat under the sun and with the wafting warmth of the fire - a hand coming up to shield the bright glare above.

If it had been anyone else lazing next to you, you might have asked them to lend you a hand with the basket of vegetables for the stew - the next in your long list of things to-do. But secretly, you were just pleased he chose to spend the afternoon near you.

"Gods - I took you for boring, darling. But I never took you for stupid." He sighs, with a stretch.

Well, you had been pleased.

He ignores your look of offense as he pushes himself up on an elegant elbow, chin propped in the cup of his hand, "I don't think he's stopped looking at you since he's joined us."

A wistful sigh, "It's enough to make me wish I had saved that child."

Before his nose wrinkles, as he reappraises that thought with displeasure.

"Appreciate that, friend." Your response to his earlier remark is flat, as he flops down again.

"Oh, don't be like that," He drawls, "You were the one who asked."

The misdirection is noted with a small huff of a laugh, as you turn back to work again. Flipping around their thoughts in your own mind.

How you wish that were true.

Your own feelings were no secret to yourself. There had been no pretending in your heart, after your first meeting. Even if you had not always known the strength of your powers, you had always known yourself.

There had been a near-instant attraction with your first meeting. A suspicion that there was something special about the bear trapped in the worg pens. That feeling blossoming with the fluttering in your stomach when he had changed - the depth of his thanks at your aid in protecting the Grove.

A seed had been planted then. A hope that perhaps, with time - with some tending - that there could be more. That feeling only grows since, flourishing, weaving its way between your ribs.

And lately, you think there has been something more. His laugh comes easier. An eagerness to join you when you left the camp. Never far from you, when you return.

You were the first one he turned to after the rage of battle.

“Are you well, teuivae?”

As if you could not mend your own wounds. The word that slipped from his tongue lost as his eyes searched - until he was satisfied that the blood splattered across your leather armor was not your own. Broad hands that cupped your face. Close enough to brush his own against yours, but instead he had hovered.

Waiting - but for what, you did not know.

It had you wondering. You suppose enough now that those thoughts have made their way out into the world. Not knowing what to do, with your friend’s confirmation.

That feeling only increases, the turn of the moon turning it into a surging weight in your chest. Something physical, that gnaws at you. Tipping past want and hurtling towards something that felt like need.

Your thoughts of desire running wild, until you can’t help but slip your fingers beneath the layers of your bedroll. Your teeth biting into the heavy fabric that muffles the quick circle of your fingers, the soft sigh of your relief.

It was hard not to. To see him that way, to want him.

He is kind. Almong the best Elves you have met. He could take care of you. Your mind tells you, now. Protect you.

A very instinctual thought, one that you’ve brushed aside. You don’t need protecting. How could one protect against the tadpole, better than you already are?

But the thought comes back.

He would keep you safe. You know that, as certain as the changing of the seasons.

How quick he already is to race to your side - all teeth and claws. Imagining the honor of sharing his bedroll, how he’d wrap around you…

Only now do you realize you’ve been staring - your damp rag hovering in your still hands. A small shake of your head as you concentrate on your work. Making a point not to look again, to push the thoughts from your mind.

You really needed to get a hold of yourself.

You’re still thinking about it later, as dusk settled. The sky now streaked with hues of purple and grey, the camp littered with small fires and torches. Bellies full of stew, content to wind down after the long day.

Under the stars, it's impossbile to ignore just how much things have changed.

In the city, everything had felt muted.

Even in the outskirts, the small towns you had flitted to. The desire to fit in cutting off your attunement with nature.

But, after the Nautiloid. After you had crashed down to the Wilderness. Met the others - truly embraced who and what you were - things had changed.

You felt more like yourself than ever.

Even when you thought your time left was marked by days. Hours.

The warmth of the sun against your face. Acres of trees, the bark rough beneath your fingers as you climbed.

It seeped into your skin. Invigorating you. That liminal space between beast and body melding as you changed freely, unrestrained by space or propriety.

It was freeing.

You didn't have a coven, in the city. A lone wolf - left to wander along.

Forgetting how it felt to channel the forces of nature, with the night air wrapping around you. A bond formed when you had met Halsin, your first prolonged contact with another Druid in years. Something had been planted, watered with admiration, carefully tended in the absence that had soon come.

An urge to stay at the Druid's Grove, once the fight was over. Something unlocking in you, a need for kinship.

It had been ignored - there had been no other option. But it was like part of you stayed cracked open. Inviting nature, the whims of Silvanus, to eddy inside you. Growing potent, under the wax and wane of the moon above.

Intimate feelings mixing their way in along the way. Undeterred by the quiet, shared murmurs. Of rumors and whispers of Halsin's many lovers - good natured ribbing about his scar.

You had often thought your heart was too large to belong to only one other. It had been a relief, when you heard Halsin speak the same, around the fire.

Not fearing a connection, but not limiting it. Like nature itself, he had said. His eyes had found yours - you had taken it as some sort of lesson, from the Archdruid.

Perhaps it had been an invitation, instead.

The thought is pleasing to you. Enough so that you think… you think it’s worth being brave for.

You can’t help but seek him out, once more. Thick arms cross over a broad chest as he talks, though you’re too far away to hear. But it doesn’t stop his gaze from finding yours over the top of Wyll’s head. The way his friendly smile softens, a look you suddenly feel certain is just for you.

One you return, as that thing inside your chest swells. Blooms.

You’ve trusted your gut so far.

You’re ready to trust it again.

There is a stirring. A rooting, something sprouting in his chest. A feeling that has flickered before, but never this strong.

It had been easy, for gratitude and respect to bleed into something more, after their first meeting. After seeing such a fierce little thing take down two goblins with the flash of sharp teeth, sharper claws. A worg following, almost bigger than themselves.

Few would have stood before him, after. A frown as ferocious as their bear-form as she had offered her own opinion on how to handle the Druid Kagha, though his sentence had already been bestowed.

It had been hard not to smile.

There had been more pressing matters that had kept him away, after. Denying the offer to join her - them - the Emerald Grove had needed him more.

But still, something had lingered.

A connection. Something invisible that ties them together, that has nothing to do with the being that squirms in her mind. It begins lower - beneath the cage of ribs and where, perhaps, something soft lies.

It has him feeling like a yearling again, in spite of his three hundred and fifty years amongst Faerûn.

As the moons have passed, he'd become too accustomed to the gleam of her fur, in the sunlight. Nearly blinding him. Eyes as sharp and a tongue as quick as his.

Her true form as pretty as a field of wildflowers, of the rainbow spray of colors against the mist of a waterfall.

Evenly matched, he has thought. More than once.

The sentiment settles in his bones, trapping him - a rabbit in a snare. Though he's not so desperate to be freed, as he might have thought. The idea of being tied down had never been appealing.

But there is no urge to leave. To walk amongst the forest again, to find his way back to the Druid's Grove, for Spring. To dance and join beneath the moon, like he had for so long.

A more singular focus taking over his thoughts, as the rite approaches. A deep-seated hope, his affections shown in the ways known by his people.

Many have begun their attachments in the span of evenings to follow. Perhaps they would take the same path, if is she was willing.

The thought is more than pleasing.

It has him seeking out the eyes that fall on him so often. Finding where they linger now, in the flickering of the fire. The look she gives him - one of consideration, one of seeing in a new light - is one he knows well.

The beast inside him can read the subtle looks like tracks in the mudbank. The glitter of lights in her eyes like runes - etching a message just for him.

Enough that when she turns from the fire, when she pushes herself so carefully up - slipping like a shadow, into the forest...

It's impossible not to follow.

You can feel him behind you, as you weave through the trees.

Anticipation, excitement, pricking up the hairs on the back of your neck. Guided by the stars that sift through the canopy of leaves above.

Your feet know the way, though your mind does not. Guided by something primal inside you, taking you to a small clearing.

Grass blankets the space, tucked away in the forest. Dotted with wildflowers, a break in the branches above to let down a shaft of moonlight.

The armor you once clung to left back at the camp. An innate knowledge that there was something special about this place - that you were safe here. Protected by your own abilities. Even more so, with him following.

There is much said, in the look that he gives you as you turn. The shift of his shoulders as he approaches, a slow nod of approval as his eyes sweep across the clearing.

“You’ve chosen this spot well. The Solstice, could you feel it?”

His words make you frown, suddenly unsure. The curve of his smile wanes at your silence, as he takes another step closer, “Is that not why you’ve come here?”

The hope you’ve carried sinks, settling low in your belly. So unlike the weight that was there before - one of hunger and desire.

“I must confess, I had been hoping.” He continues, with a cock to his head, “But it seems like we are on different paths.”

You have to answer him, you know this. It takes a second to gather your courage, this meeting quickly taking a much different turn that you have expected.

“I do not know anything of your Solstices. I came here because I hoped…” Your gaze drops, unable to look at him, “I had hoped that you would follow. That this night might be ours.”

A hand cups your jaw, tilting your head up. To your surprise he is smiling, his thumb stroking across your cheek, “Your answer relieves me. We are not so far apart. I thought I had been clear, but it seems you are still unsure of my intentions.”

Something flips in your stomach, melting the spray of ice that has coated your insides. A small flutter of hope, as your eyes search his green ones, “What do you mean?”

“I have become so accustomed to your presence, that I’ve forgotten that our ways are still unknown to you.” His voice softens, and you can’t help but lean into his touch - hanging on to each of his words, “I’ve been courting you for some time, now.”

Time freezes, for a moment. Your mind whirling past all the small moments you’ve collected - held so close to your chest. Reaching out to touch others that now made more sense.

Bringing you your share of dinner at the camp. A solving of the mystery of a fire that had been stoked during the night, an extra pelt placed over you for warmth. Caring for you.

You had mistaken them all for chivalry.

“-and I had thought you were accepting, tonight. With the beginning of the Solstice.”

“I must be dense.” You can’t help but smile, with a sensation of being able to breath again, “I had my own wishes, but I never knew-”

“I should have been more clear. Forgive me,” His hands touch his scars, his smile turning wry, “I thought it wise to let you set the pace of our journey.”

Hence his waiting for you to kiss him, after that battle. His following you, tonight.

Courage rises in you, once again.

“I want you to show me what it means to celebrate.”

He softens, for you. Hands dropping to entwine with yours, bending until your foreheads touch, “Then I am yours.”

The slightest tilt of his head, bringing your joined hands to point at the heavens.

“With the spring comes new beginnings. We lead the way, with the Solstice. Baring our flesh and joining beneath the moon, in an offering to the Oak Father.” His words are a low rumble, it’s impossible not to focus on his mouth, the way it quirks at his next words, “It is… rigorous.”

The heat that has simmered for weeks now flares to life, as his eyes darken.

Bu there's something small tickles at you, making you lean back. Your brow furrowing, needing the clarity.

"Is it just the Solstice that draws you to me?" Is it just duty that has ensnared his affections? Is this no more than fulfilling the desires of Silvanas?

He laughs, with a shake of his head, "If our first meeting had been in the Grove, your beauty would have been more than enough to enthrall me."

The knowledge is flattering. That he still would have wanted you, in another life, in another time. His next words are enough to cast the rest of your doubts aside.

"But make no mistake. For quite some time now, I have desired more. Deeper than the skin, down to the marrow." He brings your entwined fingers to his mouth, his lips pressing against your knuckles, "I fear you stole more than gold that day, in the Sanctum."

There is much that he reveals, with his words.

A sense that your feelings are more than reciprocated. A reminder that he does not mince words, like others you have known.

For as keen as your eyes are, you should have realized this sooner. The last curl of unease lifts, wafting up to stars above.

“How do we begin?”

“Eager. I like that.” Halsin grins - his eyes dragging over you, as his voice pitched low, “For starters… you are overdressed.”

With as large as his fingers are, they are dexterous as they tug at the tie of your tunic. A palm curling around your waist, tugging you close as your face tips up to his.

“And there is usually music.” He murmurs, dipping just enough to brush his mouth against yours, “But I am sure we can make our own.”

His name is a soft sound on your lips, before they press against his. Warm and solid and plush, a sigh in his throat as your hands reach up to grasp at broad shoulders. Slipping to tangle in his chestnut-colored strands, keeping him pulled close.

And you are reminded that he is strong. Abandoning your shirt when your tongue brushes his lip. Hands catching the underside of your thighs to haul you against him.

Your legs stretch wide around his waist. One of those hands moving to splay across the small of your back, a low growl rumbling as you nip at his lower lip.

Hunger gnaws at you, as he deepens the kiss. An ache to be closer, unable to get enough of the taste of him as he licks into your mouth.

Holding you against him as he sinks to his knees. Bringing you down against the blanket of grass, nestling you against it. A low chuckle at the way you still cling to him, entangling yourself around him like vines, as Halsin begins to tug at your clothes again.

Carefully, as if it's a gift to unwrap you.

"Come now, my love." He coos - another gentle tug, as you finally let go.

The air ghosts against your skin, warm with the changing of seasons. A low sound of approval with each layer that is stripped from you. The curl of a palm against your ankle, tugging off your boots. Heat pooling low, as fingertips brush up your thigh, settling at your belt.

"I long to see you bare beneath me."

He touches you as if he can't get enough. The sweep of his thumb over your thigh. Fingers joining yours as your hips lift, allowing him to peel your trousers down, and then off.

You think that perhaps it should feel strange, to be naked in the moonlight. But Halsin eclipses the brief fluttering of unease. The hunger in his expression captures yours, as he leans back to sit on his haunches.

So broad, so big. You think the desire must match in your own eyes, his sentiment so shared.

"Join me," You coax, a hand reaching for his thigh - feeling the muscles jump underneath.

His grin gleams in the moonlight, as he lets you start to do the same to him. Distracting you terribly as his hands skim from your waist to cup your breasts, teasing and pinching.

Only tearing the sleevless tunic from his shoulders before he's curling over you - his mouth pressing against your neck. Inhaling your scent with another low growl, his nose skimming over heated skin.

Those lips pressing against your throat, the threat of teeth as they part. You squirm beneath him, something inside you aching for him to bite down. To mark you.

You can feel his smile against your skin, his hands still teasing the tight peaks of your nipples. One drifting lower across sternum and belly, drifting across the curve of your mound.

It’s easy to arch into his touch, to urge his fingers lower. The sweep of his fingertips is so light, a summers breeze against your skin - a low hum of a laugh as your hips jerk again.

“I know it’s affected you.” There’s the slightest pressure - thick fingers split, tracing the crease where your thigh meets groin. Purposely avoiding where you need him, where you know you’re wet and wanting.

Another sharp intake of breath, before he’s pushing himself up to hover over you, “At camp. Your smell. It was difficult to hold myself back.”

He touches you, then. Twin moans as his fingers slip against slick flesh. Dripping, for him. Almost making you forget your words as the pad of his fingers circles your clit, as your hand brace against his biceps, nails biting skin.

“W-wasn’t the coming of Spring.” You protest - the rhythmic swipe of his fingers stealing your breath, “It was just you.”

The look he gives you then - it’s all soft edges, wrapped in a focus that’s so intense your eyes flutter shut. It’s too much, his gaze, his touch.

A low groan from his chest then, in recollection, “There were many nights lately where I wished to offer myself for your pleasure. Perhaps I should have.”

For your pleasure. Few would word it that way - conjuring images of him beneath you. His tongue tracing the same path of his fingers, your thighs pressing against the long points of his ears.

It makes you clench - the simmering fire in your belly sending up sparks, stoked by the way his head moves lower. Your fingers slipping to twist sharply in his hair, as his tongue peeks out to brush your breast.

“More, Halsin. I need you-” You pant, your free hand fitting under the bulk of his shoulder. Reaching to nudge his hand down lower, until his fingers are brushing your entrance.

He traces you, before he sinks into you, down to the first knuckle. His hands are so much bigger than yours, there’s already the slight stretching burn as he eases deeper.

The tilt of his head, chin pressing against your ribs. The fire burns in his own eyes, a heavy press of his hips against your thigh, letting you feel him.

“If we had been at the Grove, I would have hoped you would have chosen me as your mate for the duration of the three nights.” It’s a confession, the word mate ringing out - enthralling you, “Now, I do not know what tomorrow brings. I will give you all that I can, tonight.”

In a fluid motion, he moves. The ripple of muscles as he shifts between your thighs - their breadth stretching them too wide. Enough that you have to hook one over the curve his shoulder, before his head dips.

The heated swipe of his tongue hits you just as his finger presses deep and curls. You’re instantly thankful for his three hundred and fifty years, with the pointed exploration of his mouth.

A groan as he tastes you, those green eyes fixing on yours again. Fitting another finger into you as your heel digs into his shoulder, as your head tips back with a cry.

It’s too much. Pleasure skitters through your stomach, your hips moving on their own, matching the steady thrust of his fingers. How he drags them against a spot that makes you keen and squirm, before sliding them free to fit them between his lips.

Tasting the honey of your arousal, his lips already shining with you, before filling you again. Muscles clenching like the pull of a bow, waiting for the arrow to fire.

Halsin moans into your cunt like he’s feasting, like he truly means to devour you. His own hips pressing into the ground, easing his own need for friction.

Too practiced with the tight flicks of his tongue, the way his lips kiss and suck against the sensitive bud. The press of his fingers loud with how wet you are, matching your sharp, panting breath.

His name is a whimper before your muscles string even tighter. Going stiff as your breath catches, a pathetic whimper of a sound before you’re crying out.

The pleasure ignites, ripping through you as you come. As your thighs press around his ears, though he does not slow. Fucking you through it with his fingers, soft growls that buzz against your clit with each press of his tongue.

Leaving you breathless, boneless.

His mouth soft as kisses are pressed to your thighs, as you come back to yourself. It feels like you’re glowing, a soft haze settling over your limbs, down to the curl of your toes.

A broad hand smears your slick across his jaw, as he pushes himself up to kneel between your thighs. Where his cock strains against the leather of his leggings, tenting the soft fabric.

You ache to make him feel as good you feel. Something primal roars in your belly, as you follow him. Hands pressing against his chest, the flicker of shock turning warm as he lets himself be eased back.

Until it’s your thighs straddling his, moving up until your slick cunt is pressing against that heavy curve. His lips parting with a soft pant as you lean over him, your head dipping to kiss him.

He tastes like you, the sweet tang of your orgasm. Another shudder of pleasure coursing through you at the thought - as his hands find your hips, coaxing you to rock yourself against him.

Back home, you don’t know if you would have had the courage to climb this mountain of a man. But the images that flicker through your mind - the ones of him beneath you - are too strong, tugging at you. Beckoning your limbs to follow.

“I want to-,” You’re mumbling, between kisses, “Will you let me?”

“Follow your urges, my heart. Wherever they lead you, I am here.” His words sound strained, his hips flexing up, against you. More than content to be your guide, or to let you explore at your pace.

Your fingers drop to tug at his belt, with his consent. His hands coming to cover yours, lifting you with the rise of his hips. Freeing himself, his clothes joining yours on the forest floor.

It’s only here that you pause, as your thighs stretch across his waist. Where it becomes evident just how proportional he is - his cock full and flushed and heavy, curving up towards his stomach.

Unable to help touching him, his eyes fixed on the slight frown and then panic that flits across your features. A low rumble as your hand fits around him, your fingertips unable to touch.

“You-” You stammer, suddenly unsure, “Halsin, I don't know if I can-”

His eyes darken at your insinuation, his teeth flashing with his smile. Fingers curl around his base, tilting himself up. Pressing himself against your belly, the tip smearing a wet spot on your skin.

Measuring. Your grip tightens and he groans, his hips flexing into your touch.

His voice ragged, rough in the night air, “You can take me. Know you can, my love.”

You can’t pretend you’re not eager to try. Hands pressing against his chest, eyes flicking between his face and his cock, as you lift yourself up.

One leaving to hold him steady, taking a second to feel him slide against you. Muffling a sigh when he bumps against your clit, slicking him up with your release. Before you line him up, and start to sink down.

He splits you open. The pinch of his fingers against your hips hurts, as he tries to resist thrusting up into you. Even with your orgasm, your cunt slick with pleasure, he still stretches you wide.

Taking an inch, and then another. A tremble in your thighs as your knees press into the earth, a strangled whine as you make room for him.

His murmured encouragement catches in his chest, the moon and spring calling to him - only his experience keeping him from taking matters into his own hands.

A strong jaw ticking as you sink onto him, achingly slow - until your hips finally lie flush. Your hand flying to your belly, as if you could feel where he fits inside you.

His gaze is heavy, reverent. The press of fingertips against your skin as his grip eases, lips parting as you carefully begin to lift up - to rock back down.

The sensation flickers through you like faerie fire, the slow and sweet drag of him. Making you feel impossibly full, your head dipping down to hang between your shoulders. Hands curling into the hair covering his chest, as you figure out how to move.

It’s impossible to describe. A desire like you’ve never known bites at you, curling in your belly. You think perhaps you understand now - this need to bring forth the Spring and celebrate its arrival. It’s been something inside of you this whole time, waiting for guidance.

You have it, now.

“I-I did not think there was anything that could rival your touch,” Your words some out shaky - your thighs already twinging with the effort of moving. The steady rise and fall of your hips, the hitch in your breath when he sits flush within you, “I am happy to be wrong.”

The corner of his lip lifts in a snarl, but it’s one of pleasure. Just as gone as you are, with the drag of his eyes from your face, down to where you bounce on his cock. The thick peek of him each time your rise, shining with your slick.

It’s enough that his hands slip lower. Fingers slipping to rub at you again, each time you sink down.

“Use me, then.” He rasps, “Come on, sweet one. Take your pleasure.”

Your heart races, breath caught in your throat at his words, his touch. The slow pace increasing, as you try to do what he says.

Instincts flooding wisdom, drowning it out - tilting your hips until your thighs tremble, as he knocks against a sweet spot inside you.

Again, and then again. His eyes are fixed on you now, and the look he gives makes you clench - coveting his attention. Wanting him to only look at you, tonight.

To sear the feeling of you into his memory, as he has done to you. You think there is nothing that could make you forget tonight.

To forget this swirl of magic, as if you’re tethered to the ground, the sky, him - all at once. Utterly free at the same time, your body moving on its own without inhibition, encouraged by the sound of his moans.

The clench of teeth - the heavy press of hips that have begun to snap upward, no longer able to hold back.

“Oh gods-” You keen. Once, and then again - a grinding circle of your hips against his fingers, as that feeling inside you threatens to burst again.

Halsin chases the rock of your hips now with his own, with his fingers. His laugh rough, caught between his teeth.

“The gods may be listening, little one. But only I will answer.”

It makes you shudder, makes you beg.

“I’m so close. Please don’t stop.”

His fingers stay true. Pressing just a little harder, a jostle of his thighs as his feet plant against the ground. Fucking up into you now, as your pace falters. Too focused on the rushing white noise in your ears, the feeling that’s so big that it feels like you’ll choke on it.

“Let me feel you.” The words are muted, miles away. Digging into your skin to weave around your ribs, “Sweet one, come on-”

Your cry rips from your lungs, as you tip over the edge. He’s there to catch you, the steady pound of his hips as your own legs fail you. Fingers sweeping as the pulse of your cunt matches the heartbeat in your ears, clenching around him as you find your release.

Pushing himself up to meet you, as your arms wrap around him. Letting you chase the last waves of pleasure with the grind of your hips, your mouth panting into his neck.

A sweet sweat beading at the nape of your neck, across your skin. Your head turns just enough to meet his, his hand coming up to curl around the back of your neck.

To hold you to him, hovering over him, as he buries himself in you again. Again and again, until he is panting as you steal kisses. Tasting where you still linger in his tongue, another melding of your spirits.

“How do you want me?” His eyes are bright, hands slipping down to cup your ass, to help you ride him, “My heart, I fear I won’t last-”

You had made a pretty coin, brewing herbs and potions. Enough that you could do it in your sleep, your talents extending to camp. Teas of protection brewed openly and without shame.

The need for him to spill in you floods your senses, your own breath ragged at the thought.

“In me, my bear.” You beg, leaning back - the snap of your own hips sharp and loud, “I need you in me.”

The groan he makes is laced with relief. The feeling coursing through him as well - an innate need to spill himself into your cunt. To rut himself into you, until you’ve taken every drop.

Your name is ragged on his lips, as his thrusts turn shallow. As you take over, riding him until his hands grasp at your waist, as he goes stiff beneath you.

He throbs, a warmth flooding deep inside you. A pretty sight, his strong back arching into you - lips parted, hair streaming loose amongst the wildflowers. A snap of teeth as he grinds against you until you drip with him, too full of his cock to keep everything inside.

Fully joined, beneath the moonlight.

Afterwards, you melt against him. A hand smooths down your back as your fingers wander. Across the fur of his bare chest, the curve of his lip. The swirls of scarred and tattooed skin - your lips following.

He’s beautiful beneath you. Eyes content and half-lidded as an arm tucks beneath his head. A little inhale of breath - his broad chest rising as your lips move to his neck.

If you were Volo you think that, perhaps, you’d write a song about this. But that would mean that you would not be with him now, and the thought all but fills you with agony.

That hand on your waist tightening as you push the thought away - stretching up to reach the curve of his ear, a groan as your tongue traces the point.

It moves you against him. His cock slipping part-way out, only to sink deep again with your exploration.

He’s still hard, achingly so. You’re more sure whether it is a blessing of Silvanus or just him - this being so perfectly crafted in nature’s image.

Your teasing winds him up, even as his release leaks from you, shining against your thighs. A groan buzzes against your lips, where they still press against his throat.

A shifting beneath you, a pointed lift of his hips that nudges him against that sensitive place inside you.

“Let me take you, once more,” He husks, his face tipping up to yours. Knuckles brushing your cheek, tender in spite of the fire burning in his eyes, “Like the Oak Father intended.”

Desire still burns in you. An ache at the thought of having him another time, enough that you’re pushing yourself up to straddle him.

Nodding, your begging “please” making him smile, as he pushes himself up on an elbow. His eyes raking over your body, bathed in the glow of moonlight. Where he’s still buried deep, kept warm by you.

Before he’s moving. Hands gripping at your waist - a soft whine when he lifts you off him. His cock flushed and shining where it rests against his belly, as he rolls you beneath him.

“Hands and knees, my love.”

You’re eager to do so. The grass soft against your palms as your knees press into the ground. Arching your back - feeling the weight of his gaze as his thighs brush against yours.

The curve of his cock pressing against you, as he squeezes the flesh of your ass. His touch reverent and hungry, grinding himself against your core as he groans.

“If I could keep but one image in my mind, it would be this one.”

You moan at his praise, rocking back to meet his press of his hips. His hand dropping to wrap around his slick cock, notching it at your entrance.

Holding himself there as his chest presses against your back - warm, as his other arm wraps around your middle. It does something to you. The position, the feel of him overwhelming you.

“Halsin-” You pant, each second ticking by feeding into your desperation, “Why do you wait?”

“My impatient little she-bear,” He laughs, but the sound is strained with you beneath him, “Do not fear, I will give you what you want.”

And he does, the thick tip of him parting you. Sinking deep with a rough thrust of his hip, making you cry out as he fills you.

You had thought he was big before, when you rode him. But you had been in control - taking him at your own pace. Bouncing at your leisure, aided by the span of your hands against his muscular chest for balance.

Now, it feels like he’s in your throat, as he seats himself completely. As you make room for him, gripping him so tightly he chokes on a breath, fingers biting into your skin.

Yours wrap around his wrist, braced against the grass for balance. Nails biting into skin as he noses at your neck, his breath warm where it ghosts against your skin.

A kiss pressed there, so tender that you feel yourself relaxing. Rocking your hips back, whimpering at the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls.

“Take me,” You beg, wanting more, “Feels so good, I want you-”

He groans, and you can feel him throb inside you. There’s the sharp snap of his hips, starting shallow. Sliding out further each time, until pleasure is crackling against your skin.

The little clearing filled with the sounds of your joining. Panting breaths and the slick sound of you taking him. Fucking his own cum deeper into you, lewd with the way you cry out when his cock grinds against that spot. When the heft of his balls kiss your clit again and again, heavy with his arousal.

It feels right. Halsin’s body pressed against your back, bending you until your chest is flattened against the grass. Fingers finding purchase in the strands and flowers, giving you something to hold onto as his thighs crash against yours.

Each deep thrust pushed your breath from you with a soft whine, leaving you panting.

Trapped beneath him, until all you can do is take it.

Squirming against the cage of his chest and arms.

Fuck me. Take me. Fill me-

It comes from deep inside you. The want to be filled. An ache at knowing he’s already spent himself, that each thrust brings him closer to a second.

You must say the words out loud because he makes a noise that sounds wounded. A stutter of his hips, his words a jagged rasp, “Let go, my love. I've got you.”

So, you do. Releasing your hold on that last ounce of control. Leaving yourself in his hands, letting your sounds and cries flow freely. Embracing the mounting pleasure as it swirls through you.

You babble - half-formed words as he holds you against him. Shifting when he hears you sob, rutting himself against the spot that sends you up to the stars above. The broken “oh, oh, oh’s-” bleeding into “Gods, Halsin-”

His teeth press against your neck, pinching against your skin, “Give yourself to me.”

The arm curve around your waist moves. Fingers carefully wrap around your hair until it’s fisted in his grip. Pinning you further as he pants in your ear, soft grunts and growls that sound like music in the night air.

Not stopping until you’re shuddering beneath him. Until he feels the tight pulse of your cunt, his own release not far behind. As sweet as the taste of you, as your muscles jump under his touch, as you arch and claw at the grass below you.

It’s bliss. It feels like you’re channeling the forest itself. Feeding off the pleasure that radiates from him. The new beginning of the season, the pull of the moon above.

The Gods are pleased, you think dizzily, they must be, for I have never felt like this.

The slap of his hips is louder, as you soak him. An overwhelming instinct to claim you, as his teeth sink into the curve between neck and shoulder.

Holding you still against him as he growls. Eyes flashing gold as you cry out again - pleasure and pain melding as your orgasm flares out, beginning to ebb in sweet bursts. As the sensation drags him along to find his own end.

Spilling into you a second time with a shout. His hips moving on their own, shallow thrusts with each pulse of his cock. Your head twisting to meet his mouth, a press of teeth and tongue as you swallow his groans.

Until his strength is all but sapped from him.

Until he is more man that beast again, those eyes soft and green again - a field of clover on a bright spring day.

It’s an easy thing, to take you with him to the forest floor. To curl around you - blocking your smaller form from the midnight chill that’s begun to creep in.

Warm and strong - an arm wrapping around your hip, a large hand splaying across your belly. As if those thoughts still lingered.

Still pressed inside you, keeping you filled with him. You think you’d be content to stay like this all night. Longer, if there was not more work to be done, tomorrow. More paths to be taken.

It’s not long though, before you find yourself shifting. Dozing in his grip, a sleepy rock of your hips in an effort to feel him move in you again.

“Oak Father, preserve me.” Halsin stirs behind you, as he huffs into your hair, “Insatiable little thing. And to think I worried about you lasting through the solstice.”

Your teeth bite into your lip as you grin, as his arms wrap more tightly around you.

“I should have been concerned about myself. This old bear needs rest, little one.”

But even with his low rumbling, his hand drifts. The pad of a finger brushing against your clit, sending another shot of pleasure coursing through you.

Your thighs part, a knee bending to give him access. Another soft whine as his circles against skin that is slick with his release, as his hips slowly match the lazy rhythm.

“Do not worry, my love. I will not leave you wanting.” He rasps.

“And there are many left hours until dawn.”

omg I started playing recently and I am so in love with this game. this was so much fun, I hope you enjoyed! I love Druids so much (and am playing one) and thought they for sure would have a 👀festival👀 of some kind and wanted to explore that in the context of like, act ii/iii (I am still playing so please let me know if I got any lore wrong!!)

Teuivae – ‘Moonlight’

(tags: @samspenandsword, @amywritesthings)

[magicbystarlight]

Before I Knew You - Part Ten

Bill Weasley x Reader

Masterlist, Part One

Thank you for reading, I love seeing the comments and appreciation for this story ❤️

Summary: You’ve spent years training under Madam Pomfrey in the hopes that you would join the Healers at St. Mungo’s at graduation. But in the aftermath of the death of Albus Dumbledore, you chose to join the Order instead. When you’re forced into hiding, you find yourself alone with Bill Weasley and his new wolfish tendencies.

Word Count: 4,037

Warnings: 18+, typical canon warnings, sprinkle in some miscommunication, age gap, questionable ethics from a medical professional. Minors DNI.

The ocean was louder than you remembered. Colder too. 

Wet sand sank under your feet with each step, waves erasing the prints you left behind. The paper that morning had read August 30th. A month since the wedding. Six weeks since the farm. A little more than two months since the Death Eaters’ attack on Hogwarts. Eight months since you'd last seen your parents. A year since you’d kissed Cillian goodbye thinking there was a future together. Somehow that seemed too short a time for everything that had happened. All that'd you'd lost.

It had been easy to compartmentalize. Push it away and focus on anything else. But the holes were there. You missed the Cillian you'd known. You missed your parents and their excited, encouraging smiles. You missed Madam Pomfrey's complete trust in you and your abilities. You missed the days when you thought you had any control of tomorrow.

Three years working the Hospital Wing, two more being its frequent volunteer. All in hopes of a job at St. Mungos. You’d gotten it. A spot in the Janus Thickey Ward working with patients with spell damaged minds. The decision to walk away from it had been easy. You were no longer safe, yes, but that wasn’t why.

You could still remember his blood on your hands. The panic in Madam Pomfrey’s usually calm movements. His eyes finally opening, blue in a sea of red, and his hand gripping your wrist. He’d mumbled something. Impossible to understand. But he was alive and there was hope. He would live. Scarred and straddled with symptoms of an unknown severity, but there had been hope he could live his life mostly as he always had. Then Fleur had fled.

All he'd gotten was a letter. All you'd given Cillian was a letter. She’d sent back a ring, you’d sent back a bracelet. Maybe not the same, but they were kindred sentiments. And it was devastating to destroy something that in another time would have been forever. 

The sand shifted as you sat. No wonder Bill hated the idea of you leaving. No wonder you had such a hard time actually wanting to leave. It was ironic how well matched you were. Poetic even. You his stand in for Fleur and he yours for Cillian. He could make you stay and you could stay. He wanted to protect people and you wanted to heal them.

But he wasn't Cillian and you weren't Fleur and this wasn't a relationship. This was two traumatized people trapped together in a war trying to keep each other alive.

High tide came while you watched the moon's reflection ripple in the water. The ocean couldn't combat the forces of the moon. How could you?

—

Bill sat, head in his hands, at the table when you returned to the cottage. Waiting.

"Thought you went to bed."

He looked up. Gods it wasn’t fair when he looked at you like that. Like he was relieved to see you. "Yeah, yeah I did, but I heard the door and I thought…”

He didn’t finish the thought. You had to look away. His sad eyes were for someone else. “I needed some air.” Had you looked like that when he left? Maybe the first night. Much worse the other three. "I wouldn't walk out on you." Not like he did.

"Right," was all he had to say.

Maybe you should have left.

"I'm off to bed then." You hadn't made it two steps before he pleaded for you to wait.

"Can we talk?"

It was too much. Your emotions were still raw, bleeding and blistering from the scab you’d picked away. It hurt. You were hurting. And he only cared because he thought you were going to leave. Gods, why did that make it worse? 

"I don't fucking know Bill, can we? Cause I’ve tried. But every time you leave. Or we say ‘tomorrow’. But there’s never been a tomorrow, has there?” You couldn't look at him. If you did, you'd break. "I'm exhausted with this back and forth. Trying to manage being your Healer who understands how difficult this has been for you and being your friend who doesn't understand why you won't let me help you." You could hear him move, but you kept your gaze fixed on the stairs. "I can't keep doing this, having this same conversation with you. I know it's a lot, I get it, I do, but I'm terrfied I'm going to watch you die in this fucking cottage because your ego is too fucking big to let someone take care of you." He was standing right behind you. You could step back, let his arms wrap around you.

"I had nightmares." It was a fragile confession. An admission he didn't want to give. "Every night after that first one in the Hospital Wing. They always changed, but it was mostly just Greyback and Death Eaters coming after the people I cared about. Every night. Except the night Mad-Eye died. I thought maybe it was because I lived it that night, because they came back. And then we came here and it was so…peaceful. I just slept. Until I fucked everything up and left. The only night since then that I haven't dreamed of death and blood is the night I came back."

"You should have told me."

"What was I supposed to say? Sleep with me so I don't have bad dreams?"

You spun, shoving your finger into his chest. "And there's that fucking ego, Bill." "Ego? You think this has all been about my ego?"

"I know tonight was."

He started to say something, reconsidered, and said instead, "Alright you got me there. But, but, wait, please," he grabbed your hand as you'd begun to turn away again. "Think about this from my perspective, yeah? You’ve made it abundantly clear that you would do whatever it takes to make me feel even an ounce of relief.”

“Of course I would.”

“And don’t you see the problem with that? If I’d told you in the beginning that I needed to sleep with you and needed to fuck you, you’d have done it.”

“It would've taken me a bit to come around to it," maybe not as long as you'd like to admit, "but yeah. Yeah, I would have.”

“But not because you would have wanted to.”

He was wrong, but it only made you feel worse. “Do you realize how unethical it is for me to want to fuck you, Bill? It goes against everything I’m supposed to be as your Healer. You don’t have control over what’s happening to you, how your body’s reacting, and I’m supposed to be helping you through it, not taking advantage of you.”

“Taking advantage of me? I’ve got almost ten years on you. These last few months have been hell for you and now—now you depend on me for almost everything. What I want is depraved." He still held your hand, now clutching it against his chest. "I'm supposed to keep you safe and instead all I can think about half the time is…Merlin, you don't need to know. And maybe, maybe I can't help that, but I never had to drag you into it." Like you knew you would, you broke. Reaching up, you cupped his face. His scruff scratched at your palm as he leaned into the touch. "You didn't drag me into anything."

"I did, didn't I? Bringing you here? I should've taken you somewhere else with someone else."

"I think you're forgetting if it wasn't for you and Remus, I'd be dead. And if you hadn't been so quick at the wedding, I'd either been caught by Death Eaters or Cillian." His grip tightened on your hand, eyes clenched shut. "We've made the best choices we can, Bill. The ones that've kept us alive."

"It doesn't feel like there's been any choices."

"Well we have a choice now. We can figure out another living situation for me, with someone else and hope that alleviates some of your symptoms. Let me finish," you said as he opened his mouth. "We can do that. Or we can ignore how complicated and unethical it is for me to stay and we do what we need to do for each other. What we want to do to each other. But only, only if let me take care of you."

"So you do want me?" "Bill Weasley, did you hear any other words I said?"

His hand took hold of your waist, pulling you closer. "Every one of 'em. I'll let you run any test, answer any question, poke and prod whatever you need, follow every instruction you give. Promise. Just stay with me."

"I'm not doing this again. I won't have this conversation a third—" you paused and corrected, "a fourth time. If you can't—"

"We won't." His grip tightened, forehead pressing against yours. "We'll do it your way."

"Okay. Good." He felt so warm. "Maybe we should get to bed?"

“Yeah.”

“Together, right?”

“I do need you to keep away the bad dreams,” he mused before sweeping you into his arms. His amused chuckle as you questioned how he kept picking you up so effortlessly left you feeling breathless. “You’re light as a feather, love.”

It was only a few minutes later that he was breathing evenly beneath you in the small bed upstairs, an arm draped around your waist. He wasn't Cillian. You weren't Fleur. This wasn't a relationship. For now though, this was enough. One day it wouldn't be, but you closed your eyes and slept. 

—

Nothing could have made you leave bed. It smelled too good, felt too warm. After weeks of terrible sleep, it was heaven. From Bill's steady breath against your hair, it seemed he wouldn't crawl out of bed anytime soon either.

Almost nothing could have made you leave bed.

Nothing but a loud pop, followed closely by another. 

You were jinxed. You had to be. It was the only explanation for a Weasley horde popping into existence so early in the morning with Bill still wrapped around you in bed. Bill's wide-eyed terror mirrored your own as the shrill voice of Molly shrieked at the familiar laughter of Fred, George, and Ginny.

"...to Diagon Alley! Alone! To think I trusted you boys with her!"

"It was a quick stop," one of the twins insisted as you both fell out of bed and scrambled down the stairs. "Needed to grab something from the shop," said the other.

"And no one even saw me!” Ginny added.

“But what if they had! Don’t you think it would have raised a very dangerous question of exactly how you’d appeared there when no one saw you leave the Burrow? Hmm? They think they're watching our every move! We cannot have them question that!”

Five heads of fiery red hair came into view of the windows causing your own to whip around the house in case anything screamed, “We had sex last night!” Bill seemed to do the same. He dove for something on the floor that you couldn’t see from the table. He managed to straighten up just before the door burst open.

Fred—you knew it was him because he had both his ears—was the first of the brood to come through with George and Ginny close on his heels. “Mornin’ Bill! Mornin’ Gorgeous!”

“Merlin, Fred! Have no manners stuck in that head of yours?” Molly gripped as she followed. She turned from her son and fixed you with a softer, apologetic look. “Sorry dear. We didn’t mean to burst in."

"Oh, we most certainly did," Fred countered as he made his way to you and threw an arm around your shoulders. George added, mirroring his twin, “We were hoping to catch you two doing something naughty.” 

"That's it! Both of you, back to the Burrow!" 

Whining shouts of protests came from the three younger Weasley siblings as you were released. “It was a joke!” “Can’t anyone have a good laugh these days?” "But it's my last day!"All you could do was hope that nothing in your face gave away the very naughty things they'd have caught you doing if they'd come by the night before.

As the argument continued, Arthur took the opportunity to break away. He approached Bill, his expression markedly more subdued than the others. He whispered something into his son's ear. Bill's gaze flitted to you—in worry? Horror? Embarrassment? Oh gods, did Arthur know? Did they all know? An uncomfortable bubbling in your stomach grew as the two disappeared into the bedroom Kingsley had occupied the day before. 

“One more toe out of line and I will send you back, do you hear me?”

Your gaze snapped back to the others. No. They didn’t know. Fred and George would certainly never let you live it down if they’d known. Molly would not be looking at you with any kindness if she thought you’d taken advantage of her son. And Ginny… you didn’t want to know what she would do. You’d seen the aftermath of her hexes.

"Now outside. The three of you."

Ginny gave you a small wave as she followed her brothers outside. Definitely didn’t know. 

"Again, very sorry dear," Molly said kindly. “It was just supposed to be Arthur popping over, but Ginny overheard and well, she heads off to Hogwarts tomorrow and she’s been wanting to come.”

“Of course, yeah—yeah. I think Bill mentioned he wanted to have everyone over. Before, you know, Kingsley and all that. Something about fighting chickens?”

“Chicken Fight. The kids do love that game.”

“Right, yeah. So, um, has something happened?” Your fingers picked at your lip as you nodded towards the bedroom. “You know, since Arthur was coming by.”

Molly hesitated before giving a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Just normal Order business. Nothing to fret about.”

When you'd gone off to the farm, you hadn't really thought about bringing along a swimsuit. Molly, the ever prepared mother, had brought along an extra one-size-fits-all swimsuit for you. So you spent hours on the sand and in the water with the Weasleys doing your best to act like everything was completely and utterly fine. 

Like you weren’t worried about what had happened between you and Bill the night before, or worried for his health, or worried about what that horrified look meant, or worried about Ginny going to Hogwarts the next day, or worried if Kingsley was alright, or worried if someone else was going to show up on the verge of death again.

You were fine.

Completely and utterly fine.

“You alright?” Fred asked as he sat next to you on one of the towels. His hair still dripped, his siblings continuing to toss around a Quaffle in the water. 

You gave your best attempt at a smile as you pulled your knees tighter against your chest. “Yeah, of course.” You'd never been good at acting.

“Really?”he asked with a raised brow and skeptical tone. "Cause I don't think I've seen you crack a smile at all today."

Resting your chin on your arm, you watched Bill get tackled and dragged down into the waves by Ginny and George. Arthur was passed out a few feet away turning a shade that would rival his hair and Molly was sitting peacefully under an umbrella reading. Bill and Arthur had come out of the room like nothing had happened. Joking, playing, teasing with their family with an uncomfortable force. They wanted everyone distracted for the day.

"Maybe not alright. I'm worried about Ginny and all the other kids going off to a castle crawling with Death Eaters," you conceded. A half-truth. It would be Madam Pomfrey's first time completely alone in the Hospital Wing after three years of your help. She didn't need you, of course, she was more than capable of doing her job before you'd even been thought into existence. But you could imagine this year would be more of a strain than any other she'd experienced.

More than the year He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hid behind the turban of Qurrial.

More than the year the Chamber of Secrets opened and petrified Muggleborns.

More than the year dementors roamed the grounds.

More than the year of the Triwizard Tournament.

More than the year Dolores Umbridge tortured kids in detention.

Even more than the last year that ended with Death Eaters storming the castle.

“We’re all worried,” he said, shielding his face from his siblings to hide his frown. “I—I tried to talk her out of going. Told her we wouldn’t mind going into hiding. But she’s stubborn.”

“Stubborn is a famous Weasley trait, isn't it?” It was meant as a joke, but it came out too dry. If there was anything you knew it was how stubborn a Weasley could be.

“Suppose it is.” He laughed softly as his sister ramed her shoulder into George's side, sending him toppling into the water. "Can you do me a favor?"

You side eyed him, knowing not to trust anything he asked of you. You'd seen plenty of people in the Hospital Wing after doing favors for him and George.

"Forget about it all for a few hours. Try to enjoy what's left of today." You looked back to the water. George and Ginny squabbled over the Quaffle. Bill was standing to the side, his face turned towards where you sat at the beach. "If not for yourself, then for Ginny."

Fred stood then, sand sticking to his trunks. Extending his hand, he smiled expectantly. "Let's go challenge Ginny and George to a chicken fight, yeah?"

Your response was automatic. "George is not cleared to have that sort of pressure on his ear."

"He's totally fine though!"

You scoffed, finally taking his hand to stand. "He is not! He has a hole where his ear should be."

"Oh, come on, love," he said, watching as you dusted sand off yourself, "can't we be a bit ear-responsible today?"

A smile fought to take hold of your lips and you had to look away from his triumphant gleam. "No George. But Bill did promise me a game."

"Oh, Ginny'll be stoked about that." He took your hand again, dragging you into the cold water. "Oy, you lot! Time for a good ole' game of chicken fight, yeah?" George cheered. "Not you though, Georgie Boy. Our little healer says you've got to sit this one out." George booed.

"She's with me," Bill said, nodding at you. 

Fred tugged you closer, throwing an arm over your shoulders. "Fat chance on that, mate!"

"Does no one want me as their partner?" Ginny pouted. She didn't seem very serious, but it was enough for Bill to concede. It wasn't enough, however, to keep him from warning his brother that one inappropriate joke would end up with him sent back to the Burrow. Fred's promise of good behavior did little to soften the eldest's irritation.

He was jealous.

Ridiculously jealous.

Ginny suffered for it. What should have been an easy win for her, turned into a struggle with Bill constantly losing balance in the waves sending them both crashing down with the slightest push. Ginny still managed to bring you down a few times, but Fred was steady on his feet. It was Ginny, pushing hair and water out of her face as she stood back up again, who suggested a partner change. 

Fred was reluctant to let you go. Didn't the two of you make an excellent team, after all? But you worried Bill might snap, the blue in his eyes barely visible with how wide his pupils had grown.

"It's just a game," you reminded him lowly before he knelt down in shallow water to let you climb on. He gave no response beyond a content hum when your thighs pressed against his face. This time it was Bill who suffered. More so than Ginny had. How, exactly, were you supposed to focus on a game when his hands were on you?

Fred took the wins with all the modesty of a Gryffindor. His boasting you could handle, but his attention focusing on you, trying to flirt like he always would was detrimental to Bill’s health. And his.

It was Molly’s fretting over George getting sand in his ear that gave a perfect excuse to ease the tension. Physicals. Everyone needed one. See how George's ear had been healing, check no one had come under the Imperius Curse. It’s what you were supposed to do in the morning with Bill, anyways. One by one you examined the Weasley's in the room you'd occupied upstairs. Molly was the first, voicing her concerns over each of the others. Arthur came next. He was silent, only answering questions asked. Then it was Ginny. She cried. She'd tried not to, but she was sixteen and the world had fallen apart around her. A small drop of Essence of Dittany cleared up the redness in her eyes before she returned to her family. Fred and George were together, amusing themselves with their banter.

And last was Bill. The door hadn't been shut more than a second before you were pressed against it. 

"It's all in my head." His kiss was soft, but desperate. "It's all in my head," he repeated against your lips. Your fingers brushed a strand of his hair back into place. "It's just Fred being Fred. He doesn't know."

"Maybe we should tell him."

You chuckled, but he didn't. "Bill."

His response was to trail kisses along your jaw.

"Bill," you said firmer, pushing lightly against his chest. "We're not telling him. Or anyone."

"Why not?"

"Because how do we explain…this?"

"We don't have to explain. We tell them we're together and that's all."

Your heart clenched. It was one thing for you to know that you were filling the voids left by the war, but for the world to see that? No one would believe you were together for anything beyond convenience and desperation. It would be easier to explain the truth. "I'm not going to lie to everyone about what this is."

He pulled back, turning away and running a hand through his hair. "Right." He plopped on the bed. "You're right. You're not going to lie to anyone that we're together when we're not. I'll keep my emotions in check."

"It's not like we're going to have people here often. We'll be alone again in a few hours."

He nodded, blinking up at you in a neutral expression. "You're right. We should get on with the physical. It's part of the deal for you staying, isn't it?"

“Fine.” You went through the motions, checking him over. He was fine, a little better than normal even. His heart rate was accelerated, but considering his day that wasn’t much of a surprise. His mood has somewhat recovered before you returned to his family, thanking you with a searing kiss.

An extra chair had been transfigured from some old driftwood to add a seventh seat at the table for dinner. Fred and George had tried to take the side with three chairs, hoping to trap someone between them. But Molly was far too used to their antics and sent them to the other side to sit by themselves. Ginny was a buffer between you and Bill, his father beside him and Molly next to you at the ends. Ginny kept you talking throughout most of the meal Molly had made, asking as discreetly as she could about healing spells. 

“It was so nice to come here today,” Molly said, dabbing a napkin under her eyes. “I’m so glad you suggested it, Ginny.”

“It was lucky dad needed to come today.”

George asked, mouth full. “Why did you need to come today?” Fred, needing to be part of the conversation too, asked, “Yeah, what’d ya have to tell Bill?”

You were going to let it be a family squabble, but Arthur made the mistake of looking at you and averting his gaze too quickly. “Bill?”

“I don’t think now is the appropriate time to discuss it,” Arthur said.

Bill disagreed. “Cillian went to his office. Asking questions about you.”

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[penvisions]

by the grit of sandpaper {chapter 5}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Chapter Summary: Another overnight patrol, an asked favor, a miscommunication, a fleeting moment of pleasure and it all comes crumbling down. Even worse than you had anticipated, the allure of being a part of something bigger than yourself blinding you into believing it was finally within reach.

Word Count: 10.3k (!!)

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, illusions to past death, illusions to past trauma, blood, mild injuries, hurtful language, town gossip, rumors, negative feelings, pining, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, lots of feelings, angst, hurt and comfort, joel miller's hands need their own warning, intentional flirting, unintentional flirting, casual intimacy, urges to kiss joel miller get their own warning, adult content, teasing, yearning, protective joel, fluff, this is so unbelievably soft, size kink unlocked in reader, (girl, i feel you), reader is described as smaller than joel (bc c'mon), reader has a commonly used nickname but no assigned name, joel and reader pov

A/N: holy shit, i am so sorry for the mix up with the original content. i'm so emotionally drained from today that i didn't realize it wasn't the final version of the chapter that i uploaded. but it's fixed, all scenes are complete and as they should be.

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

It was your fault, you realized. As you set about searching for something you remembered seeing in the house when you had first been assigned to it and moved in with Aiden. It had been one of those things that you stared at in disbelief, startling manic, nearly hysterical laughter that had turned into tears and uneven breaths. So ridiculous to have come across it over a decade after the end of the world.

A pack of index cards.

Index cards. Who needed index cards at the end of the world, when language was all people had. Skills like writing, reading, all faded away and dormant reflexes that could be called upon if and when needed.

It hadn’t mattered if you could write, had the ability to write or read when you were running for your life from Infected and humans, crashing through the remains of what was once a town or city, crashing through snapping and unforgiving forests, crashing through unforgiving open land in the hopes that you weren’t spotted a mile away by someone trying to protect what was theirs or looking for targets.

It was your fault he had pulled away to the point of beginning his…thing with Marsha. The way you had run from him, run from what you had both shared. But it didn’t mean anything, he was...Joel was…an important part of the settlement. Integrated far better than you ever had the chance to and you would just ruin it for him. He had to understand that because he too, hadn’t tried to bring it up.

Gathering them and a few of the cookbooks you had, you settled at the kitchen table. Taking the time to flip through the recipes to find simple ones that could be adapted to the more limited means the settlement could produce. Eager to find ones that Joel wouldn’t find too challenging and would like the end result of.

Just as your pen hit the paper, a knock sounded on your door. Sighing, you set it down and made your way across the front of your home to find Tommy with a crying bundle in his hands.

“Maria left me with ‘im for the day to handle some council business and he won’t stop cryin’.” He looked like he was about to burst into tears himself, but you didn’t say as much. Knowing firsthand how draining it was to look after a newborn.

“Well, good morning to you too.” You said as the man shouldered his way past you and took up half of the couch, an old backpack swinging from his elbow.

“You said to come to you for anything we needed, and I need your help.”

“How do you know I’m not bad with babies, huh? Maybe they hate me and I’m one of those women who don’t like them?”

“But you’re not. Right?” His curls were a frizzled mess, his eyes telling of his sleepless night as they widened and regarded you almost desperately. Rocking the bundle in his arms gently, holding it close, But his arms looked angled weird, totally not in a natural hold. “Joel always said I was too anxious around Sarah when she was super little and that’s why she cried for him for hours until she tired herself out. But he’s busy workin’ on finishing up that new roof before the snow really starts to come down.”

You did know who Sarah was. It had been a rather slow and somber conversation between you and Joel one day in the middle of summer. You had only been going out on patrols with him for a few months at that point. Him and Tommy focusing on getting as much done around the town upon his return, taking longer than usual to add a newcomer to the roster.

He had asked after you, if you lived alone. You had answered yes, saying you lost everyone in the initial chaos of the outbreak. Your city too densely packed for a chance to return home, the only chance at survival had been to immediately flee. He had told you something similar, that he had lost everything but his brother in the wake of the virus. You hadn’t asked after who, but he had told you of his daughter. His biological daughter with a wet chuckle at how she was too kind for this world anyway. You had looked away from his tears, knowing even back then that he needed to speak otherwise it would eat him from the inside out. To think of her constantly and not be able to talk about her must’ve hurt just as much as losing her. Mentions of her sprinkled future conversations and you were glad he trusted you with that part of himself.

 But you weren’t sure if Tommy knew you did beyond her name as chalk on a blackboard memorial in his living room.

“I’m good with babies,” You assured the man beside you. Slipping a full bottle from the side of the pack and asked him to dap it to your wrist. You licked up the milky liquid, immediately pinpointing the issue.

“It’s too bland, a little sugar mixed in won’t do any harm. But I prefer maple since it’s got the same qualities of honey but less of the local pollen. Both will help build immunity to the blooms come spring time.” Standing up, you carefully moved the baby to rest along your front, head on your shoulder and moved into the kitchen. The cap had been unscrewed by a watching Tommy and you stirred in a bit of maple syrup that had been collected outside the gates.

The bundle in your arms was still crying, though not as high a volume as when Tommy had first entered the house. Softly hushing and cooing to try and calm him. The second you touched the bottle of sweetened milk to his little lips, he quieted down and began to sip.

“Oh, thank god.” Tommy’s head was in his hands, elbows atop his knees. You settled beside him once again, smiling over at the older man. “Olive, if this is too much, I promise-“

“It’s okay, really.” You let him rest a wide palm on your knee, his fingers caressing the bare skin there as your dress skirt allowed for them to show. His eyes wide and beseeching, making sure you were really okay before he sunk into the cushions. “I’ve made peace with it a long time ago…”

It was his fault. The thought consumed him as he inspected the planks of olive wood, having brought them into the house after the first heavy coat of frost that covered the whole town after a particularly chilly night. He recalled having woken up, shivering as he yanked on a pair of thick socks and searched through the closets in the house for a spare blanket to throw over his bed. How he wondered if you were warm enough in your own bed as he donned his boots unlaced and jacket unzipped to drape another blanket he had taken from the closet over a passed out Ellie in her little studio.

And then he had wondered what type of clothing you wore to bed. When you had answered the door in your robe, it hadn’t looked like you had anything on underneath it aside from maybe underwear and a tank top. Not enough to keep your skin from the chill that tended to seep in through the panes of the windows all around Jackson, despite the blessing of functioning heaters.

He hadn’t gone after you, his attention being called away. You had run off, too startled by being interrupted and most likely embarrassed at being caught in such an intimate moment. But…it had been such a good moment until it had been shattered.

You had shown up at his door in a long dress, the skirt flowing down to your knees, thick fabric around your legs to combat the ever-present chill in the air. There was a whicker basket, handle draped over your forearm. That paired with your worn boots and wide brimmed had had been such a lovely image to open his front door to.

It had been hard not to stare at you and you talked and guided Ellie through dinner, faint music drifting into the kitchen from the living room as he set about cleaning up after each step and setting the table. It was all so domestic and he wanted for more nights like it. Just you and him and Ellie.

Sighing, you made sure to lock the front door behind you. Apron bundled up beneath your armpit and thrown in the general direction of the laundry room door on the other side of the kitchen. Filling and setting a kettle over the stove, you stood and looked out your kitchen window for a moment, taking in the fluffy snow that had attempted to stick as the dark, moody sky brought it over the town. It was still early, the sunrise more than likely about to occur, but it hidden in the overcast.

You shifted your gaze over the counters, logging the ingredients you had on hand for a possible breakfast even if you weren’t terribly hungry at the moment. When they landed on the broken mixing spoon that had decided to crack and splinter last night under your soapy hands as you cleaned up over dinner, you moved to rummage in the hall closet. The scrape of untreated wood along the floor sent a chill up your spine as your fingers closed around what you were searching for.

The thick slab of wood is covered with an old flat sheet. It had been from a tree last year, one that had lost a main branch in the same winds that had taken a whole one from your collection.

It was beautiful. Rich in color, the grain so detailed and curling in beautiful swirls. Burl added layers and looking pretty as it was set just so in the cut. You had kept it, unable to burn it for the soil. The thought of asking Joel to make you a set of cooking utensils had been in the back of your mind for nearly the entire time he had been here. But now with the crop of cutting boards artfully crafted, you were tempted to ask him to make of those from the hefty source in your hands.

But he hadn’t offered you one, hadn’t so much as mentioned that he had begun to make more and more ever since that first one he had been ‘trying out the idea’ in Tommy’s kitchen. You were hesitant to bring it up, but with the holidays only a couple weeks away…you were curious to see his reaction to the request.

You didn’t ask anything of anyone. Not even when you first got here, had taken the time to acclimate to the way life was led here within the settlement. Community, social circles, job detail, patrol. All of it had been taken in stride, and you worked for everything in your possession. Joel did too. You admired him for it.

A few moments later, you were rapping your knuckles against the man’s front door.

Ellie comes around the side, hearing it from her separate garage. She had looked frustrated, then curious, then excited.

“Hey, Olive,” She walks up to you, noticing the wood in your hands. “The old man’s not home, he went to help out with the lil guy.”

“O-oh, okay. I’ll just come back, I guess.” But when you began to inch closer to the porch steps, she ascended them with a small smile.

“Nah, come hang with me until he gets back.” She brushed past you with a soft touch to your arm. A key slid into the lock and then you were hesitantly following her into the house. “Feel free to make some of that god awful coffee you two enjoy so much, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

You saw her dip off down the hall, the sound of her rustling through something behind an open door allowing you the privacy to make up your mind on the offer of coffee as you stood on the threshold to the kitchen. With a determined push, you set about to search for the coffee grounds and mugs. He had only two, one with a detailed owl and another more simple one. It was a plain white one that was hefty and looked like it belonged in the full hands of diner waitress. 

It transported you back to late nights and early mornings surrounded by ruckus laughter and inside jokes, the scent of pancakes and bacon cooking on a flattop and the jingle of a bell to signal overflowing plates were ready to be dug into.

“What’s that in the cloth?” Ellie’s curiosity piqued by the bundle you had set down atop the kitchen table, her long thin fingers slowly unwrapping it. With a nod from you, she did so completely. Her eyebrows shot up, thoughts swirling behind her keen eyes. They flicked to the back room just on the other side of the kitchen wall. Her bottom lip was taken between her teeth and she looked like she was trying not to laugh.

“I know it’s silly, but…” You couldn’t help but feel nervous admitting it out loud, that you wanted to ask Joel to take some of his sparse free time for a personal project. You poured yourself a steaming cup of the finished coffee, searching for the sugar cannister. “This has been drying for nearly a year and I was gonna ask Joel-“

“Gonna ask Joel what?” His voice sounded from the doorway into the kitchen, startling you both. You rushed to put yourself between him and the table, a poor attempt to hide the plank of wood from his curious eyes. He looked tired, no doubt having been up more than resting all last night if he had been over at Tommy and Maria’s.

Taking that as her queue to leave, Ellie bolted out the back door with a hollered goodbye.

“Oh, um. Hi,” You waved slightly at him, unsure of how he would take to coming home to his house and finding you in his kitchen. Even if Ellie had said it would be okay. You were nervous, knowing that asking for something was a tricky thing. Even if he was so willing to give to others; his time, his attention, his skills. “I ha-have this.”

Moving out of the way as he crept closer on heavy feet, you allowed him to see the olive wood you had hauled over here.

“I-I was wondering i-if you’d be able to make a set of cooking utensils out of this? But I understand if you’re too busy, or don’t want to work with the dense wood, or don’t have the time-“

"Of course, sweetheart. I’ll try my best for you." And just like that he melted all your worries away and a smile pulled at your lips.

He easily moved the chunk of wood from the kitchen to his workspace. The muscles of his arms bulging beneath his flannel, the muscles of his shoulders straining at the fabric over his broad shoulders. All for your viewing pleasure as you followed behind him. The room was smaller than you expected, on his ground floor, just down the hall from the kitchen. But it was such a reflection on who he was.

The main desk had a comfortable looking chair, thick cushion on the seat. Atop it was an open book, propped up on a few stacked behind it and open to a stunning photograph of a deer. In the center was a partially carved figurine of the deer in the photo, shavings around it and tools lined up in a half circle around the back of it.

“How many pieces did you want?” He carefully bent his knees and lowered the wood to the ground, atop a tarp that several long pieces of lumber were set on and leaning against the wall. Blocks of wood beside them and lined up against the wall almost like bricks.

“Oh, um, just however many you can manage.” The crack of his knees as he straightened worried you, but it happened to you more and more so you understood it wasn’t really painful so much as uncomfortable most of the time. 

"The cutting boards all around town...” Trailing off as a familiar scent caught your attention through the general smell of lumber, you moved toward the pile of wooden planks lined up along the wall like books atop a work table. There were many shades and types of wood, all different steps of being sanded down or stained, shavings nestled in a waste bucket beneath. Tools scattered over the surface and small cannisters of sealant and paint stacked neatly beside them. Two of the planks of wood were light, ashy and your attention honed in on them as you moved toward the table. “It was kinda my idea and I was wondering if-"

"Sweetheart, I can't make you one." You startled at the boom of his voice so close, blocking your view from the stack of them as he moved to stand in front of you. The hand that had been reaching out with the intention of caressing them fell back to your side.

"Oh, um, okay." You cast your eyes down, taking in the worn leather of his boots. Of yours. There were so many of them, easily two handfuls and yet he wasn’t willing to share one with you. But everyone else around town seemed to be worthy and you couldn’t help but wonder why you weren’t. You were friends, he had said it himself. But then…but then you had kissed him and fled.

No question as to why flowed from you. You were used to not being included, but you had to admit that it stung coming from him. In an attempt to mask it you tried to smile but you weren’t sure if it actually showed. Your chest ached, body feeling like it wasn’t yours. Like you were looking down on it as it stood in that workspace with the man who sought solace within it. Like you had intruded, and shame bubbled up for having made yourself comfortable where you shouldn’t have.

"Can't find a sealant that would hold up to those knives we found. You'd just cause damage to it."

"Okay, but-“ You tried to backtrack, to apologize for being so curious.

"No, Olive. I don't have one for you, so please quit askin'."

You didn’t say anything, your voice stuck in your throat. Turning and walking away from him without looking up, afraid to see his expression. You faintly heard his voice calling after you, but you ignored it, it was far away. It was as if you were down in a tunnel, like you had tipped over and fell down into one the second Joel had turned you down.

You wanted to move past it, to gloss over it, to stay and enjoy in the time he had been willing to give you on his one day free from responsibilities. But you couldn’t, your chest felt like it had caved in, like you were hollow, like you would never be able to break into the social graces of the settlement. Marked with the death of someone who had, someone who kept messing up and making it easy for people to turn you away.

He thinks about how hurt you looked when he tried to ward you off from the stack of cutting boards he had practiced designs on and different shapes. berating himself for being so harsh when he had been scared you would see the wood he had taken from you without your knowledge. You had been reaching for the planks made from it, drawn to them as if they were magnetized.

The way in which you had shut down, his soothing words after denying you falling on deaf ears as you turned and simply walked away from him. He had been under the impression you wanted to spend the day with him. You had been an unexpected guest but not an unwelcome one. It had been nice to return to his home to find you there, comfortable enough to have put on a pot of coffee and the errant scent of that woodsy, floral perfume that seemed to be a part of your skin from tending to the trees in your yard.

But you had just turned and walked away.

He watched you go, not liking the way you had shrunk into yourself at his denial. He had tried to be soft with it, you couldn’t know that you had been asking after the one thing he wanted to keep a secret from you. That you had given him the idea and he was practicing and making so many different prototypes all to ensure that when it came time to craft yours, that he would be able to do so easily.

He scrubbed a hand roughly over his face, sighing out as he dressed for patrol. His alarm had gone off an hour ago but he had already been awake, sleep evading him as the moment from the other day played in his mind’s eye over and over again.

Settling on the musty cushions beside you, the memory of the last time he had done so puffed up along with a cloud of dust. It had been a long day. Clearing the village and finding a place to hole up in for the night.

“I’ll take the first watch, try ‘n get some rest.” He murmured low, taking in the way you were already curling your legs up underneath your body on the other end of the couch. The scarf around your neck pulled up for you to bury your face into it, hands in their gloves and secure in the pockets of your coat.

You didn’t think you even responded, the cold of the day draining you and making sleep too alluring a respite even with the broad man beside you and all alone for the first time in a while.

Bird calls woke you up hours later, signaling the start of a new day. The warmth of sleeping was a lull to the chill you knew awaited outside, but you pressed into the bed further, burrowing even more into the lump of blankets you tended to scrunch up beside you.

But the lump shifted and your eyes flew open to find a different setting than you dark bedroom. You weren’t asleep in your bed, you were sunk into a decrepit couch and pressed into Joel’s right side, having sought out his warmth in the cold house. He was asleep too, his eyes closed despite his body still seated up with his feet resting on the ground.

You couldn’t help but rest your cheek on his shoulder, taking comfort in how close and warm he was, even if it had been an instinctual move to begin with.

He was so handsome. Beautiful. From the scar across the bridge of his nose, the one at his temple, to the freckles that littered his tan skin. Wrinkles relaxed as he slept, his plush lips parted slightly. His body sunk into the fabric where he had settled last night, long and lean. His mass so large you had shifted in your sleep to press up against him, partially on him to share the small couch and steal his warmth. His neck bent back a little as his head lulled onto the back cushions.

Your eyes roved down the strong column of his neck, catching on the way his adam’s apple jutted out and you resisted the urge to lean in and nip at it.

His hands, dear god, his hands. They were slack in his lap, his entire body completely lax as he slept slumped beside you. Veins and freckles decorated the skin, mind running with the idea of them tight around different parts of your body. How they would feel wrapped around your hips, your breasts, your neck…

You couldn’t help but reach out and lay a hand atop one of his, your palm over the back of his. Your stomach fluttered, the heat settling low. Your own hand looked so small, atop his. The difference so startling.

“Mm, good mornin’,” Joel’s gravelly rumble made you jump, realizing you had gripped two of his fingers in your hand. He jostled the hand in your grip and you felt heat flood your cheeks at being caught touching him. When you moved to take it back, he curled his fingers, catching your hand and pulling it up to his lips where he pressed his lips to the back of it. “Don’t act all shy now, sweetheart.”

You throb.

The gusset of your underwear suddenly dampens as you clench around nothing.

“I-I don’t know what came over me, you were sleeping and I shouldn’t ha-have-“ Trying to tamp down your less than friendly thoughts, the allure you felt wash over you at his sleepy timbre, to backtrack away from what could end up being another thing to have him avoiding you around the settlement.

But he surprised you, emboldened by the hazy thoughts displayed in the parting of your own lips, the heat he could feel rolling off of you, the pressure you tried to relieve between your legs with a clench of your thighs together. And then his thick, sleep coated words turned sultry, pitched low and velvet.

“Thinkin’ about my hands on ya, huh? Sweet little thing, what was it?” He guided your hand to cup his cheek and then rest against his neck. “Thinkin’ about my hands here?”

When he squeezed your hand around it, you felt faint for the way your blood was rushing and thundering loud in your ears.

“N- no.” You swallowed, voice breathy and pitched low as you struggled to find words.

“No? What about…” He moved your hand to his chest, right in the middle of his ribcage. His heart was thundering beneath the flannel, mirroring your own. “Here?”

Your breath hitched as he moved it further, not giving you the chance to answer this time. Down ,down, down past the hem of his shirt beneath his jacket to the denim of his jeans. Pressing your palm down atop the zipper, you could feel the long line of him, hot and semi-hard. It twitched at the pressure, and you couldn’t help the whimper that fell from your lips. Eyes having been dragged down along with your clasped hands.

“What about here?” His lips grazed the shell of your ear as his question was pressed close, nose brushing sensitive skin just behind it. Mustache and beard lightly scraping against you, causing you to shiver and press down your hand more firmly. He groaned out, the sound burrowing deep into you. He twitched again beneath your palm and all the air in your lungs whooshed out.

And then he was dipping his head to capture your lips in a hard kiss. His tongue trailed over the seam of your lips, and you let him in without a thought. Pleasure flared from the heat that had taken hold of your entire body, the air crackling with the need for him to be closer, to be pressed to you completely, pressed inside of you completely. Body buzzing, needing more more more from him you shift to cup his cheek with your other hand.

When he speaks next, his voice is all soft. Southern twang breathy and so close as his lips graze yours, his forehead pressed to your own. The press of hot skin only a prelude to what you hoped was more…

“Sweetheart, I-“

The sudden creak of the back door opening cut the tension of the room and your stomach filled with dread. Joel’s hands became almost painful on you as both your heads whipped around to stare at the kitchen threshold, waiting with bated breath for the intruding source to walk through it.

He was up off the couch in a second, his handgun in his palm and he stalked silently toward the kitchen, leaving you on the couch to reach for your own. But your attention was pulled to the front door of the house just as he disappeared through the threshold.

Two shadows crept into the house and your ducked down to avoid being seen immediately.

There were sounds of a scuffle in the kitchen and you took the opportunity to sneak around the couch in a crouch and stand with the gun trained on the larger figure of the two just on the other side of it.

“Drop your gun or I shoot.” You kicked his legs apart, hand patting him down as he listened to your command. He didn’t have any other weapons on him and the woman a few feet away didn’t visibly have any, her clothing tight around her middle, large jacket draping over her to keep her swollen middle warm.

You took your eyes off of her for one second to kick the gun away and behind you when she lunged. A shiny piece of something glinted in her hand and you shouted out as it cut across your own middle.

Grunting, you elbowed the man in the ribs, winding him and sending him to crumple to the ground in pain. You kicked out and wrapped your foot around one of the woman’s legs and tugged her close, ignoring the sensation of that same piece of whatever it was in her grip as it tore into your jacket sleeve.

You smacked her hand against the wall behind her, being mindful of her stomach and was about to wrap your hands around her neck when the man wheezed out a pleading cry.

“Don’t hurt her, please!” He tired to catch is breath, but you didn’t break your focus away from the woman you had pinned down. A wave of nausea rose over you, the only indication before you collapsed, blood soaking the front of your shirt in a dark, wet patch.

“Shit, I think you cut her too deep.” The man crawled over to you, his hands pressing down to try and staunch the flow. The woman fell to her knees beside him, her hands reaching out to grip one of your arms. The clatter of the weapon she had used was loud and you looked over to it. It was a piece of dirty glass.

“I-I didn’t me-mean to hurt you so badly! I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck, okay, go to my pack.” They shared a confused look, but the fact that they hadn’t run off with yours and Joel’s supplies to their remorse at hurting you told you they were good people. “Go! There’s a spare shirt, we need it to put over the wound.”

Just as she bent to dig into the pack by the couch, Joel’s quiet steps and low threat called as he entered the room.

“Get your hands off of her and step back.”

“Wait! They aren’t Infected!” You panted, voice sharp despite the effort it was taking to breath as your middle burned, knowing the man’s instincts had taken over completely. His steps measured. His gun raised. His reasoning marred by the sight of you bleeding on the floor.

“They hurt you.” His honeyed drawl gone, replaced with an air of authority that demanded attention, all dark, rich molasses sticking everyone in place.

“It was an accident, Joel, please. They…they have a baby on the way. We have to take them back.”

“That true?” He kept the shot gun aimed at the man hovering over you, the blood shining on his hands making his nerves twitch. But his eyes landed on the woman who had been rummaging through your bag for first aid supplies. She slowly stood from her crouch, revealing her swollen belly.

He ordered them both to take a seat on the couch, telling them he would deal with them once he tended to you, letting them know that he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot if they tried something. He then kneeled down on the ground beside you, one of his large hands going over yours holding the wad of fabric to your middle, the other going to cup your cheek.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” His eyes bore into you, stern edge to them. You were visibly shaking, skin looking sallow and sweat beading at your temple. He carefully moved your hands aside, eyes flicking from your pained expression to the injury as he slowly lifted the fabric you had pressed to it. And then the hem of your sweater and tank top underneath.

Lips a grim line and eyes dark as he took in the still bleeding injury. His brow furrowed deeper as a thick rivulet ran down your side to spill onto the floor and Joel cursed under his breath. The gash was a few inches long across your stomach, to the left of your belly button, rimmed and irritated red. Angry and no doubt already infected if the shard of dirtied glass abandoned beside you was any indication. Your blood stained it, the woman’s fingertips pressed into it in smeared, red marks.

“Shit, it’s already starting to get infected.”

You managed a weak nod, both in response to his question and muttered worries fighting off the tears as he pressed around the wound, trying to get a gauge of how deep it was. You held back a whimper at the prodding, bottom lip firmly between your teeth.

“Joel, there’s gau-gauze in my pack.”

“Find it and toss it to me, quick.” He raised a threatening look to the pair on the couch, their heads turned and watching everything play out. Worried that if you were to bleed out, the man wouldn’t hesitate to retaliate or leave them here to their own devices.

The woman rushed to dig into your pack once more, fingers finding the crinkling plastic wrapped around the sterile gauze. She tossed it to Joel, the hand that had moved down from your cheek to rest over your heart on your chest reached out to snag it from the air. He ripped it open with his teeth and urged your hands to hold it down atop the wound.

You could only watch through hazy eyes as he shucked off his jacket and then his flannel. With a smooth motion he removed his t-shirt, his most base layer. With his chest on full display, the dark hair over his chest and trailing down from his belly button you startled at the sound of ripping fabric. The knife he kept holstered on the back of his waist out of is sheath as he used it to cut a thick strip from the hem of his shirt. He gently urged you to lift up from the ground for him to wind it around your back and tie it securely over the wound.

Slipping two fingers below it to ensure it was tight enough to keep pressure but not overly so as to cause more problems. It felt a thousand times better already, your nausea waning as the blood stopped flowing from your body. But you would definitely need stitches and antibiotics once back inside the gates. Once he was sure the wound was okay for the moment, he took both your hands in his, a slight tremor to them. His thumbs rubbing soothingly across the backs of them.

“Okay, you’re okay,” He murmured. He leaned down to press his forehead to yours. Breathing in deep and your lashes fluttered as he sighed out. His eyes were clenched shut and he took a moment to ground himself before he pulled back and peppered chaste kisses over your face. Your forehead, each of your cheeks, the tip of your nose. The edges of your mouth.

“I’m okay,” You promised, unable to ignore how shaky his breathing was so close. A nervous giggle sounded from you, unable to tamp it down as your head swam. “But maybe you should put your clothes back on before you freeze.”

“Can’t lose you, sweetheart.” The whispered sentiment washed over you, leaving you warm and light in the chest for a completely different reason. Only when you nodded in understanding, did he reach over for his flannel and shrug it back over his broad shoulders. The buttons closed up with deft fingers as he watched you take a mental stock of your body and how it felt. You said up just as his jacket was pulled back into place over the flannel.

“Good thing ‘m not goin’ anywhere then, huh?” His wet chuckle was the only response you got before he helped you to stand. He guided you over the couch with an arm around your shoulders, silently demanding that the pair move from the cushions to make room for you. Making sure you were comfortable with both packs beside you before he turned his attention to the people who had injured you.

A nurse took you in quickly, insisting someone else would do a thorough check on the brother and sister you and Joel had brought to them once leaving the horses at the stables. The backup shirt you had taken along with you in your pack tied to your abdomen with a scrap of fabric from the bottom of Joel’s undershirt. It was better than nothing, better than bleeding out.

You had insisted that the woman, Callie carefully got up on Lowry for the trip back. Joel had been worried about them sharing a horse together, the very real possibility of them taking off on it at the forefront of his mind. But you had assured him that they could be trusted. That they could’ve taken both your packs and left you to bleed out on the floor.

That was how you had found yourself once again sharing a horse with Joel for an entire day. The feel of his body pressed close to your back so different from when he had tried to keep his distance. His hands secure around your waist and resting atop the saddle horn. You tried not to let it distract you, carrying on casual conversation with them to get a feel for who they were. Every so often, when you grunted at particularly hard hoofbeats or a rough jostle, his right hand would press against your roughly patched wound.

Stitches, the nurse had said. At least four of them.

Joel was outside the hall, waiting for you to be released. He looked up from the notepad in his hands when you exited the room, brown eyes tired. You couldn’t read his thoughts, though you were too tired to begin to think what that could mean.

“Hey, what’d they say?” He surged up, the notebook going back into his pocket, the worn fabric snug around it. He retrieved the coat and sweater he had kept for you when the nurse had asked you to remove all outer layers.

You lifted the torn tank top, allowing him to see the clean, bright white bandage that had been taped over the injury. The fait outline of stitches could be seen through it. Two of his fingers brushed against it, almost tenderly.

“No painkillers, those are only for serious cases.” You let him help you put the sweater back on, his hands holding the head opening side for you to slid it on, gently tugging the fabric into place around your sore arms. “They gave me a shot of antibiotics and a pack of fresh gauze. Gotta come in next week to get the stitches looked at.”

“I’m so sorry.” He murmured as he held the coat up for your to slip your arms into. When you turned around to face him again, he pulled you to him in a loose embrace. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“Joel, it’s okay. We’re okay. I promise.” You leaned up, mindful of the new pull on your middle, and pressed your lips to his cheek. Sighing at the soft pressure, he walked alongside you out of the building.

Since there wasn’t anything they could give you for the pain,  you just wanted to lay in bed and rest. But you also wanted to try and find a reason to get out of the house later. Swallowing down your fear of rejection, knowing he was the one person who wouldn’t do that to you, you asked him for a drink later in the evening.

But he didn’t look up from the paper in his hands as he walked out the front door with you, scribbling something down on a page that only had two previous lines of script. The chill of the wind breezing past you both as you repeated your question in slightly louder volume, sure he just hadn’t heard you. You knew he was hard of hearing in his right ear and that was the side you were on. But what you didn’t expect was his haphazard response. So at odds with the tenderness and care he had shown you throughout the day.

"Huh? Oh uh, I can't tonight. Sorry, I'll see ya, Olive." And then he's off without so much as a glance your way, leaving you standing outside the infirmary. It left you more than a little concerned, whiplash at the sudden shift from intimate, to protective, to nothing so much as a glance all from the same man.

It’s early, the sun not even showing signs of rising. Snow drifted down, a perfect morning. You were humming to yourself, mentally planning out the meals you could make. A breakfast casserole that would allow for the use of root vegetables, eggs, some of the goat cheese that had been made perhaps. You were minding your own business, enjoying the walk to the mess hall and the kitchen that would allow you to work and forget the hollow feeling that hadn’t left you all last night. It was easier feeling nothing other than the faint pull of stitches on your abdomen.

You catch a figure walking out of a front door further down the street. The figure broad but their steps light as they descended the porch to Marsha’s house.

Oh.

It was Joel.

He didn’t have a utility belt, he didn’t have a toolbox, he didn’t have anything that indicated he had been there to repair something.

It was Joel Miller, leaving Marsha’s house. Far too early to mean anything other than the fact that he had spent the night inside, with her. Guess that's why he had turned down your offer for an evening with you. He already had someone to share drinks with, someone to spend his time with.

Turning, you tried not to follow his figure as he began to walk down the street, facing away from you.

You could only think that it was because of the way you had run the other night. Because of the way you two kept giving into yearning touches only for the moment to be yanked away. Three times now, far too much trouble for someone as busy as him. Someone with a life like he led as he cared for his family and the repairs that were needed around the settlement. You were desperate, for company, for attention, for him. It must’ve not settled well with him to realize how much you wanted him and that it never seemed to work out in his favor, only friend or not.

Deep down, you knew that wasn’t the reason. He was such an understanding man, and he wouldn’t put the blame on you. But the fact of the matter was that he was willingly spending his time with Marsha.

He wasn’t sure where you had disappeared to, your house dark safe for the light over the stoop light up in a warm tone. He had a box in his hands, something he had rifled through his, Ellie’s, and Tommy’s homes for to fit the finished set of wooden utensils you had asked him to make.

He had taken his time, sneaking glances at the ones in your kitchen when he dropped you off after patrol one morning and you offered him a light lunch. You had made grilled sandwiches, pairing them with some steamed vegetables that were beginning to wilt in the cold air of the house. You ran the heat on a good middle range, to ensure it didn’t get too stuffy and begin to take a toll on the record collection in the living room or the books you kept on every surface and crammed lovingly into the many bookshelves you had.

You seemed to favor spoons, though he did catch sight of a few rather flat spatulas. He had inspected the wood thoroughly before he even thought of measuring it. Admiring the way the dried wood looked and taking notes down on the pad of paper he kept on him at all times. Compared it to the two planks he had, noting the different feel and heft of them versus the completely dry specimen you had brought to him.

He let his thoughts wander as he took a seat on the cold concrete steps of your stoop. Opting to wait for your return for a few moments, hoping that you would return soon as evening had fallen, the set having set a few hours ago. He didn’t recall you mentioned evening shifts at the mess hall, opting for the mornings that you enjoyed. Something about the quiet of the town, less lonely than the nights, had been a quiet admittance. He had been too shocked to respond, you must’ve taken his silence as the end of the conversation. You had turned quiet alongside him, the only sound for the rest of the route back to the gates had been the hooves along the ground.

It struck him now, that you had been admitting even early on how lonely you were. How the town choosing to not interact with you had hurt, had been hurting you. A warning even then, that you were sensitive to the dynamic and went along with it even if you didn’t agree with it. You were such a lovely person. Kind hearted, giving, caring, and he loathed that people like Marsha perpetuated the agenda against you.

She was relentless in her attention on him and he was getting a little annoyed with it. But he was being cordial, the exact word you had used to describe the woman. He had finished the last of her shelving the other day. He had worked overnight to get it fitted and fastened to the wall. Securing it with bolts and weight holding supports, wanting to be done with the project that had been more of a coercion of his skills. She was a manipulator and he had played into her hands just like she had wanted.

He felt like a fool, knowing he had agreed to do it for your sake and out of a need to protect you.

Then he realized there were two people who allowed you into their lives. That spoke fondly of you, invited you to dinner, allowed you shares of what they could get the last of in down on main street.

Standing, he hoped to find you among his family. Making his way his way to Tommy’s, Maria was the one to answer the door. A finger to her lips to signal him to keep quiet as she slipped out the door to join him on the porch.

“They’re both sleeping, it took an hour to get him down and then of course Tommy slumped over.” She didn’t seem upset, but the news allowed for Joel to realize you weren’t here either. Clocking his silence and the box in his hand, she cocked her head up a little to examine his features. “Everything okay, Joel? Olive didn’t pull her stitches already, did she?”

“Yeah, everythin’ is okay. I’m actually looking for her. Have you seen her today?” He shuffled on his feet, aware of how they ached as the cold settled in to stay for the season.

“She’s at the bar, came by with dinner for us on her way out.” Maria explained, watching his closely. Able to pick up on his agitation. It was odd when she compared it to the almost forces nonchalance you had exhibited earlier.

“Can you hold onto this for me, I’ll be back to get it tomorrow.” He thrusted the box into the woman’s hands and was making off down the street before she could even respond.

The bar is a cacophony of sounds, of laughter, of conversation, the clink of glasses being lifted and then placed back on tables. The gurgle of more drinks being poured, of ice tinkling in glasses, all of it was so nice to just sit in and enjoy. Even if you were alone on your stool.

"Another round?" You disguised the clenching of your hand around your empty glass, the voice right behind you. His voice, the charming drawl pitched low and so so close.

“I don’t think we should be drinking with each other.” You shifted away from him, not wanting him to think you were open to spending time with him after his rejection, after his secret of seeing Marsha was exposed to you in the form of his leaving her house far too early for any reason than having stayed the night, for the way you had wanted to say yes to spending time with him but it hurt too much. For the way that it was getting harder and harder to resist the urge to lean up and kiss him, to run your hand down his arm or back in a soothing caress. “I’m waiting for someone.”

His brow furrowed as he regarded you, lifting his drink to his lips and taking a deep pull from the amber liquid inside. He sat down atop the stool beside you despite your words. His glass settled on the bar top, now empty. Your eyes were focused on the melting ice, not able to look at the man who was giving you his attention.

“What’s that?” He huffed, almost chuckled as he believed you were just joking, teasing him like you tended to do sometimes while out on patrol. But you weren’t, both of you seated at the long bar of the Tipsy Bison on the main street in town. When you still didn’t raise your eyes to him, he realized you weren’t, that you were turning him down and away.

“Tell me the real reason,” He leaned close, pivoting the seat of the stool so you faced him. Your insides whooshed with the movement. With the way he demanded your attention, with the entirety of his focus on you almost breaking your resolve to remain professional. Aware of all the eyes constantly watching you, judging you; all the eyes on him constantly watching for entirely different reasons, fawning over him.

“Because I like you.” You admitted, unable to deny him the truth. You could only lift your eyes as high as his lips, which was a mistake as you recalled the feel of them. They were so soft, so plush and you never had the chance to gently nip at his bottom one…

“Well, I like you too, Olive.” His nose brushed your cheek, moving impossibly close, his thumbs digging into your thighs as he held to the stool.

“No, I like you, Joel. And this isn’t a good idea.” You pulled back, aware that you were both in a very public place. That the looks focused on you both, your intimacy, combined with soft murmurs of voices that could be saying anything. Making notions in their minds that he was associated with you, that he spent time with you enough to feel comfortable engaging in this type of behavior. And that was bad, it was so bad for people to associate him with you. It would cause people to question him after everything he did for the town. It would begin to erase all the good he had provided.  “Joel, people are looking.”

“Don’t worry about them, just focus on me.” Your eyes snapped to his, taking in the way the brown of them was alight from the sconces around the bar. There was no hesitancy in them, no remorse. Only adoration and your stomach swooped, your heart fluttered. But you tried your best to resist.

“That’s not a good idea either.” You whispered.

“You thinkin’ of doin’ somthin’ to me?”

“M-maybe.” The admittance rolls off your tongue, his lips close enough that he can taste it.

“Sweetheart, I’d let ya if that’s what you wanted.”

“N-no.” It took everything in you to deny him, to deny the tension that pulled your muscles tight in every part of your body.

“No?” He leaned back, taking your words and heeding them, sensing that you meant them, even if it was a stuttered, breathy response.

“I don’t want to, I mean I do, but- this” You motioned between the two of you, how little space there was between your bodies. His body pivoted toward you and his hands still partially around the denim of your thighs. “Isn’t a good idea.”

His eyes roamed over you, seeing the nerves and truth of your demeanor. You did like him, and it was becoming a problem. He didn’t need a younger woman fawning over him, the friendly rapport riddled with holes. Of temptations that were tamped down by his unwillingness to share his craft with you, the time he had been spending with Marsha, the pull of his attention in so many directions, especially with the holiday hurtling toward the town tomorrow.

“We’re hardly friends, Miller. You barely started acknowledging me outside of patrol.” You reached for your drink so you’d be less likely to cup his face in your hands and throw caution to the wind.

“What makes you think I haven’t been tryin’ to keep my hands to myself, bein’ around you?” His voice tipped low, to avoid being overheard despite the closeness he had initiated. Closing your eyes at the visual, you shook you head as your throat bobbed with the sip you had taken from your drink.

“Because you don’t like me that way.” You scoffed, beginning to lean away from him. “You didn’t even get me anything for the holiday…You’re with Marsha.”

“Didn’t get your name in swap.”

“Oh.” And all the fight you had in you crumbled at his simple words. The reassurance in his voice that drowned out the hum of the environment all around you.

“But I thought - Ellie was asking so many questions I figured she was doin’ the work for you.”

“Maybe she got you?” He tapped the lip of his glass as the bartender wandered close, signaling for another when the man got the chance. His hand going back to your leg in a second.

“N-no. She got Jesse. Whoever got me most likely tossed the scrap of paper and picked another.”

“Marsha and I are just friendly, it’s nothing beyond that. Olive, I swear to –“

Someone cleared their throat unnervingly close. You both turned away from each other to face the person who had decided to break the currents flowing between your bodies, tension thick in the air with their approach.

Marsha. With a wrapped gift in her hand and a yearning look for Joel. Her attention solely on him.

“So much for just being friendly, huh, Miller?” You set your drink down, glass nearly empty and pushed off from your stool. The drag of his large hands over the tops of your thighs not registering as you quickly took off. Leaving him to the woman who seemed to be a constant companion as of late. Better company for him, you though begrudgingly as you made your way through the snow-covered streets and back to the safety of your home.

Sighing, you picked up the wrapped bundle of recipe cards. Joel’s gift.

The one you had spent hours pouring over, making sure your writing was neat and legible, the cursive loops delicately over the lines on the thick cardstock. You had debated whether or not he would be able to read the script, knowing how he squinted at certain things. No doubt needing glasses in his older age, an item you always kept a keen eye out for should it end up being a perfect match for him.

Your heart panged, the fleeting image of him tucked in bed beside you with a book or manual in his hands and a pair of reading glasses perched on his aquiline nose. His scruff catching the light of a soft bedside lamp and the silver sparkling. His curls damp from an evening shower, the scent of him so clean and pure beside you as you lay tucked in the other side. It hurt. It hurt to think you would never get to experience that, experience him in every simple, mundane way.

With a long-suffering huff, you reached for some of the dried leaves you kept from the trees when you last preened them. Fastening it to the top of the bundle with a piece of twine. You don’t write Joel’s nor yours. He would know it was from you from the writing inside, from the olive twig. A parting gift, you guessed.

This would be the last thing you would offer him before drawing back to your solemn life. He had brought color and life and laughter into it, but the hurt wasn’t worth it. Your heart and body aching for a man who had too much to lose.

You faintly heard soft voices trailing along the dark streets, the light fixtures doing their best to illuminate the way for any one who was out at the late hour. The sky dark with the added overcast that hadn’t waned during the day. Making everything feel pressed down and low, condensing the world to make it feel almost suffocating. Snow soft as it descended. Maybe it was just you, sensitive to the weather and things around you in your anxiety as you turned down the street Joel’s house was nestled on. Just as you turned the corner, feet scuffing on the weathered gravel packed down to create solid paths in the broken asphalt you collided with something hard and lost your balance. The built up snow making it hard to catch yourself.

The scrunch of paper you had wrapped the gift in was loud, ripping at the drag of thick fabric that made up someone’s coat. The index cards fly up into the air as you landed heavily on your side. Through the sounds of the fluttering paper, there was a gasp pitched high that gave way to delirious giggles and a grunt pitched low. Your own indignant noise floating amidst it all, the pull of your stitches uncomfortable.

“My apologies, didn’t see you the- Olive?”

You had run into Joel’s broad back, his front now facing you as the cards rained down to scatter all over the corner. Snow dampening them instantly upon contact, blurring the ink you had taken the time to put down to them.

Behind him was a bright-eyed Marsha, her hands holding tight to one of his. She looked flushed, no doubt from the drinks she had indulged in, leaning heavily into him. And Joel…he looked shocked as he stared down at your fallen form. Either unaware or uncaring of how the woman he was with tried to burrow into his side.

They had been the ones whose voices you heard. But what had they been doing just standing still in the middle of the street….and then it hit you. They had probably been kissing or sharing in casual touches as they walked back from the bar to one of their homes for the evening and your stomach lurched, dropping out from under you.

Joel detached from her, intending to reach down and help you back up. But you didn’t want him touching you with the same hands that had been soft just an hour ago, the same hands that had been touching her with the same intent.

“Don’t!”

“Just tryin’ to help you up,” He backed off immediately, his eyes alert, not used to you raising your voice nor the heat behind your tone. Especially toward him, the hurt making you unable to tamp it down to a polite tone. Tears burned behind your own eyes, in your throat. The perfect match to your insides feeling like they have just been set in a mixer.

“Don’t need your help,” You pushed up from the ground, legs tingling as you fought the urge to run from the awkward and tense scene. And then you realized you could. You did.

Leaving the two alone in the middle of the street, surrounded by white spots of paper all around, the wrapping that had been around them crumpled on the ground. The dried olive leaves that had been fastened to it with twine lay abandoned at their feet.

You ran all the way back to your house, the front door slamming behind you and the lock loud in the silence that followed. Your back thumped against the wood of it, sliding down until your bottom hit the floor.

And you let yourself break down, crying into your hands. Hating how you had begun to believe that your life was going to change, that Joel was going to be something good in your life. And deep down, underneath all the hurt and anger, you still believed he was. Even if he wasn’t meant to be anything other than a patrol partner.

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dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

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[wangxianficfinder]

I'm in the mood for...

July 18th

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1. Itmf fics like the adults are talking by agloeian where someone adopts bby xue yang.

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2. HI!! itmf any modern au fics woth an inexperienced wei ying and experienced lan zhan so basically lan zhan FUCKS @yesibest

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3. Iitmf fics where Hanguang-Jun and/or Yiling Laozu are titles that can be passed down. I read 1 WIP forever ago that was a modern au where the titles and the powers passed down through the ages and I'd love for some more of that concept. Please and thank you. @itsthenerdwonder

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4. I asked about a jc choking wwx fic, I found it its called "The River Brought You Here" by ChilianXianzi. But if anyone knows any other fics that diverge at that point (jc choking wwx and that having consequences) I'd love to hear those too!

Lay my body down by tawaen (M, 48k, WWX & WQ, WWX & WN, wangxian, WWX & JYL, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Eventual WangXian, No Golden Core Transfer, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Canon-Typical Violence, Not JC Friendly, What if WWX saw the first siege of the burial mounds and said Nope to the war, OCs, OC point-of-view for one chapter for plot reasons)

Army Dreamers by Forever_Marie (M, 24k, WangXian, WIP, Fall of Lotus Pier, Post-Fall of Lotus Pier, Sunshot Campaign, WWX Needs a Hug, No Golden Core Transfer, Protective LWJ, Good Uncle LQR, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, LWJ Has Feelings, Hurt WWX, Soft WangXian, Inventor WWX, Supportive LQR, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Soft WWX, Protective LXC, Attempted Sexual Assault WWX is So Done, Innocent XXC, Established SL/XXC) LWJ finds WWX half dead and strangled in a field after JC thought he had killed him and left him there

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5. hey fic finder community! for the itmf, can i have you favorite sizhui & wwx fics? doesn’t really matter which era or au

Love Song In Reverse by timetoboldlygo (T, 237k, WangXian, Amnesia, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Falling In Love, Slow Burn, agressively mixing and matching novel and cql canon, No Homophobia, Mentions of Starvation, Parental WWX) not entirely about sizhui and Wei ying but one of my favorite fics that portray their relationship

my little love by mellowflicker (T, 54k, WangXian, Modern, Single Parent WWX, kindergarten teacher LWJ, Kid Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Pining)

Would You Come Home? by s6115 (Not rated, 46k, WangXian, Junior Quartet Centric, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Junior Quartet Dynamics) even though wwx doesn't show up until the end, it's Sizhui learning about his past with wwx and wanting to know him 🥺

🔒 Not Yet (There As Needed) by sunrise_and_death (T, 13k, LSZ & WWX, JL & WWX, JL & LSZ, WangXian, Post-Canon, Family Feels, Family Bonding, POV LSZ, This Fic Has Everything, even more yearning, WWX & LSZ figuring out wtf their relationship is, Dramatic Revelations, JL being the contrary lil bean he is, all the juniors thinking WWX is the greatest thing to ever happen to them, and in case you missed it yearning)

Chapter 2 of 🔒 Response by Aki_no_hikari (G, 12k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Feels, Love Confessions)

🔒❤️ kick at the darkness ‘til it bleeds daylight by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf, tardigradeschool (T, 75k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting Together, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Inspired by The Parent Trap (1998), Kid Fic, teen shenanigans, two a-yuans, Fluff and Angst)

your name, safe in their mouth by astrolesbian (G, 10k, LSZ & WWX, WangXian, Father-Son Relationship, Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, More aligned with CQL than novel canon, Miscommunication, Eventual Positive Communication, Trying to be a family, how to tell your dad you want him to be your dad in 6 easy steps!)

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6. Hi! I'm in the mood for some fics where LWJ gets damseled and WWX saves him. Read a really good one about that earlier and now I need more! Just some good Bamf!WWX saving his ziji! Thanks in advance! @hikato-chan

the field meets the wood by astronicht (T, 7k, WangXian, BAMF WWX, slight whump, Ritualistic Self Harm, Canon Era, Tang Dynasty style, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, salt economics, Post-Canon, [podfic] the field meets the wood by jellyfishfire, [Podfic] the field meets the wood by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona))

How to piss off the Yiling Laozu in one simple step! by Eicas (T, 3k, wangxian, kidnapping, hurt/comfort, pre-slash, hurt LWJ, mojo’s bookmark)

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7. Hi ,

I am looking for same type of au wangxin teen fiction like The fifth type of non contact force by caixx . This is one of the best fiction I have read and looking for same type. thankyou @dog-89

Tempo Rubato by Spodumene (E, 108k, wangxian, modern, angst w/ happy ending, romance, persuasion au, separations, pining, miscommunication, depression, self-harm, reconciliation, smut) one of my favorites

Make The Fireflies Dance Silver Moon’s Sparkling by Sweetlittlevampire (T, 23k, wangxian, modern, highschool au, friends to lovers, teenagers, growing up, getting to know each other, getting together, slow burn, first kiss, first love)

Unrequited Letters by Anonymous (T, 5k, WangXian, High School, Modern, Pining, Crushes, Unrequited Crush, Fluff, Light Angst, Humor, First Kiss, Secret Crush, Love Letters, Secret Admirer)

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8. Hii does anyone have any recs with post canon wwx being depressed? Like, maybe not eating, sleeping, etc

Silenced by Tasharene (M, 63k, WangXian, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Temporary Blindness, Aversion to touch, Fear of crowds, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, WWX Whump, Hurt WWX, Whump, Angst with a Happy Ending, world-class troll LXC, see the archive Warnings BEFORE you accuse me of not tagging things!!!) this one is post canon wy has ptsd

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9. Hello!

I have a type of fic I'm just in the mood for, but it's hard to find any for this. I'd like to find some Wangxian marriage AUs that involve Wuxian figuring out the ribbon marriage that Wangji does to them before others point it out, basically a less oblivious Wuxian AU if it exists. Thanks! (ʘᴗʘ✿)

30 Days of Secret Marriage at Cloud Recesses by starandrea (T, 43k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Bunnies, Gusu Lan Forehead Ribbon, Accidental Marriage, Coming Out, Falling In Love, supportive family, Fluff, Happy Ending, the whole story is happy) fits for 9, if I'm remembering correctly.

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10. Everyone please give me your fav mpreg fics please 😭😭😭 but don't give books where it's like*5 years later* kinda situation or it's a hidden pregnancy or there's just mpreg for 1 chapter and it's over. I want actual pregnancy please. ***No bottomji***

The early bird gets the worm, the early fox gets the bird. But the dragon wakes the earliest of them all by sekhmetpaws (E, 52k, WangXian, Foxxian, Dragonji, A/B/O Dynamics, Royalty, Prince LWJ, dragon LWJ, fox WWX, Arranged Marriage, but not really, Mistaken Identity, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ)

Take Responsibility by draechaeli (E, 187k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Mainly Novel with a few CQL and Donghua bits, Everybody Lives, Original Children Characters, Adoption, Adoption but WWX birthed them all, Mpreg, Teen Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Male Lactation, Lactation Kink, Consensual Non-Consent, Light Bondage, Pregnant Sex, easy to skip nsfw chapters, Fix-It, Happy Ending)

To Deliver an Heir by cerbykerby (E, 49k, WangXian, slight dubcon/noncon but wangxian are into it, A/B/O, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Heat Sex, Knotting, Royalty Medical, Emperor LWJ, Physician WWX, Mpreg, Postpartum Depression, Breeding, Creampie, LWJ literally cannot stop himself from coming in WWX, Breastfeeding)

🧡 Accidents Will Happen by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 45k WangXian, Post Canon, Mpreg, Fluff, Light angst)

If the requester likes modern AUs, I'd recommend:

All I Want by Selenay (E, 47k, wangxian, Modern, Mpreg, Post Holiday Romance, Consequences, Reunions, Idiots in Love, wangxian attempt to be sensible adults about it, they are very bad at it, Teacher WWX, Rating earned in later chapters, Handwavey Biology)

🧡 Brilliant Mistake by brooklinegirl (E, 53k, WangXian, Modern AU, Sex Pollen, Mpreg, dubcon, Modern Cultivators, Dubious Medical Science)

On The Way Home by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 59k, WangXian, Modern, Mpreg, Non-a/b/o mpreg, Unprotected Sex, Unexpected Pregnancy, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, Pining while fucking)

Butter My Biscuit by LikeAFlamingKiss_Consume (E, 23k, WangXian, nonbinary LWJ, Transman WWX, Trans Male Character, Mpreg, WWX Has a Pregnancy Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vaginal Sex, LWJ Has a Pregnancy Kink, ace spectrum LWJ & WWX, LWJ & WWX Have a Breeding Kink, Consensual Somnophilia, Somnophilia, Hormones, as in WWX's dial his libido up to 15, discussion of transphobia, Hints of dysphoria, Lactation Kink, Breastfeeding, Giving Birth, I guess a bit of sadism?, WWX is very much not having a good time and LWJ is Into It)

OMEGA GRAD STUDENT GETS PREGNANT: YOU'LL NEVER GUESS WHAT HAPPENS NEXT by attackofthezee (noxlunate) (E, 21k, WangXian, Past WWX/Unnamed Character, Mpreg, A/B/O, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, Graduate School, Unplanned Pregnancy, San Francisco Bay Area, Pining, Falling In Love, Kid Fic, Fluff, sometimes a family is a man his baby the man who's helping him raise his baby and all their friends)

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11. Can everyone give me their fav canon era/canon divergence completed , longer than 60k fics please 🥺🥺🥺

In Your Dreams, I Smile by 0_Heta_0 (E, 60k, WangXian, LSZ &LWJ, LSZ & WWX, LSZ & LXC, LXC & LWJ, Canon Divergence, Reincarnation, bunny WWX, Falling In Love, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending)

🔒 as the clouds part and clear, we finally meet again by 12262325 (E, 76k, WangXian, Younger LWJ, Older WWX, Canon Divergence, Eventual Smut)

🔒 Life is Like a Stranger by through_shadows_falling (T, 69k, wangxian, Kid Fic, Child LWJ, Child WWX, First Meetings, Canon Divergence, Cute Kids, Orphan WWX, Autism Spectrum, Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Canon, POV LWJ, Growing Up Together, WWX raised at Cloud Recesses, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Puberty, Growing Up, Coming Out, teenage angst, Wet Dream, Pining, This fic gets a little raunchier as the kids become teens, But it won’t get too explicit, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Spanish Translation, Brief mentions/moments of WWX kissing others in chapter 22 but only on the cheek, also characters kiss WWX on the cheek in chapter 23, but his real first kiss is with LWJ, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian)

Death of a Ghost by Gotcocomilk (E, 107k, Family bonding, Fluff, Angst, Parental WWX, BAMF WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Ghost sex)

❤️ in case of fire, break glass by Jenrose (T, 65k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Post-Canon, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, unless I hate them, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Genius Inventor WWX, NHS Finds His Calling, No Women Die)

🔒 if you can’t beat them, recruit them by moeblobmegane (T, 228k, Wangxian, NHS & WWX, WWX & WQ, Time Travel Fix-It, Conspiracy, Spies & Secret Agents, Team as Family, Found Family, Burial Mounds, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Pining, Morally Ambiguous Character, Rumors, Politics, Developing Friendships, Good Uncle LQR, Demonic Cultivation, YilingWei Sect)

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12. Hello! Are there any fics that compare the similarities between SongXue and WangXian? I love both ships and I've always felt they're very similar on a lot of core levels and I'd be really fascinated to read a story that compares them :D

Indoctrination by ama (E, 16k, WangXian, SL/XY, WWX & XY, Puppy Play, Kink Negotiation, Kink Exploration, BDSM, Voyeurism, Vibrators, Orgasm Control, Sex Shop, Dominant XY, Submissive SL, Dominant LWJ, Submissive WWX)

Curse Broken by Anonymous (T, 19k, WangXian, Alternate Universe, frankencanon, Mutual Pining, Jiang family being flawed but ultimately loving, AU with no demonic cultivation and no war, Unreliable Narrator, POV WWX, XXC and SL are cousins, Dragon LWJ, Phoenix WWX, Phoenix BSSR, phoenix XXC, Dragon SL, Protective LWJ, WWX in WWX's Body, Mentioned JC/WQ, Hints of future SL/XY, WWX lowkey adopts XY, phoenix and dragon lore are largely inaccurate/made up for the purposes of the story, especially the phoenix lore, it draws more inspiration from western phoenix lore than fenghuang)

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13. hi admins! can you recommend any fics where during the cloud recesses study, lqr/lxc/lan clan ig realizes how much of a genius wwx is, (could also be that he’s not being treated accordingly in jiang sect and they’re like ??? about it,) and decide to just. keep wwx for themselves? read a couple fics with that premise and been loving it recently, thanks for any help!

🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 828k, WangXian, WIP, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Getting Together, Supportive LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, Supportive LXC, Canon Divergence, Inventor WWX, Possessive LWJ, Cultivation Sect Politics, Pre-Sunshot Campaign, Fluff and Smut, Burning of the Cloud Recesses, Fall of Lotus Pier, Angst, Sunshot Campaign Not JFM Friendly, split into parts, Part 1 complete, Part 2 complete, Original Character(s))

💙 Holding shreds by barisan (T, 5k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, No Sunshot Campaign, Body Swap, Not for sexy shenanigans, Chronic Pain, Hurt WWX, Hurt LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abusive YZY, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, Good Uncle LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, POV WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not Jiāng Family Friendly, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Getting Together, Smart WWX)

🔒 in the shadow of moonlit flowers by Reverie (cl410) (T, 56k, wangxian, LXC/NMJ, Cloud Recesses, LWJ & NHS Friendship, Developing Relationship, POV LWJ, Minor Injuries, Autistic LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, aka the Madam Yu warning, Genius WWX, Light Angst And Hurt/Comfort, WWX Protection Squad, Gusu Lan Sect, Slow Burn, Protective LWJ, LWJ-centric)

🧡 To have and to hold by Moominmammashandbag (M, 78k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Major character injury, CQL verse, Happy Ending)

Like stones on an unseen board by Vir_Abelasan (Not rated, 11k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Dark LWJ, Older LWJ, Teacher LWJ, dark twin jades, Age Difference, Manipulation, Protective LWJ, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Corporal Punishment, Relatively canon-typical abusive Jiangs, WWX Get a Happy Ending, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Not Jiang Clan Friendly) also fits but Lan Wangji is aged up in this one and is a teacher.

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14. for the itmf, can you guys recommend fics where while wei wuxian is dead either jin ling or jiang cheng find out lan yuan is family bc he’s actually wwx kid? sorry if this is too specific, but an example would be sing to the clouds in summer or would you come home? on ao3. great fics

Gently Haunted by LusBeatha (T, 19k, WangXian, Character Death, Sentient Burial Mounds, Autistic LWJ, Shutdowns, Canon Divergence, Ghosts, Child LSZ, Oblivious WWX, Getting Together, Ghost Marriage, ghost parenting, Grief/Mourning, but only for ghosts that are still present, Golden Core Reveal, Soup, Happy Ending) its a small part but Sizhui calls Jin ling family because hes wwxs nephew also features ghost xian

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15. I just finished Concord and fell in love with the angst of Wei Wuxian marrying in Lan Sect and being unhappy and Lan Wangji trying to make it better 🥰 do you know anything similar? For the itmf I guess thank you @kanrax-blog

what you have tamed by lianhua_lianzi, Senforza (E, 94k, WangXian, Animal Traits, misunderstandings (not the romcom kind that can be resolved in a 5min convo), Courting Rituals, Pining, Lan family dynamics, Drama, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Arranged Marriage, Wangxian break up but get back together, Eventual Happy Ending, vague biological essentialism (animal species have different mating preferences), Canon Typical Alcohol Usage, Implied Mpreg, Unresolved Sexual Tension, unintentional and eventually resolved “gaslighting”, Dragon LWJ, Fox WWWX)

Betrothed by Dixielis (E, 10k, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, Hybrids, Fox WWX, Dragon LWJ, Arranged Marriage, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, Miscommunication, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mpreg, Unplanned Pregnancy)

a light hidden and singing by occultings (microcomets) (E, 48k, wangxian, arranged marriage, pining, getting together, slow burn, misunderstandings, miscommunication, blood & injury, happy ending, smut)

Mourning Robes by Starlight1395 (T, 17k, wangxian, No Sunshot Campaign, Arranged Marriage AU, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Depression, dissociating, Mild Blood, Fluff, juniors idolizing WWX like he deserves, slowburn between WWX and Cloud Recesses, Hinted smut, Jingyi has a CRUSH, Supportive JC)

Marriage of duty by ninho_emy (M, 33k, WangXian, Rape/Non-Con, A/B/O, Alpha/Omega, Arranged Marriage, Mpreg, Canon Divergence, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Time, First Kiss, Rape between the main characters, be warned)

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16. Hi this is for ITMF

A) Where WWX act as a demure and perfect spouse and everyone didnt know or forget that he is deadly. Maybe like The True Story of How Concubine Mo Deviously Deceived The Entire Imperial Family by Enigmatree

B) Arranged marriage or a political marriage or a love marriage between wangxian but WWX has Jiang support and power backing him. I prefer if its royalty au but its okay if not @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

16B)

True Gold Fears No Fire by defractum (nyargles) (M, 75k, WIP, WangXian,  Royalty, Ancient China, Wuxia, Historical, Historical Inaccuracy, Arranged Marriage, Identity Porn, Mutual Pining, Emperor LWJ, Empress WWX, Eventual Happy Ending, Misunderstandings)

much sweeter than by mellowflicker (T, 3k, WangXian, Royaltyish, Arranged Marriage, a little bit of YLLZ WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending)

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17. Hello! ITMF dragon-Ji keeping and saving all of WWX's gifts (drawings, notes, papermen, presents, etc) in his hoard? Thank you all so much!

Snow Burns and Fire Falls by Liebing (T, 12k, wangxian, Fluff, Fox WWX, fox LWJ, snow fox LWJ, red fox WWX, Childhood Friends, Orphans, LXC is 8 years older than LWJ, LWJ and WWX are besties, LXC is the best big brother, WWX is adopted by the Lan clan, Happy Ending, Sweet, soft, Cute, Fluffy, Jealous LWJ, WWX has the whole of cloud recesses in love with him… baby LWJ is pouty, LQR loves WWX, Literally everyone loves WWX, The entire Lan clan: we would die for little WWX, Thwarted dog attack, LQR trying to arrange marriages, Time jump forward, No one is harmed in the dog attack not even the dog, Clan leader LXC, Jealous WWX, Oblivious WWX, love at first kiss, Wangxian fox babies)

A Baby Dragon’s Guide To Seducing Your Huli Jing by sweetlolixo (M, 102k, wangxian, Fantasy, But still in the Cultivation World, Dragon LWJ, Fox WWX, Younger LWJ, Older WWX, Fluff, Humor, Eventual mpreg, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Boy A-Yuan)

Dazzle Like a Diamond by Tsukimiko_san (T, 4k, WangXian, Dragon LWJ, Crow WWX, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, No Angst, ok maybe a tiny sprinkle of angst but like, usual LWJ thinking WWX is just teasing him, it doesn’t last long, Getting Together, they are both so whipped, Boys Kissing, Courting Rituals)

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***