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lovebugism · 6 months

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Could you pleaseeee do more single dad!Eddie 🥺

✶ ┄ MAYDAY ! [ stand by me ]

summary: after totally embarrassing yourself at eddie's kid's birthday party, the metalhead single dad from the trailer park shows you his (perhaps equally embarrassing) favorite movie. (2.9k)

pairing: dad!eddie munson / f!reader

tags: eddie and maeve universe, strangers to lovers (eventually), slow burn, mutual pining, idiots in love, girl dad eddie munson™, fluff, ugly crying at movies

You never did crack open that bottle.

The one you accidentally brought to Eddie’s kid’s birthday party? Yeah, that one. The glass container sits unopened on the coffee table in front of you, casting amber reflections on the old wood beneath the lamplight. It’s just a silly conversation starter now. You’ve got no real reason to drink it, anyway.

There’s nothing more intoxicating than Eddie Munson’s presence.

Sunrays spill from your mouth when you tip your head back to laugh. You turn to look at the boy on the other end of the couch, and your warm cheek squishes against the cushion. “Stand By Me is not your favorite movie!” you argue, giggling softly with disbelief.

Eddie has no idea how big he’s smiling. He’s too busy staring at you to notice the beam on his face.

He shrugs his shoulders, now free from the confines of his leather jacket. He wears a faded Peanuts shirt now. A hand-me-down, you figure. “I mean… Land Before Time is a really close second,” he answers in a teasing lilt.

“Oh, yeah. Only the saddest movie ever made.”

“Maeve used to love it. And, like, not in a normal way— She used to make me play it for her until the tape spun out,” Eddie tells you, chuckling softly to himself. “It grew on me eventually, but… Then she grew out of it.”

You watch him get all forlorn at the thought. You meet his subtle pout with a scrunched nose. “Well, she’s only four, right? Surely, she hasn’t had time to grow out of much.”

Eddie scoffs and slouches further on the couch until his thighs spread. “You’d be surprised. Every time I think I— you know— start to understand her a little bit or whatever, she just… She changes, you know? Like, overnight.”

He doesn’t mean to get so suddenly sentimental about the whole thing. Especially not in front of a pretty girl he only met eight hours ago. He’ll blame it on the late night and the existential dread that always comes with birthdays. He conceals his brooding behind a dumb joke.

“I mean, just this morning, Maeve’s favorite animal was a Hefflelump… Now it’s a blobfish.”

You try to hold back your laughter. You fail. The sunshine-coated giggle sputters from your mouth despite your attempts to keep it hidden. Eddie only laughs because you are.

“I should’ve said turtle or something,” you humor with a roll of your eyes, tucking your knees to your chest. “Or, like, a badger. Maybe then I wouldn’t have gotten made fun of all day.”

“Those aren’t any less normal,” Eddie chuckles with a lopsided grin, dark chocolate eyes twinkling ‘cause he never really liked normal anyway.

You shrug. “Agree to disagree.”

“You wanna know something?” he blurts after a long beat of silent smiles. “When I tucked her in, she made me promise to take her to the aquarium tomorrow. Said she wanted to see ‘if the blobfish were just as gross in real life.’

You smile so wide your eyes squint at the edges. “Do they have blobfish at the aquarium?” you laugh.

Eddie shrugs. “Probably not. But she’ll get to pet a stingray or somethin’. Then she’ll forget all about it.”

“Sounds fun…” you murmur, picking at pills of cotton on the old couch with a suddenly anxious hand.

“Yeah. Parenting always is,” Eddie hums with a distant smile. “Even when it isn’t.”

“Should I— Should I, like, go?” you stammer.

The boy seems shocked by your question. His fluffy brows pinch as he hums. “Huh?”

You squirm, less than comfortable in your own skin. “Well, I mean, it’s… It’s getting kinda late and everything, and… If you guys are going into the city in the morning, I don’t wanna, like, keep you or whatever—”

Suddenly anxious, Eddie sits up a little straighter. “No! No, it’s okay. I don’t mind,” he responds, then quickly follows with wide eyes. “Unless— Unless you want to leave—”

“I don’t!” you answer, equally flustered.

Eddie forces an awkward chuckle. “I don’t want you to think I’m, like, keeping you hostage here or something—”

“I just don’t wanna overstay my welcome—”

“You couldn’t,” he insists.

You nod, and in a mousy voice, you reply, “Well, you couldn’t keep me hostage, so…”

Eddie grins. “Good.”

“Good,” you echo.

“So… Wanna watch a movie or something?” he offers with a fluttering heart and fidgeting hands.

He feels like a teenage boy all over again — only he never actually got the opportunity to ask a pretty girl out when he was a teenager. People weren’t exactly fighting to spend time with the local freak back then. Or now, really.

Except you.

“Whaddaya got?”

“Well, let’s see…” he says, grunting as he rises from the couch.

Eddie walks the short distance to the box television across the room — which Maeve has carefully decorated with a collection of sparkly stickers. He sorts through the VHS tapes stacked in less-than-organized piles with a ringed hand, realizing must’ve left all the good stuff at Wayne’s.

“Oh, you know… All the Maeve Munson favorites…” he singsongs with a sigh.

“Surprise me,” you call from the couch.

Eddie rises then, with two bulky VHSs clutched within ringed fingers. He holds them on either side of his face and grins between them. “Stand By Me or Land Before Time?”

“Stand By Me,” you answer with a firm nod. “Unless, you know, you wanna see me ugly cry.”

“That’s second date territory,” he quips with a wink, suddenly and very uncharacteristically cool. “Stand By Me it is.”

—————

You’re crying on a stranger’s couch about ninety minutes later.

The credits roll in static colors on the tiny television across from you. The low bass of a nostalgic song floats quietly through the living room — If the sky, that we look upon, should tumble and fall… Or the mountains, should crumble to the sea…

Eddie looks on with a sympathetic beam as you hide your teary face behind your palms. He can’t tell if you’re shaking from sobs or from laughter. Maybe a healthy mixture of both. “I thought you weren’t gonna cry!” he chuckles.

You peek at him through your fingers. Your eyes are glassy with tears and squinting at the edges with a smile. “I forgot how sad it was!” you sniffle, then laugh at yourself.

I won’t cry, I won’t cry… No, I won’t shed a tear…

“You’re crying, too!” you observe as the boy beside you wipes at his eyes with his fingertips. You reach over to shove him with a playful hand. “You big softy!”

Eddie scoffs and swipes his nose with the back of his wrist. “I’m not crying! I’m just… I had something in my eye.”

“Tears?” you tease with a scrunched nose.

He nods, and with a sheepish look in his eyes, he says, “Yeah…”

Your quiet laughter entwines, filling the dim living room with something sparkly and golden. The sound of violins swells in a similar way. Eddie’s eyes flutter shut as he begins singing the lyrics to himself, not really trying but sounding pretty anyway.

“Just as long, as you stand, stand by me…” he croons quietly. You beam and sing softly along with him, audibly less serious about the whole thing. “And darlin’! Darlin’! Stand by me… Oh, stand by me—”

Both of you quieten when a door squeaks about open down the hall. The distant screech is followed by the patter of tiny footsteps. Eddie huffs and sits up a little straighter. “Ah, shit…”

Your face floods with horror. “Was I too loud?” you whisper.

“No. It’s just midnight,” he answers, shaking his wild head. “She always wakes up at midnight. Like my personal little Gremlin.”

Maeve appears in the dark hallway then, drowning in one of her dad’s old t-shirts. Corroded Coffin, the front of it reads, in what seems to be hand-made lettering. The thing fits her like a gown.

Her curls sit in an untamed halo around her head from the intensity of her slumber. She rubs at her swollen eyes with chubby fists. Eddie can’t help but grin at the sight of her.

“Hey, Mayday,” he coos. “What happened? You can’t sleep?”

The girl shuffles to her father like it’s muscle memory to her. Still half-asleep, she grips his shirt with graceless fingers and climbs onto his lap with her eyes still shut. She cuddles into his torso, fitting perfectly there, while you sit frozen on the other side of the couch. Like maybe if you’re real still, she won’t notice you’re there.

“We gonna go see da blobfish now?” she wonders in tiny slurs against his chest.

Eddie’s cheek squishes against her head when he smiles. The expression gets lost in her wild chestnut locks. “Not yet, May. It’s too late— All the fishies are sleeping now. Like you should be.”

She shifts on his lap like she’s trying to get more comfortable there. Her cheek, indented with lines of sleep, rubs against his shirt when she turns to look up at him. “Need you to tuck me in,” she tells him, tiny chin bobbing against his chest.

Eddie juts back to see her better. “Again?” he humors with his brows raised behind his curly bangs.

“Mhmm,” she nods, slow and sleepy.

“Okay,” he hums, scoffing a tired chuckle. “I’ll tuck you in again, bug.”

You don’t mean to laugh. It just crawls up your throat and out of your mouth before you can stop it. You try to hide it behind your palm, but Maeve still notices.

Her fluffy brows scrunch together when she turns to you. She swipes at the hair sticking to her cheek with a fumbling hand to see you better. She doesn’t say anything, though. She just kinda blinks at you, with a brown-eyed, emotionless gaze.

You muster a wavering smile at the girl, lifting your hand in an unsure wave.

“Wanna go see the blobfish with us tomorrow?” Maeve blurts. Though, in her less than awake state, it sounds more like wanna go see da bobfish wiv us tommowow? It’s like you can feel your heart melting.

“The aquarium,” Eddie clarifies.

You squirm in your seat. “Oh, I… I can’t,” you sigh, then follow quickly when she pouts. “I wish I could! It sounds super fun, but I’m… I’m busy…”

You aren’t, really. ‘Cause tomorrow’s Saturday — the only thing you really have to do is try to wake up before noon. You just don’t know how else to turn her down.

“Maybe next time?” Eddie offers hopefully, mostly for Maeve’s sake.

You nod rapidly, just for Maeve. “Yeah. Next time. Definitely.”

“See? It’s okay,” Eddie lilts, squeezing gently at the girl’s sides until she’s smiling again. “We can have fun just you and me, right?”

Maeve pouts in response, a sort of snarled face that’s obviously playful.

Eddie laughs loud and boyishly in return. “Hey! Don’t make that face at me!” he exclaims, feigning offense. Maeve loses her poker face almost instantly as she giggles. “Go get in bed, you weirdo. I’ll tuck you in in a second.”

“And read me another book?” she presses hopefully.

He nods, knowing it’s a fight he’s bound to lose. “And read you another book.”

“Two of them?”

The girl holds her pointer and middle finger in front of her face. Eddie chuckles and guides the latter back down with a gentle hand. “One,” he corrects.

“Two.”

“One.”

“Two!”

A brief stare-off ensues, one in which you’ve got a front-row seat. Maeve’s dark chocolate gaze resembles her father’s — button-eyed and swimming with something honeyed and stubborn. She tilts her chin to her chest and glares unwavering at the man in front of her.

Eddie inevitably caves. He sighs so deeply his chest deflates. “Fine… Two. But only if you run real fast.”

Maeves slides down his denim-clad legs until her bare feet hit the carpet. She scurries down the hall without another word, quiet giggles fading with her footsteps. Eddie slumps against the couch with a small, contented sigh.

You realize you haven’t stopped smiling for several minutes now. “She’s really sweet,” you compliment to fill the silence.

Eddie scoffs a gentle laugh. “Yeah. When she wants to be.”

The quiet returns. You run out of things to say. The notion of the late-late night settles more heavily upon you. You swallow hard and fight for a way out that doesn’t make it sound like Eddie hasn’t just given you one of the best nights of your life.

“I think I’m gonna—”

“Well, I should—”

The boy starts speaking at the same time as you. You cut each other off without trying, then laugh quietly at yourselves.

“You first,” you tell him.

“I should go tuck Maeve in before she goes all Mayday mode and starts screaming at me,” Eddie says, only partly joking.

His sweet little Maeve is only Mayday when she’s throwing a too-passionate tantrum. Or when it’s past midnight, and she’s acting like a total gremlin. He doesn’t particularly want you to witness either. ‘Cause kids tend to be pretty gnarly sometimes — especially when you aren’t the one raising them.

“Yeah, I should probably start heading home, anyway,” you reply. “It’s late.”

Eddie rises with a small huff. You follow behind him towards the front door, both of you moving with slow and heavy strides — neither particularly wanting the other to go.

“Thanks for keeping me company,” he says beneath the sound of the screeching screen door. “And for helping Maeve have a good day and everything… Most people don’t really consider hanging out with a four-year-old and her dad a good time, so…”

“Well, most people are weirdos,” you scoff and slide past him through the doorway. “You and Maeve are, like, the coolest people in Hawkins.”

You stand ahead of him on the front steps of the trailer, glowing beneath the silver moon and the buzzing amber porchlight. Eddie lingers in the entryway and holds the door open with his shoulder, so he can hear Maeve when she inevitably starts shouting for him.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” he wavers with a scrunched nose. “Maeve’s pretty cool and all, but… She definitely didn’t get that from me.”

“Your favorite movies are Land Before Time and Stand By Me,” you deadpan with a flat face. A smile inevitably pulls at your lips when you look at him too long, pretty as he is. “You’re cool, Eddie. Whether you wanna be or not.”

“Agree to disagree,” he grins, totally sheepish as he shrugs off the compliment. “Thanks for hangin’ around. Again.”

He feels like he’s said that too many times now, but he’s too full of gratitude to stop. It’s been just him and Maeve for so long. And, yeah, sure, Steve and Robin come around when they can, but they’ve got their own lives outside of this one. It isn’t every day someone appears at his trailer with a bottle of booze and the wherewithal to acclimate to his chaotic life.

Eddie feels like he should never stop thanking you, really.

You shrug. “Thanks for keeping me around. Again.”

“See you soon?” he wonders with a hopeful glint in his dark eyes, made a much lighter amber in the moonlight.

You nod firmly once. “‘Course.”

And even though that’s as good a dismissal as any, you both linger in the doorway still. Like your feet are glued in place.

How are you supposed to walk away from him? The man with wild rockstar curls, rings on each finger, and a beaded bracelet with his daughter’s initial in the very center. The man who loves cartoons more than his toddler and cries with you at sad movies?

You figure you’ll spend forever chasing this foreign feeling he’s so effortlessly given you.

“Daddy!” Maeve shouts. Her high-pitched voice rings through the tiny trailer. It makes you wince a little. You didn’t think something so tiny could be so loud.

“And there’s Mayday…” Eddie lilts quietly, unflinching ‘cause he’s used to this by now.

“I’ll go,” you laugh, walking backward towards your car. “I’ll— I’ll see you around.”

“G’night,” he calls to you as he watches you go.

His chest stings when he realizes he never asked for your number. It feels much too awkward to do it now, and he’s only got a few minutes more before Maeve goes crazy on him. He should’ve asked you ages ago, really. But he didn’t. ‘Cause he’s an idiot.

You notice it, too, but you flash him a sheepish smile over your shoulder anyway. Even if you never hear from him again after you’re gone, you figure there’s always next year.

Maeve will be another year older. Steve will bring you along to her party if you beg. Eddie will be in desperate need of a pick-me-up, and you’ll bring a bottle of booze just to make him smile. The alcohol will go untouched, though, as the two of you get lost in conversation and Stand By Me.

Even if all this was only destined to happen once every year — even if it was only supposed to happen once and never again — you’ll spend the rest of your life grateful that it happened at all.

With a cold hand trembling with longing, you wrench your car door open. Though your heart’s heavy with a distant worry that you may never be back here again, you grin at him through the grief and the small distance between you.

“Good night, Eddie.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #eddie and maeve

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minhosbitterriver · 2 months

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𑁍ࠬܓ 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ( stray kids )

❛ In which the members of Stray Kids navigate the world of fatherhood without you.

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 + female reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) 4.4k

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This request was absolutely devastating to write, thank you! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Y/N has passed away, each member is a single father still in love with you, mentions of grief, some of the kids fall under the LGBTQ+ community.

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

방찬 ── BANG CHAN.

Chan's office was bathed in the soft, amber glow of the desk lamps, casting a warm yet somber light across the room. The gentle hum of the night time silence was broken only by the rhythmic, soothing breaths of his three-year-old daughter, who lay peacefully on the worn leather couch. Her tiny face, so serene in slumber, was a haunting mirror of your beautiful features, stirring a profound ache in Chan's heart.

As he watched her, tears began to silently trace their way down his cheeks, each drop carrying the weight of his sorrow and longing. He could still hear your final, trembling words: "Love her twice as much in my absence." The memory was a dagger, twisting with the relentless guilt and grief that had become his constant companions. The sight of his daughter's innocent face, so reminiscent of you, only deepened his anguish.

Today had been especially trying. Chan had promised his little girl a joyous outing to the park, a precious respite from his hectic work schedule. But the day took an unexpected turn when Changbin called in a panic, frantically searching for the nearly completed recording of their latest song. What Chan had hoped would be a swift resolution morphed into hours of desperate searching, only to end in the devastating realization that they would have to begin the recording anew.

All the while, his daughter’s patience wore thin. She had no toys, no distractions, just the suffocating boredom of waiting. Her disappointment was palpable, a silent reproach that cut deeper than any words could. Chan felt like he was failing her, failing in the promise he had made to you. Driven by the need to make amends, he gently woke his daughter. Her initial crankiness gave way to curiosity as he apologized for breaking his promise and proposed a sleepover at home. Movies, games, a fort, and endless cuddles — her eyes sparkled at the thought, and her frown dissolved into giggles.

At home, they transformed the living room into a magical fortress of pillows and blankets, a sanctuary just for them. They watched animated tales, played games, and reveled in the simple joy of being together. Wrapped in the cozy embrace of their fort, she eventually succumbed to sleep once more, nestled against him. Her hair, a tousled mess, and a small trail of drool on his shirt were endearing reminders of her tender age and boundless trust in him.

Chan held her close, his heart swelling with love and a bittersweet yearning. She was the living embodiment of his heart, and as he gazed at her, he whispered a vow into the stillness of the night. He promised to love her with all his might, carrying the weight of both his love and the part of you that would forever reside in their lives. In that quiet moment, amidst the echoes of his promises, he felt a fragile sense of peace, knowing that as long as he held her, he was keeping your memory alive.

이민호 ── LEE MINHO.

Minho lay in the dim, soft glow of his bedroom, shadows whispering across the walls as the twins slept peacefully beside him. Their tiny forms had claimed your side of the bed, filling the void where your presence once brought warmth and comfort. The night he returned home with the babies, he had attempted to sleep alone, but the emptiness was unbearable. He tossed and turned, haunted by the silence, until one of the babies began to cry, inevitably waking the other. In his desperation to soothe them, he gathered every pillow he could find, crafting a makeshift crib in his bed. Their delicate features softened in the calm of his presence, and they finally drifted off to sleep.

As Minho gazed at their angelic faces, hands entwined even in slumber, his heart ached with the weight of your absence. How could he begin to process this loss? You had spent almost ten months nurturing these little miracles, only to be taken away before you could revel in the beauty of their existence. Ten months of creating life, and you would never witness the serene way they held hands in their sleep. Ten months of dreams and hopes, and you would miss their first birthdays, graduations, weddings. It was unbearably cruel, and Minho’s soul was tormented by the thought.

You wouldn’t even be here to laugh about the pregnancy mix-up that had both of you convinced it would be a boy and a girl, only to welcome two beautiful baby girls into the world. His friends had offered to stay and help, but he had declined, needing the solitude to grapple with his grief. Now, in the stillness of the night, he questioned if he had made the right choice.

Tears welled up and spilled down his cheeks as the full weight of his new reality settled over him. He was to raise these precious little princesses on his own, and the responsibility felt crushing. Yet, as he watched their peaceful slumber, he knew he had to summon every ounce of strength for them. They were his world now, the living, breathing remnants of your love. He vowed to cherish them, to love them fiercely, and to guide them through life with unwavering dedication, for they were all he had left of you, and he was all they had.

In the hushed silence, he whispered promises into the night, pledging to be the best father he could be. He would ensure they knew how deeply you loved them, even if you couldn’t be there to tell them yourself. And as he held them close, feeling the rise and fall of their tiny chests, a fragile peace washed over him. He knew that in every laugh, every tear, and every milestone, you would be there in spirit, guiding him, loving them, always.

서창빈 ── SEO CHANGBIN.

The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the park as Changbin and his 13-year-old son sat on a weathered wooden bench, savoring their ice cream. The park buzzed with the laughter of children, their joy mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves in the summer breeze. Parents lounged on the grass, basking in the last light of day, while Changbin watched his son’s face light up with a blush as he received a message.

Changbin couldn’t resist teasing him. "Who’s got you smiling like that?" he asked, his voice laced with playful curiosity.

His son’s cheeks reddened further, and he looked away, trying to hide his smile. "Just a girl from school," he mumbled, glancing at his phone. "She texted to congratulate me on today’s soccer game."

Changbin’s interest was piqued. "A girl, huh? Do you like her?" he inquired gently, but his son just rolled his eyes, keeping his thoughts to himself.

After a while, his son broke the comfortable silence with a question that took Changbin by surprise. "Dad, how did you know Mom was the one for you?"

Changbin's heart swelled with a bittersweet mix of love and nostalgia. He took a deep breath, the memory washing over him like a tender wave. "Well," he began softly, "it was before you were born. Your mom and I had only been dating for a few months. One evening, we decided to take a ride on my motorcycle to grab some food. On the way back, she spotted a bookstore and got all excited. She tapped my shoulder and pointed it out, her eyes sparkling like a child's. I couldn't say no to that."

He smiled, lost in the memory. "We stopped, and I handed her my card, telling her to get whatever she wanted. She promised she’d come out empty-handed, but I knew better." He chuckled, remembering your sheepish yet triumphant expression as you emerged with a bag hidden behind your back. "She ended up buying two books and couldn’t stop talking about them, her excitement contagious. When I told her I was glad she found something, she did this little dance of joy before climbing back onto the bike. She had to hold the bag since her backpack was already stuffed with our food, but she was too happy to care."

Changbin’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. "That’s when I knew she was the one. It wasn’t some grand gesture; it was her pure joy in the little things, her passion for life. I wish you could have known her. She loved you so much, even before you were born."

His son’s eyes mirrored his own longing and admiration. "I wish I’d known her too," he said softly. "My goal in life is to find my soulmate, like you found Mom. I want to love someone as much as you loved her."

Changbin’s heart ached with pride and sorrow. "You deserve to have someone by your side for a long time," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he added, "Who knows, maybe this girl from school is your one."

His son groaned, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he nudged Changbin, causing his ice cream to topple onto the ground. Changbin laughed, a deep, hearty sound that echoed through the park. His own ice cream slipped from his grasp, joining his son’s on the pavement, and they both burst into laughter, the joy of the moment a soothing balm to their hearts.

In that golden hour, surrounded by the simple pleasures of ice cream and shared memories, Changbin felt a profound sense of peace. Despite the heartache and loss, he and his son would continue to find love and joy in the little things, just as you had taught him. And in those moments of laughter and connection, he felt your presence with them, a silent guardian watching over their journey, smiling at their shared happiness.

황현진 ── HWANG HYUNJIN.

Hyunjin sat alone in the dimly lit room, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm, golden hue over the familiar surroundings. The air was thick with memories, each piece of furniture and every stroke of paint a testament to the love and labor he had shared with you. His heart ached with a bittersweet nostalgia as he looked around, his mind filled with the echoes of laughter and the whispers of cherished moments.

He remembered the countless hours spent building the furniture, the frustration and triumph mingling as he struggled with stubborn screws, while you sat nearby, reading the instructions with a patience that never failed to calm him. The nursery walls, painted in a tapestry of happy themes, bore the marks of your combined artistic talents, creating a sanctuary for the new life you both awaited with eager anticipation.

The night he returned home with the baby, your absence a gaping void beside him, was etched into his soul. He had sat in the rocking chair, the one he had bought especially for you, cradling the fragile bundle in his arms, paralyzed by the fear of being alone. Many nights, he had dozed off in that chair, too afraid to leave its comforting embrace, haunted by the silence that your departure had left behind.

A wistful smile tugged at his lips as he recalled the day he found your child drawing on the walls, their tiny hands busy creating a colorful mural over your delicate paintings. It had pained him to see your work altered, but the sight of their concentrated little face, so much like yours, had softened his heart. He had chosen to let them be creative, to express themselves freely, even if it meant sacrificing a piece of you.

He thought of the time his six-year-old had cried in his arms, their tiny body trembling with confusion and hurt because they didn't fit in with the boys or the girls. Hyunjin had held them close, whispering reassurances, his heart breaking at the familiar pain. It had been a long journey, but he had worked tirelessly to make their home a sanctuary of love and acceptance.

The memories came in a flood, each one a cherished gem: the summer in middle school when they returned home with bags of new clothes and put on a fashion show, proudly displaying their androgynous style; the pride parade, where he meticulously placed sticky rainbow gems on their face, their giddy excitement lighting up the day; and finally, the day they graduated and moved out, leaving behind an empty room filled with the ghosts of the past.

Tears rolled down Hyunjin’s face as he sat in the rocking chair, now old and creaky, thinking of all the moments he had cherished yet wished he could have shared with you. The weight of the memories pressed down on him, a heavy, inescapable burden.

Suddenly, his phone rang, startling him from his reverie. He hastily wiped his tears and saw it was a FaceTime call from his child. He answered, and their beaming face filled the screen, the excitement in their eyes mirrored by the twinkling fairy lights in their new apartment's bedroom.

“Hey, Dad! Look at my new room!” they exclaimed, panning the camera around to show off their new space, their voice bubbling with pride and joy.

Hyunjin’s heart swelled with pride and love. “It looks amazing, sweetheart,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

“I miss you,” they confessed, their eyes shining with unshed tears. “Can we spend the first night together, through the phone?”

Hyunjin chuckled softly, trying to mask his lingering sadness. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of moving out?”

They laughed, a sound that was pure and unfiltered joy. “Maybe, but I know you’re in my old room crying already.”

He laughed too, the heaviness lifting just a bit. “You got me there.”

They didn’t hang up, staying connected through the screen as the night deepened. Hyunjin lay back in the rocking chair, his child propped up in their new bed, both finding solace in the familiar presence of each other. As they talked and laughed, Hyunjin realized that though you weren’t physically there, your spirit lived on in these moments, in the love that continued to bind them together. And for now, that was enough.

한지성 ── HAN JISUNG.

Jisung found his seven-year-old child hidden within the treehouse that the three of you had built together. This small wooden sanctuary, once filled with laughter and joy, now bore the heavy weight of sorrow. They were still in their funeral attire, the black clothes contrasting sharply against the soft glow of the setting sun. The murmurs of the guests lingering in the backyard became a distant, indistinct hum as Jisung climbed into the treehouse, his heart burdened with grief and a simmering anger at the universe for taking you away so cruelly.

His son's youthful face was etched with a grief that seemed too profound for such a young soul. Jisung felt a surge of helplessness as he reached out, pulling his child close, wrapping him in an embrace meant to shield him from the cruel world outside. “I miss Mom,” came the soft, heart-wrenching whisper, each word a dagger to Jisung’s already shattered heart.

“I miss Mom too,” Jisung murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. They sat together in silence, the weight of your absence pressing down on them like an insurmountable force.

It had been nearly a year since you had fallen ill, the sickness so severe that the doctors had given you only a few months at most. Yet, you had defied their grim prognosis, your spirit burning brightly despite the frailty of your body. Jisung remembered the countless nights spent by your side, swallowing his fears and anger as you spoke of your impending death with a calm acceptance that had always made him furious. To him, it felt as though you had given up, but he knew deep down that wasn’t the case. You hadn’t wanted to waste what little time you had left fighting an unwinnable battle. Perhaps if he had truly listened, if he had embraced those fleeting moments instead of railing against them, he might have cherished your final days more deeply.

His son, too young to fully grasp the concept of death, struggled with the finality of it all. He understood that you would never return, yet accepting it was a different matter entirely. Jisung’s heart broke anew each time he saw the confusion and sorrow in his child’s eyes, a mirror of his own torment.

Holding his son tighter, Jisung wished he could find the right words to ease the pain, to make sense of a world that had suddenly lost its light. But words failed him, crumbled under the weight of their shared grief. Instead, he let the silence speak, hoping the strength of his embrace could convey the love and comfort his words could not.

The treehouse, once a symbol of their shared joy, now held their sorrow. The walls, which had echoed with laughter and dreams, now seemed to absorb their pain, standing as silent witnesses to their loss. But within this small, sacred space, surrounded by the memories of happier times, Jisung hoped they could begin to heal. He would be there for his son, a steadfast presence in the storm of their grief, guiding him through the darkness with a love that, while tested, remained unbroken.

As the last light of day faded, Jisung held his son close, both finding a semblance of solace in each other’s presence. In the quiet, grief-stricken aftermath, they began to forge a new bond, one tempered by loss but strengthened by their enduring love. And in that silent communion, Jisung found a glimmer of hope that they would eventually find their way through the darkness together.

이용복 ── LEE YONGBOK.

In a home where the relentless energy of three young girls and their single father painted every day with hues of joyous chaos, peace was a fleeting visitor. The air thrummed with the symphony of exuberant laughter, the vibrant discord of simultaneous chatter, and the relentless rhythm of youthful exuberance. Yongbok would never trade this tempestuous world for anything, yet a hollow ache lingered for the presence of the one who had been the steady heartbeat of their lives.

Your sudden departure had cast a profound shadow over their once lively abode, transforming it into a quieter realm where your laughter’s echoes were replaced by an oppressive silence. As time wove its delicate fabric over the jagged edges of grief, the house gradually adjusted to a new cadence, yet the weight of your absence hung heavy in every corner.

Despite this, Yongbok discovered fragments of you embedded within the fabric of their daily lives. He saw your essence in the selfless nurturing of his eldest daughter, who had seamlessly stepped into the role of co-caregiver. Her quiet acts of love and responsibility were a poignant echo of the devotion you had always shown, a continuation of your spirit in her every gesture.

In the middle child’s vibrant monologues about obscure topics, Yongbok glimpsed your enduring influence. Her unquenchable thirst for knowledge mirrored the intellectual curiosity you had nurtured, each passionate explanation a living testament to your legacy.

The youngest, with her mischievous gleam and boundless spirit, kept Yongbok perpetually on his toes. Her playful antics and joyful mischief were a vivid reminder of the vivacity you had infused into their home, a living echo of the light you had brought into their lives.

In the quiet moments, Yongbok could still feel your presence. The post-it notes left in his lunch bag by his eldest daughter, each inscribed with a simple message of love, were imbued with your warmth. The tender strokes of his middle daughter’s fingers through his hair during their movie nights were a silent connection to you. And in the gentle inquiries of his youngest, her head peeking around the door to ensure he was alright, he felt the deep compassion you had instilled in her.

Though you were absent from the milestones and daily rhythms, your essence lived on through them. In the small, tender acts of affection and love, you continued to be a cherished part of their lives, an enduring presence in their hearts.

김승민 ── KIM SEUNGMIN.

Seungmin had been absent through the vast expanse of your pregnancy, the relentless demands of touring keeping him away. He returned just in time to witness the birth, only to be swallowed by the crushing weight of your absence. The pain of missing those precious moments with you, of not being there to share in the miracle of your last days, was a wound that never healed. This haunting regret followed him, a constant reminder of a future lost.

The day you passed, Seungmin left Stray Kids, unable to bear the weight of the stage without you by his side. He couldn’t find solace in the bright lights or the rhythms of his music. Instead, he focused on his two sons—an older one, now sixteen, and a younger one, now twelve. The older boy, once a vibrant spirit, had retreated into the shadows of his room, his once lively demeanor replaced by a sullen silence. The baseball games that had once bound them together now lay abandoned, and Seungmin, despite the storm within, knew he had to reach out.

Determined to bridge the chasm that had grown between them, Seungmin planned a day just for the two of them. He left the youngest with his closest friend, Jeongin, and took his older son out. The car ride was a quiet procession of unspoken thoughts, the weight of their shared grief hanging heavily between them. When they finally arrived at their destination, Seungmin braced himself, ready to face the tender fracture of their relationship.

It took patience, but eventually, the silence broke. The older boy revealed his feelings for a boy at school, emotions that he struggled to understand. Seungmin was taken aback, but he remained calm, his heart aching with a blend of surprise and concern. As his son’s tears fell freely, Seungmin pulled him into a tender embrace, his own heart aching with a mixture of empathy and love. He whispered reassurances into his son’s hair, promising acceptance and protection, vowing to stand by him no matter what.

The boy, still tearful but comforted, then showed Seungmin a small journal. Inside was a song he had penned, a poignant melody woven with the threads of his conflicted feelings for the boy at school. The song was hauntingly beautiful, a reflection of his son’s delicate soul and burgeoning talent. Seungmin’s heart swelled with pride and love as he listened, recognizing the echoes of his own musical spirit in his child’s creation.

As the day drew to a close, Seungmin received a snapshot from Jeongin—his youngest child, covered in dirt and beaming with the joy of a day spent playing baseball. The image was a burst of pure happiness, a vivid reminder that even amidst the sorrow, moments of light and joy persisted.

As the sun set, Seungmin felt a renewed connection with his older son, a fragile yet precious bond rekindled through their shared experiences and heartfelt conversation. Though the regret of not being there for you lingered, he found solace in the fact that he was striving to be the father you would have been proud of. In the quiet moments of the evening, he hoped, with all his heart, that wherever you were, you watched over them and felt a deep pride in the man he was becoming—a father striving to honor your memory through the love and strength he gave to your family.

양정인 ── YANG JEONGIN.

Jeongin’s youngest daughter was a restless spirit, her stubborn yet carefree nature a constant reminder of the love she once shared with you. Each burst of laughter, every defiant flicker of joy, was a living echo of your vibrant presence. In contrast, his oldest son was a mirror of Jeongin’s own meticulous nature, his life meticulously ordered, each ambition carefully planned.

Lately, Jeongin’s heart had been heavy with worry. His daughter, brimming with reckless exuberance, frequently dashed off to meet a boy Jeongin knew was unworthy. The thought of her entangled with someone without a future gnawed at him, leaving him adrift in a sea of concern. As he lay awake at night, the silence seemed to taunt him, and he often found himself wondering how you would have navigated these troubled waters if you had still been there to guide them.

One night, as the moonlight spilled softly through the window, Jeongin was wrenched from sleep by the unmistakable sound of muffled sobs. His heart raced as he followed the cries to his daughter’s room. He paused at the door, the murmur of his son’s voice cutting through the silence. The room, once a sanctuary of dreams, was now a cocoon of whispered regrets and stifled tears. His daughter’s voice wavered with the weight of her shame, confessing her feelings of foolishness for having trusted the boy. His son, with a soothing calmness that mirrored your gentle strength, reassured her that she wasn’t foolish, merely swept up in the exhilarating tide of young love. He told her she deserved better than a boy with no future, his words a soft balm to her wounded spirit.

Jeongin’s heart ached with a mixture of pride and sorrow as he heard his son’s comforting tones, the echoes of your nurturing spirit resonating in his voice. After a few moments, he gathered the courage to step into the room. His eyes were tender with understanding as he took in the scene: his daughter’s tear-streaked face, her hands buried in her lap. Her cries grew louder as she saw him, her embarrassment palpable as she shielded her face with her hands.

Jeongin knelt before her, his expression a blend of love and compassion. Gently, he reached for her hands, drawing them away from her face to hold them in his own. His touch was a lifeline, a silent promise of unwavering support.

“You told me so, I know,” she choked out, her voice a trembling whisper.

“I would never say that, my love,” Jeongin murmured, his voice rich with tenderness. He wrapped her in his arms, pulling her close against his chest. His gaze met his son’s, a shared understanding passing between them.

“I know it hurts,” Jeongin whispered into her hair, his voice a soothing melody against her ear, “but this isn’t the end.” His embrace was a warm cocoon, a sanctuary of love amidst the storm of her emotions. The night unfolded in a delicate tapestry of comfort and hope, a testament to the enduring love that bound them together, even in the quiet absence of your guiding presence.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Post taglist: @bowsnbang @nothinginterestingtoshowhere

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS! STAYBLR FUNDRAISER!

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

Text

End Game 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: have a great friday, dudes.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Maris Street. You rarely go that way. It’s near the core of the town, closer to the west end where green hedges and white picket fences cordon off the suburban elite from the commoners like you. It suits him, doesn’t it? You assume this is what he’s used to.

The venom roils in your gut as you approach Oxford Drive. You stop before the sleek grey exterior. The black trims and large golden moniker in all caps add to the extravagant effect. Flowers boxes stand outside the windows that glow amber with rich ambience from within. The nicest place you ever went was the Korean Barbecue your dorm mate dragged you to; this is well beyond that.

You take a breath and look down at yourself. You’re still wearing the black jeans and plain tee you sport for your job. Former job. Your beat-up sneakers perfectly match your thrifted aesthetic and the purse strap twisted around your hand and wrist frays as if to assure everyone that you don’t belong.

You go to the front door and pull it open. You step inside to the low drone of stringy music and the subtle clink of glasses amid the low murmur of voices. You chew your lip as you approach the tall round desk where the hostess stands over the open reservation book, like some mystical keeper of scrolls. How very Skyrim of her.

She gives you a look, one you expect. You sniff and cross your arms, the strap of your purse further straining your circulation. You exhale and peek over at the dining room.

“Hi, I um...” your cheeks pinch as you find it difficult to speak. “I’m meeting someone.”

“You are?" Her skepticism drips from her voice, “are you certain they’re... here?”

“Yeah. I don’t know if he made a reservation or whatever. Obviously, I’m not a regular,” you snipe back. You’re too exasperated to hold back. You don’t need her judging you too. “Older, beard, uh, tall... Andy Barber. Is he in the book?”

She flutters her pretty lashes and looks down. You watch her. She’s a few years older than you. Tall, balayaged hair, slender, perfectly bowed lips. What about her? Or someone like her? Why wouldn’t he want that instead? Why is he bothering you?

“Barber,” she nods, “yes, he’s here.”

She seems surprised by that. She steps out from behind the desk and tells you to follow. You obey. You have to. This is all just pulling teeth. He has you toothless already.

You keep your head down as you trail behind her. You only look up as you sense a figure on the other side of her. Andy stands as you approach and you nearly choke. You want so bad to just turn around and run away.

A line deepens in his forehead and disappears. He smiles as the hostess waves you forward. He comes around to pull out the other chair before you can. You retract your arm and barely withhold your frustration. Can’t he understand you want nothing from him?

You sit stiff and fix your bag in your lap, slowly unwinding the strap from your wrist. The hostess promises a server will be with you soon and struts away. You stare at the table cloth and as Andy sits, darkening the edge of your vision, you turn to glare at the far wall.

You feel even more demeaned sitting there in your jeans in tea among the crystal and tall-stemmed lilies. The tinkle of the soft woodwind music makes your head buzz yet the smell of the food teases your empty stomach. Your eyes drift to a group of older women, laughing over wine, a symbol of what you’ll never be. Happy. Free.

“Thanks for meeting me. I guess you’ve never been here before,” Andy begins.

You shake your head and flick your eyes to the ceiling. You grit down on his words. Why is he acting like this is normal?

“Nice place, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you snap and look at him directly, nearly growling in his face, “very nice. Upscale. Well above me.”

You cross your arms and sit back, your purse strap still loosely clinging to your wrist. His chest rises and he exhales through his nose. He leans forward and his cheek ticks.

“I brought you here for dinner, so we could talk, get to know each other--”

“That’s not what I’m here for,” you insist, almost teary-eyed from your rage. You don’t like being angry. You’ve never been very good at and more times, you end up blubbering. “Kara, my friend--”

He tilts his chin up and sets his gaze firmly on you, “we’ll get to that.”

“No, now,” you hiss.

He huffs through his nose. He looks around, silently chewing his agitation. He sits up and replaces that manufactured smile as a server approaches.

“Good evening, can I get you started with drinks?” He asks, his dark shirt finely pressed and buttoned to the very top.

“No thank--” you begin.

“We’ll take a bottle of cabernet,” Andy interjects, “for the table. Oh, and could we get some fresh bread. This has been sitting out.”

The server acquiesces and takes the basket as Andy hands over the wine menu. You barely keep from rolling your eyes. You’re not here to eat and drink and be merry. Kara is quite possibly behind bars.

You glare at him and wait. The server leaves as you keep your arms folded, fingers clamped tightly. He looks at you as if there’s nothing wrong. As if this is all normal.

“I want to know what’s going to happen to Kara. You said you can help--”

“I can,” he says casually, “so let’s have a nice dinner and then I’ll do just that.”

“But she’s--”

“They’ll have her in holding, question her, then they’ll have to figure out charges, yada, yada,” he explains, “don’t worry, I’ll give them a call after, tell them my client is invoking her right to an attorney.”

Your chest thumps and your ears ring. He’s so confident. He already knows you can’t say no. Not to him or this dinner. You have to sit there and celebrate his victory that came with your defeat. It’s not right. It’s... it’s... deranged.

“Why?” You croak.

“Why?” He shakes his head.

“Why are you doing this? Why me? Why not someone... someone you can relate to? Someone your age?”

“Why you? You’re perfect, sweetheart. Perfect for me,” he coos, “come on, we get along. We did. I know I messed things up but it can’t change that we had fun. We did, didn’t we?”

You swallow and shrug. Those nights you stayed up and mined or raced or whatever, they were fun, they were nights you look forward to. But every single one was a lie.

“Sure, but... what if I’d lied to you? What if I wasn’t me? What if I was some guy in a basement--”

“You weren’t.”

“But what if--”

“I know you weren’t.”

“How could you know--”

“I just did. You’re so genuine, so... kind, that can’t be fake,” he insists.

You sink down, slumping your shoulders, and look away. What can you do? You’re exactly where you never wanted to be. With less options. With none.

“What do you want from me?” Your dry mouth crackles around your words.

He’s quiet as the server returns. He sits back and you lift your chin as you watch the server uncork the bottle. He pours the wine and Andy asks for a few more minutes with the menu. Again, you have no appetite.

When you’re alone again, Andy takes a breath and shifts in his chair. He brings his hands together, pinching his left ring finger as if he’s missing something. He quickly pulls his hands apart.

“You. That’s all I want,” he breathes.

You stare at him. You don’t understand. Maybe it’s because you don’t want to. If you keep denying it, it might not be the very idea that makes your skin crawl.

He reaches for his glass of wine and holds it out. You stare at it, then look him in the face. You can’t wipe the horror from your face.

“Cheers to us, sweetheart,” he says, “me and you.”

You shake your head as he waits. Slowly you take the glass before you and raise it. He clinks the crystal between you.

“It’s the first day of the rest of our lives,” he declares, “we can both build the home we always wanted. Together.”

🎮

Andy pays the bill as you wallow in futility. This is it. Your life is over. All because of one mistake. All because you trusted the wrong person.

He stands first and you follow. He grabs the to-go box of the food you barely touched. You’re in such a fog, you can barely think. He gestures you towards the door as he nudges you with the box. You hug your purse to your stomach and walk between the tables.

The cool night air wakes you up. As you come to the sidewalk, you stop. You turn back to him and wet your mouth, a hint of wine on your tongue.

“Call. Right now,” your voice shakes.

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” He inclines his head as if he doesn’t understand.

“The police. Call. You said you would help Kara,” you insist.

His brow arches and he nods. He holds out the container and you take it stiffly, letting your purse dangle from your shoulder. He pulls out his phone as he stares at you. Finally, he looks down and scrolls. He clears his throat before he puts it to his ear.

“Hi, yes, this is Andy Barber, I’m an attorney for a woman in your custody. Yes, I do.” You listen to the piecemeal conversation, “name is Kara Orascio. Yes, she won’t be talking to the police any longer. That’s correct.” He pauses and listens intently, “I’m out of town but I can be there tomorrow. Sure.”

He hangs up as his eyes cling to you still.

“So, looks like we need to pack,” he says.

“What?” You utter.

“Don’t you want to see your friend?” He challenges.

“Well, yes, but I thought you--”

“I’m not coming back here again. So, you’re coming. We’ll deal with your friend’s charges then we’ll go home.”

You blink, “home?”

“Sure, sweetheart, I got it all ready for you,” he turns down the sidewalk and takes your hand.

You have the urge to rip your hand out of his. You want to tell him not to touch you. You want to scream and run away. You don’t because you want to save Kara more.

“I meant what I said before. I can get you into school down there,” he guides you along, “you’ll like it. It's close to Boston. Place called Nelson. You ever been to Massachusetts?”

“Hm, no, didn’t travel much.”

“That’s okay. We can do some of that too. Still got lots of summer left. We could go somewhere sunny,” he drawls, “you know, it gets gloomy in the fall so we may as well enjoy it while we can.”

“Sure,” you murmur.

Your feet are heavy, your head too, every part of you just wants to give up. Haven’t you? Isn’t that what this is? You surrender.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He stops and lets go of you, fishing around in his pocket.

“I’m...” your vision narrows in; just like the moment you first met him. As Andy. As the real him. As the twisted man you just sold your soul to. “...tired.”

“Aw, yeah, well, it’s been a long few days. For both of us. You wanna come back to my hotel. The bed’s really cozy and the tub is deep. You could relax for the night before we gotta get on the road,” he offers.

You shake your head, “n-no,” you stutter. The last thing you want to do is be alone behind closed doors with him. “You said... pack. I should... do that.”

“Ah, I did. Alright, I’ll take you to your grandma’s. I’ll have to come early so we can get to your friend.”

“Right,” you agree coarsely.

“Trust me. I know how to handle cops,” he chuckles and pulls out his keys, unlocking the car right beside you. He opens the door and steps back, “I’ll call ahead. Get us a room as there too. I guess you’re going to want to catch up with your friend while we’re there. Might be a while before you see her again.”

You wince and look at him. A while. You look around at the street lights. You’re not unhappy. Leaving this place doesn’t matter to you but leaving Kara, possibly forever, that’s a knife in the chest. But forever is easier if you know she’s okay. If you know she doesn’t pay for your stupidity.

You nod and get in the car. You can’t speak. If you even try, you’ll bawl. The end is there, you feel it closing you in with the car door.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #end game #defending jacob

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thesummerstorms · 2 months

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IDK how I would want to introduce Annabeth exactly in my Annabeth Wayne AU. Like I have multiple ideas rotating through my brain at any given time.

They're all predicated on the idea that she didn't come back to Gotham intending to reunite with her family. She actually believes that she can't, as Dionysus made her swear an oath on the Styx her very first week at Camp, promising she wouldn't reveal the demigods to mortal heroes like the Justice League.

Instead, she's there trying to make peace with her past and get her head on straight after Tartarus tore open old wounds. But of course, somehow she ends up unwillingly reintroduced to the Bats and having to work out her abandonment issues/grief/resentment. Scenarios include but are not limited to:

Tim Investigates!!!

Returns to Gotham very shortly after Blood of Olympus, Will sends a brief message to Bernard Dowd, son of Apollo.

Bernard generally sucks at healing compared to his siblings, but any medic is better than none when dealing with things like the aftermath of Tartarus.

Bernard introduces her (truthfully!) to Tim as his 'acquaintance from summer camp' who he's keeping an eye on because she's had a bad time recently and a mutual friend asked him to look out for her. And she still looks bad (lost weight, limp, obviously sleep deprived) so Tim honestly doesn't question that part so much as wonder what exactly happened to her.

Bernard asks him to leave it alone, and Tim tries only because he's trying to prove that he can for his boyfriend who he loves very much.

But something about Annabeth's face is very familiar. (Headcanon she actually has a strong resemblance to the Kane side of the family, more so even than Bruce. Tims brain is putting together the resemblance to the manor portrait and possibly Batwoman, but he doesn't recognize that yet.)

Plus Annabeth gets spooked when she meets him and realizes who Bernard's boyfriend is. (She has more info than Tim does, obviously, even though it mostly comes from celebrity magazines stolen by Cabin 11 and Gotham news articles devoured while on quests). Her reaction intensifies Tim's curiosity, but it's too late to back out of the acquaintance without raising further suspicion.

Anyway, Tim FAILS at not investigating. Obviously. Not quite sure how it unravels from there, just that there's almost nothing on Anna Wayne in any records aside from Gotham's amber alerts because of the Mist.

Murder Scene on the Boat

This one is less thought out. It takes place in an AU where Bernard has already accidentally outed himself to Tim as a demigod.

Tim got very badly injured one day, made it home in a concussed daze, and Bernard freaked out badly enough to risk using the few Apollo-healing powers he does have.

Tim doesn't entirely GET the limited explanation he got from Bernard about that, but he's also hiding it from the rest of the BatFam because he doesn't want Bruce sticking his nose in it and possibly making things worse.

In this context, someone at Camp has called to let Bernard know that Annabeth is possibly headed for Gotham and that she's both mentally & physically in bad shape, but there's not actually much to be done because she hasn't made contact with him.

That is until Bernard goes into the deck of Tim's boat early one morning and finds Annabeth (possibly lead by Apollo's raven) bleeding out on the deck.

He screams for Tim until Tim wakes up and comes running with his staff in hand, but again Bernard is a mediocre healer at best and they have no nectar, so Tim has to call in for medical assistance.

Possibly Dick Grayson is near enough to respond for some reason (idk why, that part isn't important) and upon seeing the little sister he already thought was dead actively bleeding to death while Tim's supposedly human boyfriend is shaking and literally glowing trying to keep her alive, he promptly loses his shit.

They do get her medical care in time, obviously, Dick keeps it together enough to help with that, but as soon as she's out of immediate danger he full on blue screens.

Bio Sibling Meeting

Damian Wayne can see through the Mist not *entirely* but more easily than most mortals due to the Lazarus Pit. (Both growing up around it and having been revived in it.) He has largely kept this to himself.

That is until some sort of extra dangerous monster (that has in fact been tracking Annabeth, not that he knows that) realizes he can see them and takes an interest. He doesn't smell like a demigod, but he also doesn't smell entirely human (Lazarus Pit) so the monster mistakes him as a possiblly lower-effort snack.

Damian attempts to defend, but given that his sword isn't celestial bronze, it goes poorly.

Annabeth, who has been hiding nearby with her invisibility cap, trying to buy enough time for some ambrosia to kick in, is forced back into the fight and defends him. Possibly she gives him some sort of spare weapon (because after Tartarus she doesn't carry just one blade).

They do manage to fight it off, and Damian demands answers. Annabeth clearly recognizes him, not just Robin, but him, and it's freaking him out.

She dons her cap and runs again rather than give those answers and Damian isn't able to stop her for whatever reason.

However, she's been purely in the Mythic world for long enough she isn't thinking about DNA, and Damian is able to pull a blood sample after calling Nightwing (again, because I love to torture him in these scenarios and also he's the only one on good terms with the whole family who knows her) for back up

Nightwing gets nervous when Damian describes the girl (and her eyes in particular). Bruce is off world, so he's the only one present to have a melt down when the DNA profile comes back.

There is a version where somehow Damian has had visions of parts of Annabeth's quests (because Talia knew what Annabeth was and did some DNA manipulation? Because Hestia needed a Hail Mary to fix this family? IDK) so he actually recognizes her at least that much, but doesn't know her name or why he's seen her.

He's been mentally calling her Arsinoe and assumed she was the one to use some magic to forge the connection. He knows about Tartarus, but doesn't have any context to correctly interpret it.

None of that leads him to connect her to his missing older half-sister who Talia spoke about twice and who Bruce never spoke of at all- until he sees Grayson's reaction.

It stirs up some old fear and jealousy, yes- but he also recognizes she saved him and wants to know what the hell is going on. He begins investigating.

Unlucky

Annabeth's inherited shit luck from both parts of her family, so it's not even a monster attack that outs her. She gets caught by accident in a rogue attack and gets hit because she turned back to protect a civilian rather than rely on her own training to try and get clear.

Scarecrow and Fear Toxin could actually be so fun for this specific scenario, but idk, haven't thought out a lot of specifics.

Nightwing is in Gotham currently. (Because I want to torture Dick Grayson specifically.)

(Because the idea of the scared older brother who finds the sibling he lost only when he's actively losing them again is too much fun.)

Because it's either him, Bruce, or Jason, and I figure Jason is estranged and I'm not gonna get the outwardly emotional response I want from Bruce.

So Nightwing is the one to get her and the civilian she was trying to protect extracted from the scene. And in this case he's *not* actually sure why she seems so familiar at first because there's a lot going on and in his mind Anna Wayne most likely died tragically at the age of 7 because Gotham wouldn't be kind to a runaway child that young.

It isn't until he's going through her bag, trying to find something to ID her with or some sort of med alert ID or medication (because she's having a really bad reaction) that he accidentally finds a few identifying artifacts.

Specifically, he Jason's copy of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, which Jason had been reading to Anna when he died, and went missing from the manor when she did.

Which prompts Dick to look through a small bag which is mostly filled with drachma- but also contains an elephant shaped charm from the bracelet he had given her on the last birthday he ever celebrated with her.

Batman *is* in Gotham for this one, purely so he can hear the way Nightwing's voice breaks when he says suddenly "Bruce-"

(and all the others startle because Nightwing never breaks the rule about names in the field)

"Bruce, it's Anna. It's Anna."

(If it was Scarecrow toxin that got her, Batman thinks Nightwing must be hallucinating, too. Right up until Oracle pulls the feeds to see what's going on with Nightwing and the girl and starts swearing.)

#dc x pjo #pjo x dc #annabeth chase #annabeth wayne #percy jackson and the olympians #dc #dc comics #Dick Grayson #Tim Drake #Damian Wayne #Bernard Dowd

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bettyfrommars · 6 months

Text

Welcome Back to The Nightmare Factory

Steve's Version Part 1: When the Night Comes

m a s t e r l i s t

Blurb 1

Nightmare!Steve x fem!Reader

word count: 2.2k

18+ONLY, lurking monsters, night terrors, star-crossed lovers

Author's Note: Hi, I've missed you. Until now, we've only explored this world with Nightmare!Eddie, but it's time to throw Steve into the mix. Different reader, of course, and I plan to jump around to random scenes as this progresses; it shall not be a linear experience. Nightmare Steve is a biker Steve hybrid that will often cross over into the world of Hawkeye that I created for my biker!Steve au.

Also, you do not need to have any knowledge of the original Nightmare Factory or biker Steve to enjoy this xoxox

You didn’t know how long you’d been waiting on the bench under the bus stop awning, but the sun was sinking on the horizon and the air vibrated with the promise of rain. A drizzle dotted a few fine pinpricks on the sidewalk, yet you could feel a damp chill seeping in through your bones as if you were already soaked.

Across the street between monochrome, saltbox roof houses, stood an old brick building. A flickering neon sign out front had the outline of a purple hand on it, palm out announcing Psychic Readings in a mustard yellow that rivaled the melting sun beyond.

You looked down at your wristwatch, only to realize you weren’t wearing one, and then checked up and down the empty street. Just when the thought occurred to you that there were no other humans around, the flutter of a curtain in one of the houses across the way caught your eye.

Maybe the buses stopped running at dusk and you’d missed the last one. But then, how would you get…to wherever you were going?

“It’s never on time,” a voice next to you spoke up, making you jump.

You were certain that there had not been anyone sitting on the bench with you a second ago.

“The bus, it’s never on time,” she repeated. The woman had short, dark blonde hair tucked behind her ears, a spray of freckles across her nose, and a restless smile tugging up the side of her mouth. “There is always a lot of traffic at the factory on Fridays.”

“The factory?” You cocked your head, trying to understand.

The last offering of fuchsia in the sky flickered and was gone in a blink, erupting a sudden fear in your gut at the loss of light. The fresh blanket of cold made your toes cramp, as if they’d met with one of those icy pockets in sunless, concrete corners.

The woman kept the side of her face to you at all times, never turning to look at you straight on. You had this crazy notion that perhaps the other side of her didn’t exist.

The sight of a motorcycle approaching warmed your heart and your guts for some reason, and you hoped that the bus was not far behind. The rider inched to a halt at the curb in front of you, stomping one booted foot down to steady himself, engine grumbling. In the amber glow of the single streetlamp, you were able to get a look at him.

Wearing sunglasses at night, he raked a big hand through his head of thick, unruly hair, and reached up to light the smoke that was held between his lips. The lighter’s flame let you see the square line of his jaw and that the tattooed lettering on the knuckles of one hand spelled LOVE. He wore leather and denim, with a red shirt, and he tipped his chin to you before turning to the other woman on the bench.

Behind him, the neon psychic sign blinked furiously as the bus in question crawled into view.

”Thank you for keeping an eye on her,” Steve said to the other one on the bench, exhaling smoke out the side of his mouth.

“Of course,” she stood to button her coat. “Beers are on you this Friday.”

“Remind Eddie if you see him, I might be running late again.” He hadn’t gestured to you, but somehow you knew that you would be the one to make him run late.

The bus rattled closer; it was filled with blue light and odd, dark shapes.

“Are you ready?” The man on the motorcycle tossed the smoke to the pavement and extended his hand to you. “Jump on.”

You got to your feet and hesitated, trying to figure out where you knew him from.

“But I’m waiting for—-”

At that, the air brakes on the lumbering passenger vehicle hissed, coming to a stop, and a cloud of fog billowed up around it.

“You were waiting for me,” Steve tipped his chin at you. "I made a promise."

At another glance, you saw through the windows that it was crowded in figures wearing black shrouds, shuffling forward at the sight of you. They were moaning with unspecified longing that somehow translated into the creepiest sound you’d ever heard. Gasping, you took his hand, and he pulled you close, urging you on the seat behind him.

“I got you,” he whispered.

On the bench, Robin filed her fingernails with an emery board, blowing a pink bubble with her gum like she hadn’t a care in the world.

You held onto Steve’s leather jacket to swing your leg over the bike, zipping your torso flush to his warm back.

Behind Robin stood an endless sea of the same shrouded creatures, clustered dead still in the night as if being actively born from it. Some had antlers, some had hunched backs, and others were impossibly tall and thin. Lining up front to back and shoulder to shoulder, appearing out of seemingly nowhere, collectively withering one long, low growl.

You hugged him frightfully close, squeezing your eyes shut to bury your face in the back of his neck. He smelled like warm summer rain, damp earth, campfire smoke, and a zest of vanilla spices. Safe, I'm safe.

He revved the throttle and told you to hang on tight, but you wavered, checking to find that the army of faceless ghouls were right there—they’d been yards away, but now they were within arm's reach, hovering.

But then you were in the wind, head forced back by the velocity, choking on a scream, whimpering unintelligible pleas into the leather of his jacket.

He shifted gears and it felt like you’d entered some type of warp speed, engine humming between your legs. Eyes shut tight, you swore you felt sharp swipes of skeleton hands at your back and heard the shrieking wails of defeat as the masses lumbered to catch up.

The flap of enormous wings sounded as a few took to the sky, but Steve shifted again, lowering his head. “Don’t look,” he begged. “Soon they won't be able to touch us.”

Back at the bus stop, the door to the bus squealed open, and Robin did not look up from picking a piece of skin from her cuticle.

“Good luck with the next one, Dickie,” she said to the driver who hulked in his seat like Mothman, one clawed hand clutching the wheel.

Dickie looked from Robin to the road ahead and back a few times, trying to understand what was happening, before sinking his wings with a sigh.

“Do you need a ride, sugar?” His voice was usually deep and bellowing on the job, but just then it came out in a comically high-pitched southern accent.

—---

The first time you met Steve, he’d been waiting in the corner of your bedroom.

Waiting for you to go to sleep.

But you were up late watching Ewoks: The Battle for Endor on the small, VCR combo TV that was perched on your dresser. The violet crescents under your eyes hinted to the lack of sleep you’d been getting the past few months. You’d been having a bad rash of nightmares, and if you didn't know any better, you’d think you'd been specifically targeted somehow.

This was not the first time you’d unknowingly had a movie night with shadow Steve, but it was the first time you’d felt his presence. He was nothing but a dust mote of a glimmer, but still, you stared right at him, and asked if anyone was there.

Had he made a sound? Had he accidentally snickered a bit too loud at the giddy Ewoks? Or were you starting to sense him though the cosmic barrier that kept you in different worlds?

It made his heart stall for a second, mouth agape, and a hand outstretched, ready to come clean. To let you know that he wasn’t just some creep off the street, that he was just doing his job—but of course you couldn’t see him. If he ever got the chance to explain it all to you, he’d let you know that the two of you were on different channels of reality. Like switching stations on a radio, he could tune into you, but you didn’t know how to tune into him.

So, there was no way that you could…

“Back again I see,” you hummed, turning to face the screen from where you sat propped up against the headboard in your pajamas. “Where will you be hovering tonight? On the ceiling or at the foot of the bed?”

Were you talking to him? As far as he could tell, you were the only two in the room.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you whispered, defiantly.

Did you really mean it, or were you trying to convince yourself?

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” but even as he stepped forward, he knew the effort was fruitless.

The sound of a barely audible whisper made you turn the volume on the tv down.

Okay, before you’d been bluffing, but that time you really heard something.

Flinging the covers off to jump out of bed, you spun around, wielding the remote out in front of you like a weapon.

“Who’s there?”

Nothing. No one. Just you and all of the nightmares you’d been having about paralysis demons pinning you down and sucking out your soul.

A horrifying thought occurred to you then that maybe they’d followed you out of your dreams and into the waking world.

You tossed the remote back onto your bed, spinning around to address the room. “If you have something to say to me, do it now. Don’t be a fucking coward and wait till I'm asleep.”

Your declaration was met with nothing but the garbled conversations on the TV.

It took a while for you to finally get to sleep, but once you did, that’s when the rattling on your closet door started. It was just a few scratches at first, coming from the inside, but then the doorknob wiggled.

Steve stepped out of the corner and walked—nay, floated.---around to the other side of your bed to act as a barrier between you and whatever was coming out of the closet. The beeping on his watch told him you were entering a deep sleep; he’d also draped an invisibility layer down just in case you did happen to wake up during the confrontation.

The closet door creaked, opening an inch, just enough for three long and meaty, hairy fingers to curl into sight.

“Wrong room, genius,” Steve said curtly.

The door propped ajar just enough so that one big, milk white eyeball could peer out. “Steve?” A garbled voice whispered. “I thought you were at the abandoned hospital with Hopper tonight?”

“I was,” Steve answered. “But now I’m here, asking you not to bother with this one.”

The big eye twitched, blinking a few long blinks. “Whatever you say, dude. I’ve got better places to be.”

Whispers tickled at your ears, as if someone was having a conversation nearby, but not close enough to fully comprehend the words.

You heard the name Steve.

So then you muttered it outloud: “Steve?”

Shocked, he spun around, staring at your parted lips. But then a snore escaped from the back of your throat, and he eased back.

“I won’t let them bother you,” was what he said, and you believed him. Whatever that meant.

—-----

The motorcycle began to slow, and you took the opportunity to check behind you, slumping with relief to find that the highway was empty. Lined with evergreens on either side, the road shot straight out behind the two of you into ominous, smoky oblivion, as if there had never been a town or a Psychic sign or a bus stop.

Steve knew he was cutting it close, his time with you would be over soon, but he wanted to take you out and show you something cool, maybe even impress you. He’d told you about the crimson-colored lake before, about how you could see Mermaids and all manner of sea creatures. It didn’t make sense that they were all in a lake, but still, there it was.

“Have you ever seen a mermaid in real life before?” He asked over his shoulder, shouting above the wind.

You hadn’t, not that you were aware of, anyway. Everything felt so real, it hadn’t even occurred to you that perhaps you weren’t even in the real world.

“Well, don’t talk to them, and don’t look at them for very long,” he warned. “They’ll bite your face off as easily as wink at you.”

You nodded, taking in that information.

“I want to show you where—-”

But then the road dropped off at an abrupt cliff edge that appeared to jut straight down into a sea of stars. It was like a reflection of the sky above.

“Shit, I’m so sorry—” Steve yelled as the bike caught air.

You were going down, falling into the ether of nothingness, and you couldn't tell if the blood-curdling scream you heard belonged to you or someone else.

You clung to Steve while you plummeted down through the infinite space of some unknown universe, about to crash and burn.

Was this it? Is this how you die?

In bed, your eyes flew open with a jolt, clutching a pillow to your chest like you might’ve once held onto a boy for dear life. The pillow smelled like warm summer rain, campfire smoke, and vanilla spices.

After a few blinks, you realized that was the first time you’d slept all through the night without being forced awake by terrors in a very long while.

-----

Thank you for reading, and much love to those of you who have enjoyed this world from the start. Now that I'm writing again, I'm working on a very special chapter for Nightmare Eddie as well that I can't wait to share with you.

#Nightmare Factory #nightmare!Steve #Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington fluff #Nightmare Steve #biker!Steve #nightmare!Eddie

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ivy-loves-chocolate · 11 months

Text

Note: I had to repost this cuz I accidentally deleted the first one lol. Anyway, this is such a cute request, anon! ❤️ I had so much fun writing it, and I hope you'll enjoy it. Lmk if you want a second, smutty part 🤗;

Pair: Leon Kennnedy x Reader;

Type: fluff, but things get heated at the end;

If you want to commission me check my Ko-Fi. I also have a Patreon page if you wanna check it out. Thanks! ☺️

The day was about to end as the sunset blessed the sky with its beautiful amber rays. The patio was slowly becoming crowded as more people finished work by now, but Leon wasn’t bothered. He took a sip from his cocktail and watched the sunset, lost in his own thoughts.

Even if it’s been a week with no calls from work, he still waits for the familiar ringtone to disturb his peace. He brings one arm to his bicep and gently brushes his fingers over a certain spot. The pain was gone. All the bruises healed from his last mission.

“You alright?” You asked, seeing as he might not be here.

“Hmm? Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just... everything is calm and peaceful, you know.”

“And I take it you’re not used to it.”

“Nope. Usually, I would’ve been hit by this table by now instead of having dinner at it. Some big, scary monster would’ve chased after me, and so on.”

“Hmmm, I guess that’s true. If you want, I can chase you around with this knife and give you some adrenaline if you miss it.”

Leon chuckled and shook his head.

“No, it’s alright. It’s not that I miss the adrenaline, it’s the fact that I keep expecting something bad to happen any time now.”

"Well, stop it. Hunnigan was very clear when she told you that no one would bother you in your free time. There are plenty of agents; they can manage.”

“I guess you’re right.”

He took your hand in his and squeezed gently while smiling at you. The gentle breeze moved your hair from side to side slowly and delicately. Leon stared at you for a few seconds, admiring how beautiful you looked in that golden light that highlighted your beautiful features.

“One thing I’ll never get tired of is having such great company.” He said it softly while looking at you. He took another sip from his cocktail.

You smiled and looked away for a few seconds, but you didn’t move your hand. The way he was looking and talking with you made you blush.

“What?” He said this as his big thumb began to caress your skin. “I mean it.”

“I know; I enjoy your company too. It’s just that such moments like this with you are rare, and when they finally happen, it feels surreal.”

“I know… Don’t worry, I promise I’ll try to make them happen more often.”

A full moon replaced the sun, and stars filled the sky. You and Leon went for a walk after the meal you just had. The breeze was still gentle, but the air was colder, so Leon gave you his jacket since you forgot yours home. You were holding hands as you walked on the crowded boulevard.

“Wanna get yourself something nice?” He asked as you passed in front of some stores.

“Hmm, no. Maybe later.”

Leon spoiled you this week a lot. He bought you various gifts, took you to expensive restaurants, and made sure that the hotel where you were staying was one of the top. You paid too for some meals and tickets to tourist attractions, but it was mostly him to use the wallet. Despite telling him there was no need for such treatment, he ignored you and continued to pay.

He also went everywhere you wanted to go. He didn’t say “no” once during your vacation. He just enjoyed your presence, and as long as you were happy, he was happy too.

"Are you sure you’re not cold?”

"Yeah, I’m fine; don’t worry about me.” He chuckled as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer to him. Then he pressed a kiss on your head.

“You’re such a gentleman, Leon.”

Under the soft glow of the moonlight, the streets were bathed in a gentle silver light. Both of you found a quiet corner of the city and allowed yourselves to be caught in the magic of the night. The distant hum of traffic and the occasional city sounds provided a subtle backdrop to the moment.

Leon couldn’t take his eyes off you, smiling the entire time like someone who had experienced love for the first time.

The air between you became charged with an unspoken connection. Leon looked deep into your eyes as he wrapped his arm around your waist.

The streetlights cast a warm halo around you, creating an intimate space in the midst of the urban chaos. The night held a certain stillness, as if time itself had slowed to allow you to savour your romance.

You placed your hands over his shoulder, then went behind his neck as you leaned forward, closing the gap between your bodies.

The anticipation hung in the air, a delicate dance of desire. Leon finally closed the remaining space, and your lips met in a tender, long-awaited kiss. With closed eyes, you let your bodies be consumed by the intense lust that this magical moment brought.

The moon dispersed its bright light as if it were aware of this gentle moment, subtly urging its sister stars to gather and cast their shine in the beautiful moment that was unfolding beneath them.

Your mouths melted together in a union of passion. Neither of you felt like pulling out any time soon. Leon’s hands began to gently caress your waist, shifting the fabric of your shirt as they moved up and down. Your hands began to play with his hair, running it between your delicate fingers.

“Leon…” you said in a needy voice.

“Yes?”

“I think we should go back to the hotel…”

With a sigh, Leon pulled away. A smile shortly appeared on his lips as he cupped your face with his hands.

“I think you’re right.”

He kissed your lips one more time and grabbed your hand, guiding you back to the hotel through the crowded street.

Tag-list: @lunarastrobabe @skylar-todd @rokurodokuro @brownsugarwrites @yourallyse @ravenrune (if you want to be added DM me 🤗)

#resident evil #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil leon #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon x you #leon x reader #leon fluff #leon kennedy fluff

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littlest-w01f · 6 months

Text

Hurt

Eris x Secret Mate!OC

ERIS MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Eris tried his best to protect her from his father. Beron brings home his hunt

Cw: angst, Angst, ANGST, Mentions of mutilation, Clipping, Character death

Eris couldn't breathe, not as he looked over the table where his father had just slammed a slab of bleeding meat, not just bleeding meat, he felt sick looking at the large sensitive wings his mate had, butterfly wings, attached to the skin and muscle of it, still bleeding on the table.

"Do you like what I caught, son?" Beron smiled, eyes on his eldest as the rest of his children congratulated him on the hunt, hunting season, he should've told her to stay in, his heart sank when he couldn't feel her, feel his mate. He felt bile rising in his throat as he looked at the birthmark she had on her back on the skin his father had cut out, almost all of her back.

Perhaps his sickened face was too visible, his mask dropped as his brother, joyfully patted his shoulder, "Don't be so upset, brother, maybe you can still catch one of these parasites."

His mask was back on in a second, his brother had called her a parasite. "I am above these silly games, Arlin." He hissed at the second oldest, shrugging his hand off his shoulders.

"Like you did last year?" Beron smirked, watching his reaction as if he knew something he didn't.

Last year, when he had met her, his mate, Celastrina, while it was his turn to go out hunting, his precious butterfly, a unique lesser Fae, the kind in Faelore befriended lonely children, in his case, the Fae lord human parents told their children not to tell their true names to. She had been a curious thing when they met, quite agile and absolutely lovely.

He excused himself to his room, not caring if it might arouse suspicion, the second he was in his room, he dropped to his knees, tears falling freely from his amber eyes, he couldn't feel her, her side of the bond felt like it didn't exist, he curled into himself, trying to keep any sounds to the minimum, feeling nothing short of pure pain.

He instantly stopped crying when there was a knock on his door, wiping his tears away he opened the door, his mother stood in front of him with a pained look in his eyes, his mother, the only other person he had told about her, he crumbled in her arms, let her drag him to his bed, his face buried in her lap, letting his tears flow to her gown.

"Momma, Momma she's gone..." He cried, holding onto his mother as he curled into her in a way he hadn't since he was just a little faeling, "I can't feel her... I can't feel her anymore, Ma. I couldn't keep her safe."

"My fire, I know..." Lady Autumn held her son close to her, letting him cry onto her chest as she used her powers to stroke his back soothingly. She had seen it, the wings and the parts of his mate's back, laid out on a table for anyone to see, and she had rushed to see her son, claiming to Beron that the sight of blood and skin had made her nauseous, "I'm sorry, Eris... I'm sorry."

"I failed her, I failed my promise to her." Eris sobbed in the comfort of his mother.

Holding her son close, she kissed his temple, her own tears falling as she tried to comfort him, "Oh, my baby..."

Suddenly a wave of pain hit Eris, she had opened up her side of the bond to him again and a mix of emotions, relief that she was alive, sorrow that she would probably not live long with how much pain she had just shot down their bond. He turned to look at his mother and she gave him a sharp nod to go.

He was outside her little open cottage instantly, banging hard on the door, calling her name.

Celastrina's father opened the doors, a glare on his face, "Why are you here? Haven't you failed enough?" He roared, seeing Eris at his door, his own wings closing around their door to keep him from looking inside, to where his suffering mate was, "You had her facinanted with the outside near your land!" The male didn't care as he saw Eris' heart break through his eyes, he shut the door behind him and walked out, "This is your fault she was out that far, especially at this time of year."

Eris' eyes were downcast in shame, shuddering slightly as he felt wave after wave of her pain, "I'm sorry... Please... Please I need to see her."

The male who had loved Eris for his daughter, now looked at him in distante, "It was the High Lord, who hurt her, but why should it matter to me," He almost spat in anger, "All you Autumn High Fae look and are the same."

Eris looked away, hating his resemblance to his father, once it had made it easy for him to put on his mask but now he couldn't help but grow nauseous at the thought. The thought that Cela probably came out at the thought that it was him waiting for her, with how he was his father, with his mother's hair.

He looked up at the male he had begun to admire in the time he had been with his mate, the male who had loved him in such a short time more than his father had, "Please, let me be near my mate, let me heal her."

"You foolish male..." He sighed looking away, "She doesn't wish to live, our people rarely do when Fae like you take our wings to sell or keep as a trophy."

He looked at Eris' form, withdrawn, broken, when he opened the door again, "Get in, she would want both of us there if she opened up her bond again."

Celastrina lay on her bed, her head in her mother's lap, her back completely cut up as she sobbed in pain, her mother kept pressing in a tonic to soothe her pains, "I want Eris, mama, I don't wanna go without him."

Her mother looked up from her when she sensed two males in the room, smiling softly at Eris, "Well, he's here now..."

Celastrina gasped turning to her side, "Er..." She breathed seeing her mate, who dropped to his knees in front of her, "You came, you're here." A few tears fell from her eyes and he wiped them away instantly.

"Of course, I'm here, I winnowed the instant I felt you pain through the bond." Eris looked up at her mother, the two nodded in greeting and gently switched places, trying not to move Celastrina too much. Eris held her close to him, the tonic now in his hands as her parents let the two mates be.

"I didn't want you to feel it... Not while you were there," Celastrina admitted, "I didn't wish for you to lose your mask or make them suspect anything."

"I didn't want for you to see me die, Er..." She sniffed softly, holding onto her mate, "But I don't want to be without you, so I shilded the bond."

Eris groaned in another wave of her pain, her breathing laboured, she seemed relaxed, ready to be at peace, "Cela...? Butterfly...?"

"You're so warm, Er..." She smiled, holding onto him, feeling her warm body as she sighed, her breathing soft.

Eris gave a bittersweet smile, "Do I feel good?"

"You've always been good to me..." She hummed, her eyes closing softly, she was a fighter, had been, but in his arms, she was ready to stop fighting, "This is not how I imagined out first year anniversary to be like..."

"It's been two weeks since then, Cela." Eris teased, stroking her hair. "I got you my favourite cakes, remember."

Cela hummed, shaking her head 'yes', "Oh, yeah, that." She had a faint smile on her face.

"I think I'm ready" She sighed and Eris held her tighter. Kissing over her head. "I'm ready with you."

Her parents were watching, holding each other trying to find comfort in the arms of their mate as they let Eris be closer to her, hold his mate one last time.

Eris stroked the base of her back, the only piece of skin there, "Would you like to sleep, my flame?"

"Yeah..." She snuggled up in his arms, "... Sleep."

"Will you be there when I wake up?" She asked hopefully.

"Of course, I'll be with you." Eris frowned when she couldn't see, knowing she would not wake up, "I'll hold you through it, alright?"

"I love you, Eris..." She sighed softly.

Eris smiled, his eyes brimming with tears, "I love you too, Cela..."

With that, Celastrina slept, a relaxed breath going out, not taking another in, limp in her mate's arms.

"I love you, Celastrina." Eris whispered one final time, holding her close, finally letting the dam break again as he cried in her hair, inhaling the last of her scent. "I love you."

{General Taglist: @nox-ceur @sonics-atelier}

{Eris Taglist- @fxckmiup @amygdtjhddzvb @slut4acotar}

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reveristcalicocan · 2 years

Text

(ALMOST) PASSING OUT IN FRONT OF THEM gn!reader

can be seen as either platonic or romantic, if i used any gender/pronouns please do lmk! I try to keep most of my work gender neutral but once in a while i’ll still make some mistakes!!

characters included: Amber, Cyno, Diluc, Ganyu, Heizou, Xiao,

warnings: passing out/fainting, overworked reader, poor mental and physical health for xiao’s.

AMBER

Oh she’s the sweetest of them all

Would try to catch you before you fall

Takes you back to the Knights or Barbara for help

Amber was busy talking with some of the Mondstadt citizens she didn’t realise the way you swayed a little on your feet. You’ve been feeling unwell since last night but you didn’t want to let Amber know, she had been so excited to be partnered up with you for the mission there was no way you could break her heart!

“…Amber,” your voice called out weakly, the ground started spinning, black spots appearing in your vision.

Hearing your somewhat pained voice, the outrider immediately turned her attention to you, she was quick enough to catch you before your head hit the ground.

“ah! oh no, i’m so sorry!!” Amber panicked for a while before reminding herself that the two of you were in Mondstadt and not some place far away with danger lurking right at the corner.

Breathing out a soft sigh, she would excuse herself and take you to Barbara for a check up.

CYNO

If you were expecting him to just drag you to ghandharva vile for Tighnari then you guessed right.

Except not the part where he drags you though.

Being Cyno’s assistant was a tough job, especially when you haven’t even graduated yet. It just happened all of a sudden, you only remember him asking you to follow him… and ‘till now you’re still following him.

Dashing through the streets of Sumeru city, you finally made it to the place you had agreed to meet your mentor with. You had stayed up until early morning studying for your upcoming exam, you couldn’t fail, not when Cyno put so much faith and trust in you. Your stomach growled hungrily, perhaps you should have grabbed something to eat…

“You’re here, let’s go.” The two of you set out immediately, after all it would be an extremely busy day today.

You had just finished taking out a group of fatui when a wave of dizziness washed over you. Leaning down, you gripped onto the wooden boxes for support.

ah no, this can’t be happening now…

Amidst your pain, you failed to notice the way Cyno came over to you full of concern. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, trying to get you to look at him.

“…what’s wrong?” His voice is a lot more gentle now compared to his usual tone.

“Cyno, i’m sorry- I don’t think I can…” Your sentence was cut short as you whimpered at the pain.

Cyno had no idea how you ended up in this situation, you had looked completely fine this morning… albeit you did look a little tired. Pulling you into his lap, the two of you sat together.

Occasionally a hand would come up to play with your hair or rub circles on your back. You would stay like that, against Cyno’s chest until you felt well enough to walk.

He would bring you to Tighnari, often stopping to give you a rest and some time to catch your breath.

DILUC

Now unlike the previous two, you actually passed out from getting drunk.

Diluc would 100% find a way to blame Kaeya for getting you tipsy, even if he had completely nothing to do with

Carries you bridal style, places a kiss on your forehead and pills for when you wake up on the bedside table.

This was… the fifth? no, sixth- actually it could be the seventh glass of dandelion wine you had.

Before coming to the tavern you had promised Diluc you wouldn’t get wasted… well—

You were laughing your head off while saying some incoherent words. Diluc looked at you, a part of him was concerned and the other part just wanted to strangle you to death.

“Charles, i’ll leave the rest to you.”

A pair of warm hands pulled you out of the Angels Share. Making sure you were close to him at all time, the two of you walked to Dawn Winery.

Stumbling on your own feet, you fell face first onto the ground before bursting out in a fit of laughter. Diluc rushed to check you for injuries. Not finding any, he could only smile softly at your beautiful laughter.

“We’re almost there, can you still walk?” Diluc helped you get into a sitting position.

Seeing that you were completely wasted, he had no choice but to pick you up. The rest of the journey back was full of your drunken jokes.

After sometime of walking, Diluc realised you were sound asleep.

Tucking you under the sheets, he placed a cup of water and hangover pills on the bedside table for when you’d wake.

Just before he left, he brushed your hair out of your face, giving your forehead a gentle peck.

GANYU

This girl’s overworked herself

If you passed out she’d probably lie next to you and fall asleep.

Either that or bring you back to your house.

“And we’re done!” You announced after finishing the traveler’s third commission.

“Last one is… quite some distance away.” Ganyu pointed out.

The traveler was busy attending to things in Mondstadt, leaving you and Ganyu with the task of completing her dailies. And due to her absence it seems you will no longer be able to use the teleport waypoints.

ah, what a hassle

You could have sworn you sleepwalked a bit, your legs felt heavy as you yawned again. The both of you had been walking for almost an hour, you just wanted to sleep.

As if on cue, your body decides to let you. Instantly, your limp body fell onto the grass, asleep.

“oh, ah… I guess you’re asleep.” After some contemplation, Ganyu laid down next to you.

The two of you soon fell asleep side by side… in the middle of Liyue.

Keqing eventually found the both of you though.

HEIZOU

Tries to shake you awake

Stays with you until you wake up

Would 100% take leave and care for you if needed

Heizou pulled his hair in frustration, this was by far one of the most complex cases he had received. Not only did the both of you spend restless nights going through the case but the fact that it had been almost two weeks since he first received the commission got you two on the edge of your toes.

“No, we’ve already tried this. C’mon, what are we missing?” You muttered out, clearly irritated.

Digging through the pile of papers in front of you, your eyes landed on the building in which the case occurred.

but i’ve already checked that place with detective Heizou at least five times before…

Resting your head in your hands, you felt hopeless. How could this be? You’ve never gone this long without a breakthrough before. Never.

Some time passed before you packed your bag and decided to go back to the abandoned building to take another look.

After all, some secrets only reveal themself in the darkness of the night.

The floorboards creaked beneath you, retracing your steps, you couldn’t help but feel like something was different.

“!!”

There was a plastic file sitting atop a stack of books you were sure weren’t there the last few times you came by.

Did someone just put it here? It seems relatively clean compared to the rest of the house.

Carefully you skimmed through the pages, using your kamera to take pictures of them.

So this is why we were deadlocked for so long…

Sitting down on the old couch, you took your time in reading and reviewing all the new information. Undoubtedly, time passed really fast when you were engrossed in the papers.

“Ah there you are!” Your partner’s voice snapped you out of your reverie.

“heh had a feeling i’d find you here, so what did ya find?” Squeezing himself next to you, he flipped through each and every page thoroughly.

Now that the only thing keeping you awake was out of your grasp, the restlessness of staying up all night finally took a toll on your body.

As you started to drift off to sleep, your head lay limp on Heizou’s shoulder.

A shocked expression came across the detectives face, although that soon turned into a sly smirk. Gently, he moved your head from his shoulder to his lap.

That’s better.

XIAO — f!reader

Tries to stay calm but probably ends up freaking out.

Gets Ver to help, or Zhongli.

He will 100% stay by your side and look after you a lot more once you wake up.

Since the death of your parents, you had been spiraling in and out of depression. You’ve been cooped up in your room all day, only eating when someone reminds you.

The last time you had stepped out into the sun was… some months ago. Anyone who looked at you could see how pale and skinny you were. Almost like a zombie(no offence to Qiqi).

Some of your friends came to visit but after a while they eventually left you there in your room, all alone.

A flash of green behind you told you that Xiao had come back. “It’s almost the lantern rite… come watch it with me.”

Xiao looked at your almost lifeless body, he had turned down the traveler’s offer, hoping you’d go with him instead.

“…no thank you…” Your voice trembled a bit as tears rolled down your cheeks. It seems that someone does remember you after all.

Before you knew it, Xiao had appeared in front of you with a cup of water and a bowl of soup. After helping you into a sitting position, he slowly spoon fed you the food.

He couldn’t stand the way your happy and adventurous self was now gone, leaving you a weak and helpless mortal. To live and get by on your own wouldn’t be easy, he made sure to check on you every few days but this time…

Zhongli had asked a very important task from him, one that he could not turn down. He had no idea it would take him an entire week to complete it.

An expression of guilt appeared on his face, if he had focused more on the task, maybe he would have been able to see you, check on you. Then your health wouldn’t have deteriorated to this state.

After some persuading from Xiao you finally agreed to go see the lanterns with him, but only if he stayed with you the entire time.

Leaving your room, he let you change and get ready. A sense of fear and dread crept up his spine, was this what’s best for you? Could he be asking too much?

His train of thoughts was soon interrupted by you opening the door. You wore a long white dress, much like a hospital gown. There were eminent dark circles under your eyes.

Xiao grimaced at the sight of your frail body. Taking your hand in his, he teleported the both of you atop Yujing Terrace.

the fireworks are beautiful

A ghost of a smile could be seen on your seemingly monotone face.

Once the show was over, Xiao suggested taking a walk around the harbour. After all, it’s been so long since you last saw Liyue if not the four walls of your house.

A hand in his, you struggled to keep up with his pace, even though he was walking exceedingly slow.

my body just isn’t used to so much exercise

You consoled yourself, it was nothing much to worry about.

Barely a few steps later, you could feel the way your heart pounded loudly in your ears. Your steps getting sloppier and your vision becoming limited.

It doesn’t matter how many times you tried blinking the ‘fatigue’ away.

Soon, your frail body couldn’t handle it anymore. Without warning, you collapsed to the ground in a heap. Breathing erratic and laboured.

Xiao immediately knelt down next to you, shaking your limp body. It felt like all eyes were on him, soon enough a mass of people surrounded the two.

zhongli will know what to do, he has to

Picking you up, he teleported to the Wangsheng funeral parlour.

“Oh! vigilant yaksha, what brings y- !!” The ferry lady saw your trembling body in his hands and made a move to get acloser look at the hat had happened.

“No! Stay away from her!” A dark aura surrounded him.

Backing away, she immediately went to find Zhongli.

—

“Here, eat this…” Not long after you woke up, Xiao already started formulating a plan to help you get better.

He even went as far as asking Ganyu and the traveler to keep you company while he was busy. Suffice to say, you rarely even went a day without Xiao by your side.

#genshin impact #genshin impact xiao #heizou shikanoin x reader #genshin amber #cyno #genshin diluc #ganyu x reader #hurt/comfort #cyno x reader #diluc x reader #amber x reader #gi ganyu #ganyu x you #heizou x reader #xiao x reader #xiao x fem!reader

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sirdindjarin · 2 years

Text

Shelter - Joel Miller x Reader (Part Two)

Your easy emotions wreak havoc on Joel, and so do the people you two encounter... good thing you're there to help him.

In which our intrepid hero deals with some shit. And some 👉👌.

Masterlist ->

AO3 Link♥

RATING: Explicit. SEXUAL CONTENT: Consensual P in V, Choking Kink, Attempted Rape (not by Joel). VIOLENCE: Gore, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Death of an Animal (Deer Hunting).

TAGS: Joel Being Absolutely Whipped and Filthy-Mouthed, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Age Gap.

WC: 13k

As Joel steps through the doorway of the mom-and-pop furniture store, the glow of the gas lantern he’d found earlier is a beacon.

He rounds the edge of a gigantic, cheaply-made chest of drawers to see you asleep. The glow of the lantern casts amber light over your face. Your hair is strung across your cheek and Joel crushes a wild urge to crouch and brush it all away. He glances to the left and his heart stops for a moment when he realizes Ellie is sitting up, watching him.

“You found something,” she declares without hostility.

These girls’re too observant for me. Joel lets the silence hang for a moment before deciding how to reply.

“I’m gonna talk to your sister in the mornin'.”

“Yeah, I saw you talkin’ earlier,” she snickers, then levels him with a glare. “You better be careful. I’ve got no problem killing you myself.”

He doesn't grace that with a response.

“I notice everything. I like you, Joel, but I love my sister.” Ellie shrugs dramatically, “I’m just sayin’. I’m on her side if you pull some shit.”

“I’d expect nothin’ less, kid.” Joel’s voice strains as he lowers himself down onto the sleeping bag you’d laid out for him. He wishes you hadn’t.

Ellie shifts her attention back to her book (a new one you’d found and given to her called Nancy Drew) while Joel shuffles down into his bed.

Joel lets the faint lull of the ocean carry away his stress for the night. His eyes close but he feels the desire to look at you, just a couple of yards away. He denies the desire, squeezing his eyes tighter, and focuses instead on what he can hear. A page turns. The wind's howl over the building. The sound of your steady, peaceful breath traps his attention, and he soon drifts away.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“And how do you know it’s legitimate?” You press him.

Joel sets his hands on his hips. “I know my brother's writing.”

You chew your lip. Like Joel, the day is much colder than yesterday.

“That’s a long walk."

“That’s why I’m givin’ y’all the choice,” Joel explains. “Same deal as last time.”

Your eyes twinkle as you ask, “Ah. You’re only trying to hold up your end of the deal?”

But Joel’s desperate to keep himself from falling for your charm like he had the previous evening. Instead of rejoining with a witty comment, he simply says:

“Yeah.”

Taken slightly aback by his mood, you’re quiet. Then you turn to Ellie. “What do you want to do? If you’d rather stay here, look around this area more…” you trail off, waiting for her opinion.

Ellie’s eyes dart to Joel before answering. “I mean, I’ve never seen that far north. And we should make Joel keep his promises.”

Joel can’t help but make a pfft noise at that.

“Do you want us to come with you?” You ask him point-blank. It’s that simple for you.

And he can’t answer that. Yes, he did; and no, he didn’t. Yes, he wants the two of you to come with him. But no, he didn’t need the weakness of his growing attachment to both of you. It isn’t that simple for him, and he bristles when you try to make it so.

He raises and lowers his shoulders in a half-hearted motion. “If you come, you can always leave, but if you stay here for now, you’ll prob’ly never find it.”

Your shoulders sag at the deflection, but you’re not surprised. It had been out of character for him to have gotten so close to you last night, so it should come as no surprise when he returns to his regular, shut-everyone-out attitude.

“Okay. Good point. Ellie, if you’re not interested in staying here, that’s all I care about.”

“It’s fucking nice here. It’s so cool. But I miss people. Decent, normal people.” Ellie cuts to the chase, and you ruffle the ends of her ponytail fondly. “All we got is Joel,” she digs at him with a sly look.

“You’re somethin’ else, kid,” Joel scoffs. “Alright, we’ll set out tomorrow. Spend today gathering supplies.”

“I’ll make a list,” you offer.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

That evening, as you say your goodbye to the ocean, you stand on a jetty hugging yourself. It’s the hour of sunset, and you’ve never seen a more beautiful one.

Sunbeams paint the clouds violet, gold, pink, and red. Some clouds in the distance are a heavy gray, pregnant with the storm that will come in the night. The sky behind is a deep blue. And, though none fall, you’re unembarrassed by the tears that well in your eyes.

Your parents never saw the sea. You may never see it again after tomorrow morning. Loss in the face of such grandeur feels more poignant.

Joel stands beside a sand dune, lost in thought once again. How do you maintain the capacity to feel so much and keep getting up every day? He’d spent the last eight years in a cloud of violence, alcohol, and occasionally something heavier. He couldn’t find it in him to care about himself half of the time, let alone a fucking sunset.

Frustrated at his fascination with you, he turns his back to finish preparing for the long walk to come.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Over a week later, the three of you cross the western edge of the state. The slog through the lowlands had been made easier by the discovery of a working pickup truck two days earlier. It had to have been used by someone recently, though no one had been at the rural home when you’d boosted it.

It was old, and the gas gauge perpetually stated it was on E, so Joel siphoned gas every two hours. Because of this, it was necessary to take the interstate or other, passable roads with vehicles laying around like miniature gas stations.

The days spent walking had been hell. There had been no breeze, and the weather had been so mild as to have the three of you sweating under your clothes. You’d had to remove everything but your jeans and your dirty tank top.

Joel hated that. He’d have fought the weather if he could.

He’d been outright rude to you several times. Cutting over you when you spoke, or intentionally asking Ellie a question that you should’ve been asked. Then, sometimes he would slip up. You caught him staring at you, your chest, or your hips. Each time he was caught, he’d withdraw sullenly until Ellie annoyed him with a terrible pun.

He was also caring.

Separately, and more than once, you and Ellie had woken up with his jacket draped over your sleeping form. He answered some of Ellie’s prying questions (“What did you do for work?” “Now or before?” “Both, I guess.” “I was a contractor. After it all went to shit, I transported… contraband.”) without much fuss.

He often kept watch with Ellie, telling her the odd short, humorous story from his distant past. He never told her about his family, nor details on his life after the outbreak.

The first time you'd woken up to Joel's heavy, pleasantly musky jacket across your body, it was like he had cursed you. Your eyes trailed him the entire day as his powerful stride pushed him forward, the lazy confidence of his hand resting on his gun. You watched his throat and the hook of his nose as he took a drink of water, unbelievably parched yourself.

Then he caught you. His eyes, unwilling to see what was flashing neon in your own, tore through you. He refused to give in, but daily he made it worse.

To the unending amusement of both of you, he even delivered the punchline to Ellie’s first joke of the day once. Unpredictable motherfucker, you frequently cursed at him in your mind.

Today, the atmosphere in the cab is stiff - at least between you and Joel - and no one had spoken in over an hour. You knew Joel wouldn’t be the one to break the silence, and you’re unsurprised by the one who does.

“Why does Dr. Pepper come in a bottle?” Ellie asks.

At the odd question, you turn your body to look at her in the backseat, but she’s hidden behind her joke book. Oh, you realize. “Hmm, I don’t know. Why?”

“The answer is: ‘Because his wife died.’” Ellie lowers the book and frowns. “I don’t get it.”

Joel chokingly laughs. It’s so unexpected that you and Ellie stare at him for several seconds.

“He comes in a bottle.” Joel chuckles again and looks at you pointedly.

“Oh.” You cover your mouth and snicker. “Oh.” You sit back in your seat, your cheeks red.

“No, no! Don’t do that - what am I missing?” Ellie yells. She returns her eyes to the page as if the context will appear. Somehow, it does.

“Oh, my god. I get it. I wasn’t expecting a dirty joke; that’s the first one in here.” She muses.

“Thank fuck,” you comment.

The tension between you and Joel had been nearly unbearable, and the slips in his emotional unavailability were driving you insane. Avoiding thinking about… that… was the only way you’d survived being stuck in this enclosed space with him.

“There’s a whole section of them,” Ellie says with awe.

You whirl around to try and snatch the book from her, but she’s faster. She holds the book out of your reach, your seatbelt locking you in place.

“Ellie, give me that.”

“Why?”

“Let her keep it,” Joel interjects.

Ellie looks at the back of his head like he’d grown an extra one.

You ignore him. “Ellie, for fuck’s sake, at least skip the dirty jokes.” Your imploring eyes tell her what she needs to know: Don’t make this more awkward for me than it already is.

“Okay, okay, chill the hell out.” She rolls her eyes and sighs at you as only a teenager can. Then she motions at you, then Joel, then you again.

“I know,” you groan.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Joel’s an attractive driver. It’s an odd thing to think, but you can’t help it. He casually holds the wheel with his left hand while his right elbow braces on the center console. Occasionally his obscenely thick fingers stroke the scruff on his face. You wish he wouldn’t.

“Hey, we’re not far from that house with the chickens are we?” You observe as the rolling hills flow by.

“Think it’s about a half-hour that way,” Joel indicates out your window. His hand crosses into your personal space, flustering you. “I doubt the ones we left alive are alive anymore.”

“Yeah - no, I was just wondering. That was good meat, though. What a waste.” It had been so long since you’d had chicken, you’d forgotten how delicious it was.

The day you met him, Joel had killed a couple and cooked the meat that night and the next day. Unfortunately, you’d had no way to transport chicken - live or dead. It wasn’t lost on you, however, that Joel used the word “we” when he had been the one to kill, clean, and cook it.

Ellie breaks the silence again. “Hey, Joel.”

He hums questioningly.

“What’s your last name?”

He responds with automatic promptness, “Miller.”

Ellie contemplates. “Joel Miller. Sounds good, I like it.”

Joel Miller. It does sound good. Everything about him is so attractive, I hate it, you complain petulantly. Why couldn’t he have been ugly?

As the truck crests the hill, a huge valley opens up through the windshield. A loud boom! shudders through the car. Joel clamps onto the steering wheel with both hands, keeping control of the vehicle until the power steering gives out. Fish-tailing onto the shoulder and down into the grassy ditch, the car comes to a jolting stop halfway down the mountain.

“Ellie, y’okay?” Joel spits out the question faster than your mouth opens to ask the same thing.

“Yeah. What the fuck, man?” It’s rhetorical.

Joel’s alarmed eyes rake you over, “You alright?”

“I’m good. What happened?”

“Think the tire blew.” He slams his hand on the steering wheel, “Fuck.”

“Great.” You peek out the window and notice the sun’s position. “It’s going down. I don’t think we should stay in the car tonight.”

Joel grunts in agreement and ducks to look in the rearview mirror. “Those rocks should be safe.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

In the blackness of the evening, the three of you lay in a triangle formation upon a large shelf of a limestone cliff. The cliff vaults up to your right, and down to the left. The view of the valley had been beautiful during sunset, but for once you had been too stressed to notice.

You lie on your sleeping bag, Ellie’s head at your foot. Joel lies with his head near yours. Concentrating on either fixing the car or abandoning it consumes you to a point that you don’t notice when Ellie starts snoring. Nor do you notice when Joel moves his bag closer to you.

“What're you thinkin' about?”

“Joel- what the hell," startled from your spiral of anxiety, you jump. "Sorry. Just lost in thought.”

“I can tell.”

Your head turns sharply, and you squint at him in the darkness, trying to determine what his goal was. “What’s that mean?”

“You didn’t say anything about the view from up here. Just wonderin' what you’re worryin’ about.”

Oh. He noticed that? You blush, thankful for the cover of night.

“Oh. Well,” you fully roll over to face him. His head is propped on his hand, and his silhouette is all you can see. “I’m worried about walking so far. Or trying to find a tire. I’m pissed off about the pain in my arm. I’m worried about Ellie.” Your voice fades to a mutter, “I’m worried about- about you.”

It’s quiet for a beat too long. “Why about me?”

“I -” you’re not sure how to say what you want, so you settle for the basics. “You’re unpredictable. I feel like one day we’ll wake up and you’ll be gone. And even though Ellie and I were on our own for so long before, it’s been…” you look for an appropriate word, “It’s been helpful having another adult I can count on.”

And here it was for Joel. He wasn’t stupid. You’re skirting around telling him that both you and Ellie have grown fond of him. He didn’t want that.

No, that isn’t true. The truth is he shouldn’t want it.

Joel doesn’t answer.

The natural sounds of the night replace your conversation. It’s so still, so quiet. You lay your head down and curl into a comfortable position facing the man.

You hadn’t expected him to respond. He’d accidentally shown you cracks in his armor by parenting Ellie occasionally, helping with a task that should’ve been yours or Ellie’s alone like keeping watch or preparing dinner, and laughing.

For fuck’s sake, laughing with us - but still he kept the armor.

Sleep has taken you when Joel quickly pushes a lock of hair over your shoulder and states,

“‘m not goin' anywhere.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The sound of rubber rolling on pavement is the background to Ellie’s unceasing chatter. The bright sunshine feeds her mood as though she survives on photosynthesis. She’d left her joke book at the campsite, but she jabbers on about nothing and everything. After trekking for an hour, you managed to find a tire that Joel agreed should fit the truck. If it could shorten your cross-country trip by even a day, it was worth the effort.

Joel hunches over the tire, rolling it back up the highway. His backpack and gun sway with his movements. The awkward angle and the added weight of his gear have his brow dripping sweat.

“So, what if it’s really snowy up there? Will we get frostbite? What if we find a moose - do those still exist? Aren’t they like the size of a house?” Ellie’s exuberance couldn’t be stopped.

“Joel, please…” you murmur as you jog up alongside him. You slip your fingers under the strap of his rifle, trying to relieve him of at least one burden. Joel abruptly straightens at the contact, leveling you with a questioning look. Your lips twist into a reassuring smile. You curl your fingers tighter and tug the strap down his arm.

“I’ll take the backpack, too.” You keep your voice gentle as though you’re trying not to spook him. He allows you to take the gun but jerks away when you reach for his backpack strap.

“No, it’s heavy. I don’t want you takin’ both.”

“I know it’s heavy, that’s why I’m trying to take it from you.”

The gun is slipped from you as Ellie brushes your side. You’d been too focused on Joel to realize that she’d stopped thinking aloud.

“Now she can take the backpack, ya stubborn old man.” Ellie slings the rifle and stalks ahead.

A bead of sweat falls from his temple; he’s defeated. With a groan, he shrugs off his pack and holds it up for you.

“If it gets too heav-”

“Stop pretending to be a gentleman,” you reach for the bag.

Your fingers close partially around Joel’s, rewarding you with the sultriness of his rough fingers. For an extended breath, Joel doesn’t let go; he squeezes it a little harder. Eventually, he unclasps his hand, allowing you to bear the weight.

A couple of miles later, the silver truck is visible among the trees. You quicken your step.

Joel's gotta roll the tire up that hill.

“Can I help you carry it somehow? Rolling it up this isn’t gonna be fun,” you offer.

Joel simply shakes his head, breathing deeply in resignation. He lifts it, grunting, deciding to carry it the last length. You’re glad he denied your offer because, wow, why is that so hot? You stare after him for far too long.

At the top of the hill, a younger blonde man peeks in the truck's window. Ellie hands Joel's gun back to him, then, as you taught her, she circles into the trees out of sight.

"Howdy," the man straightens and calls out to you and Joel. "Got any ammo?"

Joel has his gun pointed at the man before he finishes speaking.

"No."

Deciding that Joel wasn't the best negotiator, you step ahead.

"Are you looking to trade or to steal?" You step cautiously closer and the blonde man gets a better look at you.

"Well, shit, I would've put on my two-day old clothes instead of my week-old ones if I'd known I'd run into you."

"You know this guy?" Joel snaps at your back.

"No?" His tone confuses you. Then to the trader, "Whatcha looking for?"

"I need some nine-millimeter, preferably. Shouldn't be too much of an ask since they're the most common. I do have some food up for trade." He holds up a large, navy duffle bag.

It was obvious to you that this man was used to his good looks and charm winning him points. He was slightly older than you, and you couldn't lie, this guy must've done well for himself in the apocalypse. He looked healthy, attractive, and normal.

The man continues, "I'm Zach. You show me yours and I'll show you mine?" He grins, but it fades fast. "Just tell the attack dog to calm down."

Attack dog?

You turn to catch a look at Joel: he stands with his gun pointed casually and coldly in Zach's general direction. You've never seen such an intimidating, contemptuous look on his handsome face. A shiver runs through you. Your poorly-timed attraction to him heightens. A tumult of terrible things you want him to do to you crash through your mind.

"Are you okay?" You quietly ensure.

Joel gives a curt nod, never taking his eyes from the younger man.

You face the trader. "Sorry, we don't have any nine-millimeter. We don't have anything to trade, really."

"Ah, that's fine. There's another group around this area. Maybe I'll try them."

"A group?" You query, your voice rising in concern.

"Yeah, you ain't seen anyone, sweetheart? There's a whole community of farmers. Rumor is they have chickens."

"Oh," you stutter. "Wow, chickens."

"Yeah. Supposed to be a lot of folks, so I guess that'll be my next try."

Zach looks you up and down, a genuine smile gracing his clean-cut face.

"You sure you don't wanna take a day trip with me? Take you to see some chickens? I'm sure your dad won't mind?" The winsome younger man cocks his head at Joel as if asking permission.

In the span of a second, Joel is a brick wall in front of you. He raises his rifle, his scope trained on the man's chest.

"If you don't get the fuck outta here, I'll give you those bullets you're beggin' around for."

The barely-restrained anger in his voice involuntarily has you leaning closer to him. He sounded like he was speaking to a deadly threat, and you instinctively crave his protection. Your heart races, wondering what spooked Joel.

Zach throws up his hands, "Fuck, man. Okay. I can't hit on her? Sheezus."

He starts back up over the hill, throwing worried looks every now and then, seemingly terrified that Joel will act on his inexplicably violent mood.

When he's gone, Ellie comes popping out from behind a tree.

"Damn, Joel, you made that guy piss his pants," she approves.

"What happened?"

The intense belief in your eyes that Joel had been morally right in that situation almost bothers him. He'd threatened the kid because the kid threatened him. Joel can't put rational words to it, but you're his… responsibility.

"Had a forty-five on him. Not a nine-millimeter," Joel lies.

"Wow, you could tell that?" Ellie's face glows. "That's impressive as shit. Teach me the difference? And how to shoot?"

Knowing damn well that Joel had never seen any weapon on the guy, you tell your excited younger sister, "He will, El, but first he's gotta change the tire and get us going again."

Joel rubs his jaw, sure you saw through him. “Actually, might be good to go hunting here where the woods’re thicker. And I'd gotta go before dark.”

"I'll go with you," you don't let him squirm away. "Ellie, you know the drill. Keep an extra eye out while that guy's around. I think he's-" You wanted to say harmless, but realized that would undermine Joel's actions.

"I think he's gone; but just in case," you hand her your rifle.

Ellie looks from butt to barrel with awed respect.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"So, what the hell was that about?" You interrogate Joel once the two of you are a fair distance into the woods.

"Nothin'," is Joel's forthcoming reply.

"Joel, for the love of-" you grab his shoulder and spin him to face you. "What set you off?"

Joel works his jaw, looking away from you, then meets your eyes with a faintly-playful tilt of his head.

"He called me old." Joel's face is impassive.

You fight a smirk. "Are you being serious? Ellie calls you old all the time."

"He was annoyin' me."

"I annoy you."

"I know, you're doin' it right now."

Sighing, you give up. "Fine, don't tell me."

"You upset I scared off a suitor?"

"A suitor? Damn, you are old." You push his arm in jest as you both continue marching through the woods. "He was too young for me."

"He was older than you."

"Too young." You say again. "Too happy. Too charming."

"Oh, he was charming, huh? That was workin' on you?"

You catch his eye and smile like you have a secret, "No."

Joel knows you're goading him, and his chest aches with exhilaration. He'd point loads of guns at loads of people if you'd keep smiling at him like that.

You breathe out the word, “Deer,” and Joel sinks into a crouch, tugging you down with him. The two of you take cover behind a downed hemlock. His rifle rests on the treebark following the soft footsteps of a large animal.

The way he pulled you down has you pressing into his side and you’re certain even the deer can hear your thumping heart.

But neither of you move. You can feel the unyielding firmness of his body; it’s so incredibly comforting to you that it’s all you can think about. Joel Miller.

He breathes in, and on the exhale he fires. The shot echoes through the woods, sending a handful of crows cawing into the air. Joel retracts his rifle and turns his head to you with a faux-humble smirk.

He’s even closer than he was that night on the beach; your heart stops, then kicks into overdrive. With his hair mussed and his smile lopsided, he looks happy.

Instantly realizing his mistake, but too weak to correct it, Joel risks another glance at your lips. He peers back up at your eyes and he’s dry-mouthed at how blown your pupils are. He watches with confliction as your face changes. You swallow a sudden lump in your throat and drop your eyes.

You pull away and whisper, “I can’t do this.”

And you can’t. The constant heartache of Joel pushing and pulling at you was too much. Today, he’s open, but tomorrow he’d be withdrawn. It was selfish and it was idealistic, but you wanted all of him or nothing. Calling it a crush was trivializing your feelings. An injustice; you knew what you felt for him was stronger than that.

You stand and offer him your hand. If he couldn’t give you what you wanted, that's okay, because you’d love him anyway - as platonically as you could.

“Should we butcher it here? Or drag it? It’s gonna be a chore either way.” Your voice is forced cheer.

Joel clears his throat, thrown for a loop. “Mm. Guess we’ll drag it.”

He takes your hand and you haul him up. He pauses to put his gun back on safety and sling it over his shoulder. As he does so, you stride toward the unlucky deer.

“I didn’t know lovebirds still existed.” You’re several yards from the deer when a man’s taunt drifts on the wind.

A greasy, stocky man in his late-thirties strolls out from behind another massive hemlock. He’s halfway between you and the deer carcass. Twigs snap behind you as Joel hastens to get to your side, but the man raises his handgun.

He aims at your friend, but Joel only slows his pace. The man grunts with irritation and points the firearm at you. Joel’s footsteps stop.

“Ooh, you’re easy to control, huh?”

You picture your gun back at the campsite with Ellie as she kept watch. It’s hard to regret giving it to her, though. She had a weapon and so did you. As long as Joel was around, you’d be okay.

“What’d you want?” Joel grits out; he’s pissed.

“Buddy, I don’t like your tone. Neither do they,” and the dumpy man tilts his chin behind both of you.

Two more men crush leaves and branches below their feet as they materialize. One is older and armed with a small hunting rifle. The other is much younger than both his friends despite his beard; this man foregoes a weapon. Joel rotates to face the new problem, backing up as he does so, but the first man is wise to Joel’s play.

“Stop moving toward her.”

Joel stops once more, his teeth clench so hard that his jaw pops.

“We followed the deer. Been tracking it for a half-mile.”

“Then take it,” the inflection in Joel’s voice is flat, terrifying.

“A’right, a’right, don’t get your panties twisted,” the bearded man jeers. He then shares a meaningful look with the bulkier man near you.

Standing between Joel and the heavyset man, you’ve angled yourself diagonally to see both men. Unfortunately, Joel is not the closest. The stocky man lunges forward and snatches your left arm, wrenching it behind your back painfully. You cry out in sheer agony as his thumb digs into your stitches.

“Don't fuckin' hurt her,” Joel whips out, seething. His mouth pulls into a horrified scowl, his hands raised in desperate surrender.

The man pulls up your flannel sleeve, saying, “Ah, see, I thought you were overreacting. I was so gentle.” His oily nose sniffs your hair, “Did this guy hurt you, baby?”

You twist away from his rancid breath on your neck. It occurs to you to lie, to try to get them to believe Joel was possessive for a reason other than whatever drove him. Basic ethics, most likely.

If you lie, maybe they’d see you as less of a bargaining chip. Joel certainly wasn’t helping. He’s keeping his feelings forefront with that black look on his face.

With reluctance, you mutter, “Y-”

But it’s curtailed by your own scream as Joel stumbles to his knees. The two men stand above him - the butt of a rifle is pressed against the back of Joel’s head. His eyes find yours, and a trickle of blood drips down his forehead. Tears stream freely down your cheek.

How could they? Joel is carefully and permanently on a pedestal in your mind. The peak of masculinity - both good and bad: protective, providing, impenetrable. Seeing him bleed, sagging on his knees was unthinkable. It was perverted, wrong.

You headbutt the man in the nose, a painful crack against the top of your skull. Grabbing the barrel of his handgun, you wrench it loose and stumble away. The man swears and doubles over, hands over his face.

Gasping for breath, you aim the gun at its owner and order, "Make them back off."

"Bitch, I'm not their daddy. I don't control ‘em," the man sounds pained.

The rifleman shoves the barrel of his gun into Joel's temple. "Put it down or I'll kill him."

"Hey, listen. You owe me, now," the stocky man says. "If you set down the gun, turn yourself over, we'll leave him be."

In your moment of hesitation, you lock eyes with the man you'd never expected, fear in his wet eyes. Then a freight train barrels into your side.

The gun's owner was quicker and quieter than his build should allow. It wasn't fair.

“Now, as feisty as you may think yourself, I’m not a fan of that.”

Your cheek is roughly grabbed, squeezed, and you're forced to watch as the rifleman slams the butt of his weapon into Joel’s back. Joel sprawls onto the ground, the wind knocked from him.

Weeping freely now, you beg, “Stop hurting him. Please, please don’t.”

“You gonna do what we ask?”

Joel tries to speak, but he’s rewarded with another blow to the ribs. He groans and falls onto his uninjured side only to have the bearded man deliver a clumsy kick to his stomach.

“Yes, yes. I won't- won't fight if you’ll let him -” you break off at the look in Joel's eyes. “Please, let him go.”

“Goddamn it,” he groans.

Taking advantage of Joel’s attackers focusing on him, and the man holding you being unable to see your face, you mouth: Ellie. Take her. Go.

He growls your name and a curse which earns him another kick to the ribs. He coughs violently, then pushes himself up onto his knees, breathing heavily.

Still staring at you, he softly shakes his head ‘no’. A dead leaf falls from his hair; his brown, puppy eyes are devastated. It crushes your heart into the thousands of pieces you’d been so sure it was already in.

This doesn’t feel real. It’s as though you and Joel had slipped into a nightmare out here in the lonesome woods. None of this was real. None of it except your certainty. If you could save him, you would. You'd tried; and you'd try again. He could keep Ellie safer than you could. It’s simple for you - always had been. The decision wasn’t a decision at all. Love was a practice; a concrete, tangible thing; an action. Love sacrifices.

“‘Course. I swear. He’s not exactly our type. Good news, boys, y’all know I hate a fighter.” The man wraps an arm around you and drags you backward.

He’s deliberately slow enough to let you watch as Joel stands, pained. He punches the oncoming bearded man in the jaw and, using his momentum against him, drops the fucker to the ground. Joel then lunges for the rifleman, but the young, bearded man is up faster than he should’ve been. He snakes an arm around Joel’s throat.

“Joel!” You wail, thrashing in the man’s arms. “You fucking swore, you fucking asshole.” But you know it had been a long shot. You don’t even get to see Joel’s face one last time before you’re dragged over a ridge.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Joel’s temples throb with his heartbeat. The near-deafness in his right ear isn’t new, but he feels more like a flash-bang grenade exploded in his face. It had been late afternoon when he’d taken you hunting, and the pale blue lighting he sees when his eyes blink open tells him it's just after sunset.

He puffs out a cloud of the mulched forest floor between his dry lips and pushes his palms down to leverage himself off the ground. The temperature had dropped rapidly and the air stings his bruised lungs.

It’s then that he hears your cry. It’s muffled like someone has their hand over your mouth. He hears feet scrabbling in the leaves, and his body physically stiffens at the remembrance of where he is.

Rage and panic napalm his mind. Those assholes must believe they’d killed him because no one in their right mind would leave Joel Miller alive; not when they had his… his.

He wanted to be mad at you. Wanted so desperately the chance to be mad at you. How could you believe them? Why would they have let him go once you stopped fighting? His heart races and he wonders if he's having a heart attack. He had been right in the beginning about you being too trusting. He had been right this whole time.

He hides his fear of losing you behind blame, anger. But then his own guilt kicks him. You were doing exactly what you’d do for Ellie. For anyone you cared for. He should’ve been stronger. He should’ve saved you.

Joel casts a searching eye for a weapon, though the righteous rage inside him would be enough. There it is. He can’t quite believe it. One of these boys with a room-temperature IQ had left his .22 propped against a tree trunk near the lip of the earthy depression.

Ignoring the pain lancing through his body, Joel crouches and shakily snatches up the gun. He moves to the top of the small rise and peers around a tree.

Sitting on your shins is the bearded man who knocked him out; the sandy-haired man’s grimy fingers are trying to shimmy your jeans down. The second man, the rifleman, whom Joel now notices is wearing a torn band shirt, is seated in the dirt above your head, pinning your arms. The third member of the goon squad, their leader, is straddling you, kissing your neck.

Joel refuses to look at your face because if he does he’ll go insane. Instead, he raises the .22 in a flash and fires a shot at at the music fan holding your arms. His orbital bone shatters, blood spurting everywhere.

Without pausing, Joel launches out from behind the tree and swings the .22 into the head of the man who took you from him. He swings the gun as if he’s winning the World Series with it. The resounding crack is so loud that Joel knows he’s killed the fucker instantly. That pisses him off more. A better death than the shitstain deserved.

Two men are dead before they even know he’s coming. Joel turns on the last one who’s now crab-walking backward from your legs.

“Hey, hey, please,” the younger man holds up a hand in panicked surrender. “You killed my brother, you killed him! Ain’t that enough?”

“You’re right behind him,” Joel grits out. He tosses the gun aside.

“Please, no, listen. No, no,” the man begs.

You retract your knees, hugging them to your chest as you sit up. Your body is a tempest of fear, revulsion, relief, horror, disgust, gratitude, and anger. You’re not sure which one you feel strongest. You’d been hassled before, nearly every woman left in the world had been and the odds hadn’t been great pre-outbreak, anyway. But it’d never been that close.

All you focus on now is Joel. Alive, and standing between you and all the world.

“Close your eyes.”

He doesn’t tell you to run because you’re already in the safest place you could be. You don’t want to close your eyes. If you do, he might disappear. You can't give up a sense while drowning in fear. Take your eyes off the one buoy you had? You just can't do it.

The sounds you hear are worse than what you see. There’s the dull thudding sound of Joel’s fists connecting with your attacker’s face, the man’s primal screams suddenly stopping, and the squelching of blood.

Joel kneeling over the man, his solid right arm rising and slamming down is all you see. It's all you want to see. You'd be lying if you said his violent defense of you wasn't thrilling, wasn't stirring something inside you.

It will haunt you for a while, but the relief of Joel being alive would ease all pain. And in truth, the would-be rapist deserved it. He deserved that side of Joel just as you deserve the other side of him.

You finally close your eyes when Joel's swings slow. Tucking into yourself, you relive the last few minutes and begin to cry.

There’s a hand in your hair. You flinch and your arms go up to protect yourself when you feel a weight sink to the ground beside you. Opening your eyes, you’re unable to move in the sight of Joel’s frenzied face. Freckles of blood dot his skin, and his eyes are wild. His breathing is rapid as his hand combs through your hair.

“You’re okay,” his deep voice is raw, “you’re okay.”

He crushes you to him - his hand cradles the back of your skull while you bury your face in his chest. A pained groan rolls from his mouth but he doesn’t let go. His earthy, leather scent is grounding.

You scramble to match his kneeling position to fit into him further; you push underneath his jacket, wrapping your arms around his torso, needing to feel him. He rests his cheek on top of your head.

“I thought they killed you,” you cry brokenly into his clothing, the inconsolable grief of losing him still pressing on you.

“Never fuckin’ do that again,” it’s too soon for him to be mad, but he tries anyway. He pulls back just enough to take your face in both hands, “If you’re given that choice again, you do not choose me.” His troubled eyes dart between yours.

You know you can’t retort, so you drop your gaze. You can’t promise you won’t take a bullet for him, because you would. Just like you would for Ellie. You slowly retract your arms from underneath his jacket, feeling awkward.

“I’ll try to think of something else first,” you answer him, your voice laden with too many emotions.

You tilt your head up to see Joel’s beautiful face marred by a tortured expression. He’s so close that you can feel his breath on your cheeks.

He wants you to be strong, yes. To fight. You are unapologetic joy and he can’t lose that. Joel would happily die if he knew you’d still smile at nature, at all your small reasons, at your sister. He can’t lose you, can't fail you.

In great contrast to the gentle way he holds your face, his jaw is clenched so hard that it looks painful. Concern creases your brow and your mouth opens a fraction to ask if he’s alright, but Joel’s lips are suddenly swallowing your question.

He burns away the swirling mire in your mind. There’s nothing, no pain or fear. Nothing except for him. His kiss is desperate - a leaf clinging to summer. As your hand returns to caress his side underneath his jacket, you can feel his heart beating as fast as your own.

A soft moan is forced from you when his hand fists in your hair. Your hands slide up his flannel-covered torso to cup his scruffy chin.

You part your lips, and breathe, “Joel.”

He moans into your mouth.

Then you delve into him, deepening the kiss. His arms encircle you, one hand in your hair, the other squeezing your ass, keeping your body flush against his. He’s even warmer than you imagined. The night chill no match for him.

A bird tweets in the distant dusk. Then it’s as if he suddenly returns to earth: he leans back, putting distance between the two of you.

“’m sorry. That was… bad. This is -” he stops, looking around, and presses his swollen lips into a thin line. “Not right. Sorry. We’ll go find Ellie.”

With that, he lets go of you completely, leaving you adrift. He stands and offers his hand to you. Confused, more muddled than you’ve ever been in your life, you accept the help silently. He drops your hand as soon as you’re upright.

Holy shit. He kissed me, right? Or did I lean in first? His rejection stomps on the already-broken pieces of your heart. I knew he wouldn’t let me in.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Ellie hops off a rock and slams into you, nearly bowling you over. She tilts her head to look up at you, and you wipe away her tear stains.

“I could hear you yelling. I could hear it, but I promised.” She cries in horror, referring to what you had ingrained into her every day since the outbreak: if you two were separated, she stayed put. She never came if she heard trouble. Ever. No exigent circumstances. She’d hated that promise, fought you on it constantly, but fucking hell were you glad she listened. You refused to even entertain what might’ve happened had Ellie been there.

“We’re alright, Ellie. I’m so sorry.” You smile tiredly. “Everyone’s okay.”

To your right, you see Joel out of the corner of your eye. Ellie leans over and grasps his sleeve, making sure he’s tangible. Joel’s mouth twitches in a tiny but reassuring smile.

“I’m fine, kid.”

“You guys look like shit,” she swipes at her tears.

Joel barks a laugh, the quick change in Ellie’s disposition precisely what was needed.

“I’d like nothing better than a hot shower,” you reply. You can still feel their grimy hands on your body. You shudder.

“Dunno ‘bout a hot shower, but I’m sure we could find a spring tomorrow.”

You sigh, “Guess that’ll have to do.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Are you -” Joel stumbles over his thoughts, “Are you gonna be okay? To sleep, I mean?”

“Unlikely,” you give him an uneasy smile. “I’m happy to take the first watch.”

“Alright,” he settles on the rock next to you.

You protest, irritated, “Please go rest. You've had a - a bad day, too.” You needed time to process everything and his presence was distracting.

“I’m not gonna rest if you’re keeping watch alone.”

You scoff. “I learned my lesson, okay?”

Was he hellbent on making you mad at him tonight? After he saved your ass? For the third time. Oh, my god. I really am one big problem for him.

Redness flushes your cheeks at the realization. You owe him so much yet all he does is drive you insane. Sorting out your feelings about everything was priority number one.

“That’s not what I m-”

“Well, what do you mean?”

“If you’d let me fuckin’ finish,” he makes a frustrated hand motion. “Got a hard enough time admitting it at all, an’ you want me to just come out with a poem or some shit?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I think we should eat those last two granola bars. Don’t you guys? They’ve been in my pack for, like, three weeks.” Ellie walks over and interrupts purposefully, tired of the argument.

“Well, they lasted eight years, so I don’t think a few days will affect them, but that’s fine with me.”

Ellie trots over to her backpack and breaks two bars in half. She returns and gives you one half and Joel another. Holding her own half from the second bar, she “clinks” her bar with yours.

“Cheers,” she laughs before biting her piece. You smile and take a small bite of yours. Ellie wanders toward the sleeping bags, slowly picking apart her granola bar.

Under your breath, you tell Joel, “Please go get some sleep. I owe you and I’m fine.”

He stamps the butt of his gun on the rock he’d been sitting on in acknowledgment, then mercifully leaves you to your daunting task.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

It's still dark when your relief comes. He looks terrible. His knuckles are flaked with both his and another's blood, and his forehead still bears traces of the afternoon.

"There's a stream down there," you indicate to your right. Its babbling could be heard in the quiet air.

"I'm fine," he grouses.

"Joel…" you gently chide.

Pulling a shirt from your pack, you walk off to the stream. You're back less than a minute later, and you point at the rock you'd been sitting on.

"Yes, ma'am," his voice is still monotone.

You position yourself in front of him, his face level with yours. He closes his eyes as you carefully rub the damp cloth across his dirty, blood-streaked forehead.

"It's been hours, why didn't you clean up?"

Joel only shrugs in answer.

"What's wrong?" You stop wiping.

His eyelids open and the flickering campfire reflects in his glassy eyes.

"Can you just keep doin' that?" He closes his eyes once more. You oblige.

He doesn't mean to, he doesn't even register that he's done it until it's too late. He flinches as his sore, bruised knuckles bend to fit his hands around your hips. You tenderly grasp one and begin to wipe it free of residue.

Neither of you speaks, too lost in your own thoughts and in the moment. Joel feels so close and so distant.

You’d sorted through your emotions over the near-assault with brashness. It was the end of the world. Dwelling on things you had survived was pointless.

No, the problem was Joel. You thought you’d got him killed, then he was alive, then the kiss, then he rejected you. Guilt, grief, joy, embarrassment.

You still weren't sure who initiated the kiss, and his defensive coldness led you to believe it had been you. In truth, you supposed you were just back at square one. Joel forever opening up then shutting down again.

It only made you feel worse. Desperately you wanted to cling to him, have him tell you that he didn’t blame you. Have him make the world go away. But even if he did that now, it wouldn’t last. He wouldn’t let you fully inside.

“Thank you,” Joel murmurs when you back away.

“Like I said, I owe you.” Your voice gives away no inflection.

Joel watches you walk over to where Ellie lay. You kiss her forehead, then cuddle in behind her. He sees you whisper something in her ear.

Joel understands. An easy reprieve from your own emotions was to care for another’s.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The silver truck glimmers behind you. You regard it with sadness before trudging onward. The sun beads in your eyes as the westward walk continues. Looking down isn’t a reprieve as the sun reflects off the pure snow. The soft, rolling plains stretch out, but the horizon is jagged with the promise of greater hills or rock formations. There’s not a single car to be seen.

“It got us through, like, four fucking states in three days,” Ellie holds up a map of the Midwest you’d found at a state welcome center.

“You mean I got us through four fuckin’ states in three days,” Joel boasts.

It had been too long since he’d filled the gas tank, but with the broken gauge, he’d been unable to predict exactly when the vehicle would give up the ghost. The answer was somewhere over the border of Nebraska.

“Sure, Joel, you did it all on your own,” Ellie rolls her eyes. She kicks a chunk of snow. “I’m so happy you're here to do everything.”

Since the fight, you’d found it difficult to even look at the man next to you. You had bared yourself to him that day; shown him that you were willing to die for him, that you trusted him with Ellie, that your greatest fear had been his death; and then that fucking kiss. And here you both were: unable to look at each other.

“At least one of you is,” Joel mutters, his breath clouding in the freezing air.

The man could find his way under your skin even if you were wearing a latex bodysuit. You bite your lip to prevent the automatic, angry retort.

Thinks I’m dead weight. You think bitterly. Don't blame him too much. Almost got him killed. Probably thinks of me as a dumb kid.

You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to quell the heartbreak. You understood his opinion: you’re weak because you care. You had given up on trying to show him that that was the only way you could live with yourself.

A cloud blows over the afternoon sun, illuminating the land in a new way. The horizon silhouettes a building in the distance, at least a mile out. You shield your eyes, then point.

“Shelter?” Your teeth chatter together with perfect timing and, from the corner of your eye, you see motion. Joel is unwinding the scarf he’d found. He drapes it around your neck.

“Wrap it over your chin,” he instructs.

You do so. It had been a new scarf from the same rest stop where you’d picked up the map. It smelled old, but it was warm. His warmth. You regret curling it over your mouth because on top of the old smell was Joel. At least he can’t see most of your face now.

Joel relished the way something of his - albeit his for less than a few days - looked on you. He’d take what he could get. You’d pried open his hardened heart and nestled inside. Joel had never met anyone like you. So capable and vulnerable and easy to be with. And fucking irritating. And stubborn. God, you piss him off.

You’d been different since that night and Joel hadn’t the emotional intelligence to work out your problem. As far as he could reason, you were upset with him for not saving you sooner, or for kissing you at such a shit moment; or, he worried, kissing you at all. His fear that you see him as a father figure grows larger.

“You and I go in, Ellie covers the front?” You start planning. “Together or me in the back?”

“Could be one of those state historical cabins, so there might be only one door anyway,” Joel theorizes.

“Good point,” you concede.

You evaluate Ellie’s back as she walks in front, wondering if you could get away with a hushed conversation with Joel. The heaviness between the two of you was reaching a breaking point for you. You’re just one state away from Wyoming now, and you can’t let him leave without fixing whatever was happening. Luckily, the wind howls occasionally from the west, so your words are unlikely to carry to her ears.

You drop back, slowing your pace. Joel notices and slows as well.

“Is it because I told them you hurt me? Because I kissed you? Or because I- because I almost got you killed? Is that why you're still so mad at me?” You pepper him suddenly.

Joel couldn’t be more surprised if you had stabbed him.

“No, I know why y’ told ‘em I did that,” he answers. “An’ I know you thought trading yourself was the best option.” His voice drops an octave, “It wasn’t, but I get it.”

“You get it? You don't blame me? Then why are you being so mean to me?” You plead.

“What?” Joel's face turns to yours.

“You’re even colder than usual. You make these little digs at me, you don’t trust me to keep watch half the time anymore. You treat me like a child you’re disappointed in.” The irony smacks into you when you nearly whine that last sentence.

Joel grabs your arm, stopping you and turning you to face him.

"I don’ do those things because I think you’re a child. And I thought you were the one who was mad-” he pauses, unsure how to organize his argument. Snowflakes catch in his gray hair. His dark eyes are stark against the white surroundings. “But I couldn’t feel less fatherly 'bout you if I tried.”

“What - what the fuck does that mean?” You ask, baffled and failing to keep your pitch low. Ellie notices now that the two of you have stopped.

“Can you guys fight in the damn cabin up there?” She crosses her arms and tilts her head back dramatically. “Either kiss or kill each other, I’m so tired of this.” And with that, she spins around.

When you reignite eye contact with Joel, he’s burning a hole through you with every emotion you’ve ever made him feel. There’s a moment when you think he’ll take Ellie’s advice, but then he sighs.

“Go on, girl,” he gestures ‘after you’.

“‘Girl’? You said you weren't infantilizing me.” You scoff.

“Infantilizing? Well, ain’t that a five-dollar word, where’d ya learn that?” he snarks in exasperation. God, you piss him off.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Joel had been right, again. You were getting tired of that. An empty wooden box with a fireplace on the lower level, the cabin was at least a shelter from the snow flurrying down. It had plain, empty floors and a staircase with no railing but a trapdoor to separate the top floor from the bottom. That was handy in case a problem arose.

There was a great debate about lighting the fire. All three of you took turns arguing both for and against it (Ellie: “But it’s fucking frozen in here,” Joel: “You wanna alert any dumbass in the area to our presence, darlin’, go ahead,”), but in the end, the frigid temperature had the final say. Ellie and Joel ventured back into the growing white swirl outside to look for wood in the tiny shed.

While they were gone, you laid out the camping gear and set about making this house a home for the night. In the corner, you notice an old brochure for the place.

Perfect. Kindling.

You dig through your pack to find your lighter when Ellie shoves open the heavy wooden door with two logs in her arms. She kicks the door closed, despite its weight.

“This was all I got, but I think Joel might’ve got more.” She announces, slamming the logs onto the hearth.

“Was he right behind you?” You ask, laughing preemptively.

“Oh, shit, yeah.”

She runs to the door and jerks it back open. There’s Joel standing in the doorway with his arms full of wood. His leveled glare and signature frown send both you and Ellie into fits of laughter.

“I’m sorry,” Ellie chuckles.

Joel’s long legs step over the threshold, and when he gets close enough to Ellie, he shakes his hair over her, showering her in melting snowflakes.

Still laughing, Ellie blocks him with her hands and cries, “You dick!”

Sitting cross-legged next to the hearth, you no longer need the fire, warmed by the scene playing out in front of you. No matter the type of relationship with Joel, you couldn’t care about the two of them any more than you do now. The smile on your face is so wide that you feel like you'll split.

Joel approaches and sets the logs down far more gently than Ellie had next to the fireplace. You hold up the two logs Ellie had grabbed, and together with Joel, start the fire.

After a dinner of canned veggies, Ellie sprawls out on the floor in her t-shirt and jeans. Joel sits with his back to the flames while you lean against the heated stones.

“It’s hot down here,” Ellie complains.

Joel's face darkens with irritation.

“I’m allowed to be hot.”

“You’re the only reason we got the damn thing going,” he accuses. “You got too much energy. It’s got you all -” he makes a shaking motion with his hands.

“I do not,” Ellie yawns. “I’m actually exhausted.”

“That floor upstairs has a trapdoor. Might be cooler, El.”

“Doesn’t heat rise or some shit?” Ellie asks.

“Yes, but this place is airtight and I’m betting it’s colder up there. I don’t care what you do, I’m just telling you.”

“Okay, I’ll go look.” Ellie hops up in a fluid motion and bounds across the room and up the stairs. She’s gone for a few moments, and you picture her standing with her eyes closed acting like a human thermometer.

She stomps down the creaky old steps, “It’s way cooler but not cold so I’m gonna sleep up there.” She starts to gather her sleeping bag, pillow, and her clothes.

Your stomach lurches. Alone with Joel overnight? That’s… that’s never happened.

“Do you want company, Ellie?” You ask, trying to take the coward’s way out.

“Uhh. Do you mind staying down here?” Ellie asks with a grimace. A teenager has to take every opportunity to be independent.

“Course not. Just making sure you’re okay,” you reassure her, though you’re the one who’s not okay.

“Goodnight, then. Love you,” Ellie balances her stuff as she makes her way up the stairs. “‘Night, Joel!” Then the squeak, bam! of the trapdoor hinging shut.

“‘Night, Ellie,” comes his reply.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Let’s get this over with,” you sigh pessimistically.

“Wish I hadn’t kissed you,” Joel blurts out before you finish speaking. It was obvious he hadn’t planned this any more than you had.

Subconsciously, you put a hand over your chest at the stabbing pain of his words. Though you suspected it, it was hard to hear it from those same lips.

Joel looks into the shadowy corner of the cabin. “Everything used to make you happy. Sunsets, mountains, clouds - hell, even I managed to make you laugh once or twice. But you've been so… so angry ever since - since I kissed you.”

Okay, so I didn't start the kiss. One less thing to feel guilty for.

“I wasn’t sure who moved first. Then you said it was ‘bad.’” Your voice curdles to a whisper in embarrassment.

Joel’s head jerks to you. The firelight glows on the right side of his tanned face, highlighting his patchy beard. “You thought I meant your kissin’ skill?”

You don’t reply, a lump in your throat at the memory of all you felt that day and the sting of his rejection.

What scared you most that day was not what nearly happened to you, but what had happened to him. In a way, you understood him much better now. Letting people in only got people hurt. That’s fine and dandy when you were the one getting hurt, but not when Joel had been near death because of your affection for him.

“No, you meant getting close to me.” You can’t make eye contact with him, but his hand twitches closer to yours.

“No, I didn’t,” his voice is so rough it could catch on silk. "You an' Ellie are all I got. What I meant was that I shouldn’t have finally let you know that next to three dead bodies after you’d been -” he stops himself, looking away.

Those two sentences in his gruff, passionate voice pick up the pieces of your heart.

It's your turn. “I haven’t been mad, I’ve been hurt. Confused. Taking a page out of your book and building a wall to protect myself.”

Joel frowns, “From me?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. I told you I’m not a good man. Tommy and I did bad shit to survive. But... I was worse.”

“Stop fucking comparing yourself to him,” you beg. “I don’t want your brother.”

“An’ you want me?” Joel chuckles darkly. “Old enough to be your dad.”

“You said you didn’t view me like a kid.”

“No,” his brown eyes find yours, giving you the same look he gave you out on the road and before he kissed you that horrible day. “No, when I think about you, it ain’t -” he hesitates. “It's what any man would think.”

You slide closer to him, your hip bumping the rock hearth, and murmur, “I don’t want any man, either.”

Delicately, you rest a hand on his jean-covered knee. Your mind had changed. If he would keep opening himself up to you over time like this, he was worth the risk. Worth the heartache.

He's warm even through the tough material. A summer's day at the lake, and you desperately want to go swimming. Joel's large, deep eyes memorize your face, and the fire blazing beside you pales in comparison.

“I can't. What if I fail you again?” His mind jumps to how close you were to being hurt. The fear shocking his body. The sound of your cry. “I don’t know how to be close to anyone anymore. And I’m-” his voice strains, but he raises his hand to touch your face.

You close your eyes, inadvertently parting your lips as well. His thumb trails and pulls on your bottom lip.

“I’ve killed innocent people,” he confesses, staring at your inviting mouth. "I’m not who I should be."

His eyes snap back to yours as you open them, “I… had a daughter.”

Joel’s eyes are watery, but he refuses to blink and let them spill. It’s Joel’s hardest confession and he does it purposefully while his brain is distracted. He needed you to know why he wasn’t right for you. Why he was stopping this.

“So have I. And…” You pour your heart into your words, “I’m so, so sorry, Joel. Nothing I can say will ease that pain. I- I can't even imagine it." You picture Ellie. You squeeze his knee where your hand still lay, "But I’ll help you carry it all, if you’ll let me."

“Goddamn it,” he growls. “You’re not lettin’ me have any room, are you? Always have to fuckin’ argue.”

His calloused hands seize your face, crushing his lips to yours. You mewl in surprise and the hand on his leg flies to his cheek. He holds you together though you feel like falling apart. The kiss was never chaste, but then his tongue demands its way into your mouth and you reward him with a submissive moan.

Joel feels his entire body ignite. His lips drag you to a state of arousal you'd only experienced in your dreams of him. His hands clutch the sides of your face, his thumbs caressing your cheekbones as he licks into you. Joel's heat soaks into you, pooling below your stomach.

Not close enough for you, you throw your leg over him, straddling him.

He groans deliciously as you settle on his lap. He runs his hands up and down your back, your sides, wanting to map your body.

You grip his hair, as soft as you always knew it would be, and refuse to let the man breathe. Your kiss is as incendiary as his, and both of you gasp around the other’s lips. You rock against him, feeling the hardness in his jeans.

“Fuck,” his voice breaks along with any restraint he still had.

“Please,” you cry, plain need dripping from your voice.

“Whatever y’want, baby,” he drunkenly promises into your skin, placing openmouthed kisses down your throat. “This gotta go, though,” he grumbles. He slides both hands up your shirt, removing it with a flourish.

His undeniable desire for you goes straight to your soul: a desperate ache for him. He works your bra off and replaces it with his hardworking hands. You throw your head back in relief, but it’s still not enough.

"Yes," you spur him on.

Returning to his perfect, indecently pouty mouth, your hands fumble with his belt. The clink of the belt buckle hitting the stone hearth underneath him is the most erotic sound you've yet heard. Without leaving your lips, Joel hooks your ankles around his waist and lowers you to his sleeping bag.

He trails down your jaw. You hurriedly unbutton his flannel, wanting to feel his skin flush with yours. He lets you slide your jeans off, in fear you might remember the last time a man tried to remove them.

But once they're gone, his hands skate along your hips and hook in your underwear. In a jumble of arms and material, Joel soon covers your nakedness with his own; his hard length throbbing against your hip.

“I can feel your heat, already,” he chokes, his voice gravelly. “Now, you gonna be quiet, or do I gotta cover this mouth of yours?” Joel’s thumb ghosts over your lips.

“I’ll be quiet, Joel. Promise,” you widen your eyes in earnest.

Joel groans, "Shit, woman." He ruts against you.

You lean to kiss his neck and jawline while your hands slide down in excitement to cup him, stroke him. You make a small, satisfied noise at the feel of him in your hands. He moans above you, dropping his head onto your shoulder, and you smirk.

“Are you gonna be quiet?”

He grasps your wrist and pulls it away. “You keep doin’ that and this’ll be a short ride.”

Joel ruts against you again, this time across a spot he hadn’t before - and you jolt with the sensation. He does it again, mesmerized by the way you move. He lines up and teases you, the mere contact sending your eyes rolling. You dig your nails into his biceps.

“Joel, before- I just want t-”

He stops you with a wet, filthy kiss. The throbbing between your legs has you rubbing against him for release. He erases your thoughts. Joel tilts his forehead to yours.

“I know y’do.”

As much as he fought it, worried about it, somewhere deep inside he knows exactly how you feel. He also knows he feels the same.

Written across my fuckin’ forehead, isn’t it?

But, unlike him, you'd never taken a break from loving things. You hadn't spent years denying that you were even capable of it anymore. He could not say it. But he could show it.

Your anxiousness melts away when Joel pushes into you slowly, savoring your expression. Total arousal and concentration has his mouth gaping. You nip at his bottom lip and he chases your mouth.

He can’t believe he’s doing this. For such a short amount of foreplay, you’re gushing for him. He almost gave this up over fear of letting you in? This with a woman who loves him? God, he is a coward.

“Don’t deserve this,” it’s a throaty moan as the patch of hair between his hips scratches yours. He looks down at the place he’s joined with you.

What a fuckin’ sight, Joel feels the spark at the base of his spine and almost comes right there.

“Oh, fuck,” you thread your fingers back through Joel’s hair.

Your breasts press into his hard chest as you arch to accommodate him. It doesn’t even hurt, you’ve been so thoroughly turned on by him. You just need Joel as deep as he can be in you, in all possible ways.

He drags himself out, then slowly eases back in. You whimper with the deviance of a man being inside you. Not just any man, either, as you’d told him moments ago. But Joel. Beautiful, emotionally fragile, powerful Joel who felt loyalty toward you, who protected you, who cared for you.

He drops his mouth to bruise yours, overwhelmed by your reaction to him. His pace picks up until his fingers dig into your waist as you cling to him. You try to keep the need to be silent forefront, but it was so difficult with Joel possessing you, forcing noises to exist. He clasps a large hand over your mouth.

He closes in over you, muttering, “How bad I wanna hear those noises. Wish I could hear how much you like it.” His hand slides up over your breast, manhandling slightly.

“I thought about your hands,” you adjust his fingers to admit in a whisper. "Thought about them all over me."

“Hm, did you?” His voice is thick with lust.

Before you can answer, he wraps his hand around your throat, and, watching your eyes, squeezes the sides carefully. Only enough to remind you how strong he is, what you do to him, and how utterly safe you are with him. He kisses you again, hard, and it's full of those promises.

It’s then that the tense pleasure building in your core snaps into an electric fire in your muscles. Writhing underneath him, he feels it, too.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he slows his thrusts while your body squeezes him.

“Oh, my god, Joel,” you cry as quietly as you can. You’ll never get off him after this.

It's the first time you've sung his name, and Joel knows he is well and truly fucked. He releases his grip. You grasp his hand and kiss his knuckles slowly.

He arches your hips and shoves his balled-up jacket underneath you. Joel places his hand over your mouth and thrusts into you with barely-controlled force, grunting with primal intent.

Your cry is muffled and distorted as he pushes inside you over and over. He rubs against a spot that makes you arch into him and decides that's his favorite. His thumb rolls over your sensitive mound and, combined with his filthy words, you feel him building another wave of euphoria.

All you know is his name, repeated over and over in your mind to remind you that Joel is the one making you feel this good. That knowledge alone shoves you back to the edge.

His lips are at your ear, and his accent is the strongest you’ve ever heard it, “Knew you’d feel like this. Always throwin’ yourself at me. Darin’ me to fuck you. Wantin' me to do it,” he can’t help himself: he tenderly bites and sucks at your neck just below your ear.

“Look so fuckin’ good underneath me,” he praises, his cadence clipped with exertion.

But Joel is tireless in his pursuit. Determined to show you how you make him feel. Determined to take what was already his. Hellbent on fucking you until it hurt to walk tomorrow. Shit, maybe he’d carry you. He felt free, wild.

It’s the way he consumes your body with his hands, his lips, his tongue as he fucks you that has your mind reeling into another realm, or falls off a cliff, or wherever it is he sends you. Your body is as taut as a bowstring before it snaps the second time. The pleasure of Joel playing your body like a guitar fills your bones, your veins.

“Y’still with me?” Joel presses a kiss to your lips. You feel yourself clench a final time around nothing. He sits back.

Absently, you run a hand along your stomach and feel a substance. You raise your eyes to his, and he grins sheepishly. It’s such an intimate smile, it hurts. He takes a shirt and wipes your skin.

“Sorry 'bout the mess. Wanted to pull out in time to come on the shirt or somethin’ but…”

He takes your hand, helping you sit up, and kisses your chin, cradling your face. You kiss him with fervor, and he breaks it to finish, “But you’re too damn much.”

“I’m never just right, am I?” You joke. You count on your fingers: “Too happy, too talkative, too argumentative, and now just too much.”

He grabs and kisses your fingers, saying huskily, “’s the way you should be."

"Put your clothes on," you laugh and follow your own advice.

"Yes, ma'am," he picks up his jeans and pulls them on without buttoning them, and you think about ripping them off and going for round two. You can see the brunette curls poking out invitingly.

He puts his undershirt on, then drags your sleeping bag to his. He unzips both bags to lay flat. A bed and a blanket.

"C'mere," he relaxes on the makeshift bed, holding an arm out to you.

After everything, this was what was going to make you cry? The sight of him, hair a mess, glowing in the firelight, enveloping you into his arms?

All those years staring at sunsets. Wish I could've been staring at this.

Tears prick your eyes as you kneel with him. He tucks you under his waiting arm and lies down, fitting you against him. His breath plays with your hair, and his hand trails up and down your arm soothingly.

"I thought this would never happen," you sigh.

There’s a moment of thought before Joel says, "Ah, shit. You were seventeen when-"

"Yep."

"Oh," he realizes you're a virgin. Or had been up until twenty minutes ago. He feels uncertain. "You okay?"

You laugh, "Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?"

"Wasn't really romantic."

"You and a fireplace? That's way more romantic than I would've asked for. I'd have been happy with you and a backseat or you and a tree."

You feel Joel's chuckle roll through his chest. He viciously revels in your words. All you wanted was him.

"That wasn't what I meant, though. I meant that I thought you'd never - that you didn't feel anything like I did."

"Mm," he tenses. "Course I do."

Communication was not his strong suit, and in this moment, he does not want to fuck anything up.

"Better for me to show you."

"And I prefer that any time," you praise him.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"Fucking finally, holy shit."

Ellie stands above with folded arms and the smuggest smile you've ever seen.

"You guys must've been freezing down here because somehow you ended up all cuddled together and I know for sure you'd never do that willingly because you guys hate each other," she sarcastically monologs.

Your face feels like you held it above the now-dead fire.

Joel hasn't moved. Maybe he was pretending she couldn't see him.

In the night, the two of you must've rolled over, because you're curled around his back, arm slung over his side. Your nose had buried itself into the waves at the nape of his neck.

"Ellie?" You cover your eyes. "Shut the fuck up."

She just laughs.

"Now does this mean there will be more or less bickering? Because sometimes it's entertaining but sometimes, fucking hell, you guys really go at it."

Joel finally stirs, heaving a massive sigh. "You ain't gonna leave us alone, are you?"

Ellie wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. "Should I?"

Joel shoots her a glare.

Ellie makes eyes at you and you know she wants to barrage you with questions. You suppose it'll come sooner or later, and it's better if Joel's not there.

"Joel," you start, not sure what to suggest, but then he sits up.

"I'm headin' outside."

The door closes as he tugs his jacket on, and Ellie looks at you with poorly-contained excitement.

"What the fuck happened?"

"Shhh! Shit, Ellie, it's not a big deal." You haven't decided how much you're telling her.

Her glare could kill a horse. "Not a big deal? It's Joel. Mr. Antisocial. And you've been pining after him this whole damn time."

You shush her again, "He's going to fucking hear you."

"You think he doesn't know?" She asks incredulously; your affection for him was so obvious that she thought even Joel couldn’t have missed it.

You exhale sharply, "No, he definitely knows that now. I mean he doesn't know how long. It's embarrassing."

"So, he… knows now?"

Shit.

You physically deflate. You'll have to tell her. She'll wheedle or smart it out of you eventually.

"We… worked it out."

Ellie starts laughing.

"You FUCKED HIM." She laughs harder at the new territory. It was funny, and kind of bizarre to have a man come into the picture after all of these years and change everything.

You can’t help but laugh resignedly, "Don't be so crass. You don’t need the details.”

“I don't want the damn details.” She looks nauseated at the thought. “I can’t believe I leave you alone for one night and you pounce on the poor man.”

“I didn’t pounce on him,” you retort, even though you literally did. “We talked about some shit that went down in the woods last week and… and some other things. It was a mature conversation. I hope the bickering will be much less.” Then you add, “But I wouldn’t count on that.”

“Just don’t forget I exist.” Ellie semi-jokingly requests.

“Ellie,” you stand and hug her tight. “Don’t even say that. It’d never happen.”

“I know. I guess if anyone had to be as wonderful as me, I’m glad it’s Joel.”

“It’s not a competition. I’m also happy to know you're not mad,” you chuckle.

"Mad? It's like I got a brother. A… much older brother." She makes a face at you. "More like a dad."

"You never heard of DILFs?"

"You're gross."

Continue ->

#my fics #the last of us #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #pedro pascal #smut #pedro pascal smut #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #fanfic #tlou fanfic #tlou

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retromotherfuckers · 2 months

Text

If You Win Or Lose

Characters:

morgan winchester (OC), john winchester, sam and dean are only mentioned, will mciver (OC)

Summary:

after the death of the boy she loves, morgan runs away. but nothing lasts forever.

Warnings:

SPN typical alcohol abuse & violence, themes of mental illness, parental abuse, MAJOR gaslighting, character death. please let me know if i missed anything

Word Total:

2,425

A/N:

you don't need to read When The Sun Sets to understand this. this is a one shot within that universe, but it predates that series, and also the show itself

it is of my humble opinion that john was an abuser, even if the show refused to acknowledge that. this is essentially an insight into his and morgan's relationship

so yeah, this one ain't too happy. i don't think i'm capable of writing happy shit 💀

morgan may have fallen in love w a dude but our girl is not straight

italics are flashbacks or thoughts

dean: 19, morgan: 18, sam: 15

Four fingers of whiskey fill and drain over and over. In the shitty hotel bar, she sat up against the decaying oak wall in a flimsy chair. A hazy world surrounded her, everything moving in slow motion. The few other stragglers had no notion of what was brewing in her mind - the darkness that shrouded her eyes, making colors look muted in the small neighborhood. It seemed no one knew how much she depended on the amber liquid to keep things still.

Morgan had been around people all her life, but she'd never once felt a real kind of companionship with them. She knew her brothers cared because they had to; she knew they tried. She just wished that when they asked if life was okay, they'd somehow know her answer was bullshit. That they'd somehow cut off the lies spilling from her lips and just say that they know.

But Sammy was only fifteen. He wasn't old enough to really be able to tell, and if he could, she was the older sister. What she said was what he believed. And Dean was Dean. Not the best emotional support person.

They never did catch it, and that was the point. As long as she said she was fine, they believe it because that's what they want to hear. They didn't want to know that she hadn't felt like her home was her home in years. Even if that home was the rumble of an engine and cassettes so loud, she couldn't hear herself think.

They didn't know that she had done things only the lowest of the low would even think of just to keep moving. They don't want to know that the only reason she got out of bed was so she could ease the hangover from the night before. They didn't want to know how hard it was to ask when it was her turn for anything better than this and to keep getting ignored. They didn't want to know that her real reason for living was gone but that his dying wish was for her to keep going.

"Just promise me you'll try."

They didn't want to know that sometimes she could hurt so bad that she stopped feeling anything at all. That she knew her heart was still beating, but her lungs had stopped pumping oxygen. That waiting for her eyes to stop feeling so heavy while she watched the world spin was worse than actually being a part of it. And even with all that frigid emptiness, there was a widening hole in her chest where a person used to be. And now that he was gone, the ceiling was about to cave in, and all she had left to hold it up was a little white bag and a bottle.

"Where the hell have you been?" The familiar voice broke her from her thoughts, the same that had been repeating for months, on and off, like a scratched record. She didn't have to look up to see who it was. She knew that voice. It's half of the voices that raised her, but not the one who deserved the credit.

She didn't acknowledge him, stuck staring at her drink. His voice made her shiver, and she was too much of a damn coward to face him. "Around."

"Really?" John said, his tone hardening with her one-word response. "'Cause to me, it looks like you ran away and went missing like a child. For. Two. Months."

She took a large gulp of her drink, almost downing the whole thing in one go. She had rehearsed this conversation countless times, waiting for the flash of civilian life to end and for him to find her. But now that it was happening, she felt like a fishing boat in a storm, tossed around by waves of fear and wrath.

Her father's gaze was oppressive, cold, and unyielding. Green eyes cut into her, making her feel like he was staring right through her. She always felt small around him. He had always known the right words to use to humiliate her.

"Let's go," He ordered, not even sitting down. It was like he knew this wasn't even a discussion to be had. She would obey, and that was the end of it. "The boys are waiting."

"Dad," Morgan began, her voice shaky and horse. "I'm not going back."

She could imagine John's lips curled into a sneer as his eyes bore into her. Daring her to defy him more. "You don't get a choice. You're coming. That's final."

Morgan felt a surge of anger. "Why can't you just let me be? I know what's good for me more than you do."

John stepped closer, his face inches from hers. "You belong with your family, not out here alone when we're not there to protect you. I taught you better than that."

It wasn’t praise. John Winchester wouldn’t know praise if it bit him in the ass. He did teach her better than that, and since she’s deliberately not following orders, she’s less than worthless.

She recoiled slightly, the familiar pang of anxiety twisting in her gut. "This isn't about family, dad, it's about-" She fumbled over her words, unsure if she could say it, but hoping for some surge of courage she hadn't had her whole life. "It's about how you can't stand that I'm walking around without you making my own decisions. You just wanna control me-"

John's hand lashed out, slapping the counter beside her, making her visibly flinch and effectively cutting her off. "After everything I've done for you, this is how you repay me? I don't need to control you; you need me to do it. To keep you alive," he sneered. "And the running away from your shit and pretending we don't exist just proves it."

Morgan's eyes welled with tears, but she refused to let them fall. "Everything you've done," Her voice shook as she spoke. "You've done for yourself and your twisted little fantasy of finding the thing that killed Mom."

He grabbed her wrist, his grip like a vise. "Oh, yeah? And what do you think you can do to stop me?" She yanked her arm free, the skin already bruising. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of doubt. But then his expression hardened, and he took a step closer, his shadow enveloping her. "You're making a big mistake, Morgan. You'll regret this."

She took a deep breath, her resolve wavering. The sooner she got away, the better. "The only mistake I made was not getting out earlier."

As she turned to leave, John's hand shot out, grabbing her shoulder and keeping her still. His voice was low and twisted with fury. The deep growl and the warmth of his breath in her ear made chills run up her spine.

"You think you can just walk away from me?"

Morgan's heart sank into her stomach. It wasn't a threat, but she could feel one coming. Her strength was slipping away, the familiar terror clawing at her mind. She'd never be able to hide from him for too long. Just look at her now, it had only been two months.

She was smart. But John was smarter.

"You're coming home, whether you like it or not." He took her stunned stillness as his queue to spin her around, forcing her chin up to look at him. She'd probably have marks on her jaw from how tight he was holding her. "You're really gonna leave us to fend for ourselves? You're so damn selfish-"

"I haven't been selfish a day in my fucking life-"

Her father scoffed as if that was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "Well, by your logic, you're picking the wrong time to start." He got closer if it was even possible, and he looked at her like she was the dirt he loved to walk over. "Will's dead, Mo, and it's your fault. I told you not to go on that hunt alone, but what did you fucking do? You ignored me, like always. When are you gonna learn that you need me? Boy-Toy's not coming back, you saw to that. Stop wasting everyone's time and get over it."

Boy-Toy. That's all John saw him as now. Even though he liked to call Will's parents the closest people he had to friends besides Uncle Bobby.

Will had been with them for a year and a half when his parents died. They were helping him look for his aunt, the only family he had left. Only problem was they only knew her first name and that she was his mother's sister. So Will, Morgan and Sam searched for his aunt, while John and Dean searched for the demon.

For a while, things were okay. John was slightly more neutral when Will was around, starting fewer arguments and hitting them less. But when he walked in on them hooking up, Dean had to haul her father off of the boy. And then off of Morgan, too.

Two months ago, Morgan was desperate to prove herself to her father. Dean had already completed three solo hunts as a trial run. John wanted to see what he was capable of. Dean surpassed his expectations, as he always did. A rougarou, two vengeful spirits and a vampire taken care of in three weeks.

Will hadn't wanted to go on that hunt without help, but Morgan was frantic. She had to show her father what she was made of, but when Will discovered her plans, he was not going to let her do it alone.

The air is thick with tension, each step bringing them closer to the lair of the wendigo they've been tracking for days. The forest is dense, moonlight barely piercing the thick canopy above. The silence of the night is broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl.

"Are you sure about this?" Will whispers, his voice barely audible.

Morgan turns to him, her blue eyes fierce and determined. "Yeah! We can do this, I swear."

They press on, the beam of their flashlights cutting through the darkness. Suddenly, a chilling growl echoes through the trees. Their hearts start racing as they tighten their grip on their chosen weapons. They're close.

The wendigo lunges out of the shadows, its eyes glowing with a malevolent type of starvation. Will fires his shotgun, but the creature is too fast. It knocks him to the ground, claws slashing through his shirt.

"Will!" Morgan screams, rushing to him. He struggles beneath the wendigo's weight, blood pooling from his wounds.

"Go!" He shouts, but his words are so garbled she hears her name, like a plea. "It's too strong!"

And Morgan can't leave him; he knows she would never. She swings her machete with all her strength, striking the creature's back. It howls in pain, momentarily distracted. Will uses the opportunity to push it off him, but the wendigo retaliates with a vicious swipe, its claws sinking deep into his chest.

"No!" Morgan drops to her knees beside Will as the wendigo retreats into the shadows. "No, no-"

Will's breathing is ragged, and he squeezes his eyes shut in distress. "Mo... I'm sorry..."

"Don't talk like that," she says, tears already streaming down her face. "You're gonna be okay, you'll be fine. We'll get you back to Dean. He'll know what to do."

Will reaches up, his hand trembling as he gently touches her cheek. His eyes are wet, too, but he quickly tries to hide the pain he's in. He graces her with a smile, but it's gone as fast as it appears.

"Remember when Dean was giving me shit for how long my hair is?" He waits for her to nod. It doesn't take her so long to react because she doesn't remember. She takes a few extra seconds because she can't figure out why he's bringing that up right now. "You shut him up so fast," he says with a strained laugh. "You definitely liked me first."

Morgan chuckles through her tears, but the light memory doesn't last too long in her mind.

He's dying he's dying he's dying

"But I love you, Mo...please...remember that."

"Stop it. You don't get to say that as a goodbye," she demanded, but her voice didn't have the force to make it believable. "You're not allowed to tell me you love me and then die. It's not fair."

"I'll be okay," he rasps. "Just promise me you'll try. Promise me…" His voice fades from there. He has more he wants to say, Morgan can tell, but he used up all his strength.

"Will, please," She begs, her words cracking. "Don't-"

But Will's eyes flutter closed, his hand falls lifelessly to the ground, and Morgan screams.

She doesn't have it in her to set up a pyre. Will doesn't want that. He says it feels barbaric to him. He came from a hunting family and knew it was to prevent the possibility of becoming was a vengeful spirit, but he’s never wavered. He wants a real burial, like normal people have. He wants his family and friends there; they don't have to say anything, just be there.

"It just doesn't feel right, you know? We should be returned to the earth and all that crap. It's more…I don't know, peaceful."

Hours later, as dawn breaks, she buries him under an oak tree. She stands alone - yet another way she's letting him down. Her heart and mind are in tatters, her tears mingle with the soot. She can't face her family, not after what just happened. She can't bear her father’s inevitable punishment. Or her brothers’ pity. Or the possibility that they hate her for letting their friend die.

With one last look at the makeshift grave, Morgan turns and walks away, the shadows of the forest swallowing her whole. She doesn't know where she's going, only that she has to keep moving.

She looked into her father's eyes and saw the unyielding force of his will. In that moment, she knew she had lost.

Defeated, she lowered her gaze, closed her eyes and barely whispered, "Okay."

John's grip loosened slightly, a triumphant smile creeping across his face. Harder than necessary, he slapped her shoulder in appreciation. "Good girl. Now pack your shit. We're leaving in a half hour."

As Morgan turned towards the exit, she felt the weight of his victory settle over her like a cloak. The life she thought she might have wanted crumbled away, leaving only the cold, harsh reality of her father's world. She walked slowly, each step feeling like a surrender, her heart heavy with the knowledge that, for now, he had won.

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rhettabbotts · 1 year

Note

first and foremost! congrats on hitting 1.2k shelby!!! you deserve all of those and so many more followers!

you and i have been talking about dilf!rhett and his reading glasses recently. so i'm here with a request.

the smut dialogue prompt of "how do i look" but it's dilf!rhett after he gets his glasses

wired frames - dilf rhett abbott

pairing: dilf!rhett abbott x babysitter!reader

summary: rhett achieves the highest dilf status.

warnings: suggestive language. babysitter’s horny thoughts. pre-relationship. age gap as always.

Rhett hated calling you in on a Friday.

Fridays were always your days off. Unfortunately, it was the only day the eye doctor could get him in and he couldn’t take Grace and Ellie with him. You didn’t mind to come in. Silencing Rhett when he promised that you could leave as soon as he was back.

The girls were elated to see you when they came down for breakfast. Grace demanded you fixed blueberry pancakes because “yours were way better than daddy’s.” Ellie rambled on about her new stuffed bear, insisting Mr. Fuzz-a-lots sat at the table while they shoveled in their food.

They were filled with so much energy, chasing each other with the water hose, trying to stave off the early summer heat. You sat with a book in your hand, catching yourself daydreaming about a certain cowboy - who also happened to be your boss.

You tried to shake the feeling, tried everything to rid your mind of wandering thoughts of Rhett but you couldn’t help it. Not when you had to see him nearly every day. As some sick joke from the universe, Rhett’s truck came roaring up the gravel road. The girls screeched as he stepped out, your heart doing the same.

Wired frames now adorned his face. The silver glinted in the scorching sun and your breath caught in your throat. Holy shit. It’s like they were magic and made his hair appear silvery as well. Your whole body was set ablaze.

You averted your eyes before he could catch you staring but that didn’t stop him from making his way to you, barely escaping the two drenched children.

“So…” Rhett said in a curious tone, causing you to look up to the man standing before you. “What do you think?”

Your mouth dried as he preened, posing and wiggling the glasses that were perched on his nose. His perfect nose that you’d give anything to feel against your-

“About what?” You asked nonchalantly, calmly. As if you weren’t actively trying to beat your brain with a baseball bat.

“The glasses. How do I look? Look too old?” He inquired.

So handsome. Sexy. Like I want to kiss you until they fog up.

“They look good,” you stated, keeping your responses short in order to save yourself some embarrassment.

“They look good, she says. You really know how to compliment a man, honey,” Rhett joked before making his way inside. Leaving you a sweltering mess on the porch.

You ended up staying for dinner - on behalf of Ellie getting on her knees practically begging you. You could never say no to her. Rhett made his “signature pasta” which was just spaghetti but you indulged him. It was rather good.

As he put the girls to bed, you helped wash up. You were drying the last dish when you heard his footsteps descending down the stairs. He wasn’t even in the room yet and your heart rate spiked. Damn him and the unknowing hold he had on you.

Rhett saddled up behind you, reaching up to grab a whiskey glass. His broad chest pressed against your back, heat radiating from his body that you could feel through your t-shirt. You couldn’t breathe. When you did inhale all you could smell was him.

“Want a drink?” He questioned, warm breath washing over you, tightening your throat in a vice grip. All you could do was nod.

He poured two glasses of the amber liquid, his new frames seated on his face once more. You were certain he put them back on just to tease you. Just to make you go mental - if the way his thin lips quirked up at the corner were any indication.

“What do you really think about these?” He asked after a beat of silence.

You were on the spot now. It was just the two of you. You had nowhere to hide. No book to stick your nose into.

“You look - you look very handsome. Smart. They bring out the blue in your eyes,” you stuttered with shaky breath. He hummed in response, a strand of hair falling out of place and onto his forehead. You couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out and tucking it behind his ear, pulling away swiftly.

It really did bring out the grey in his hair. You wanted to run your fingers through it and-

“You’re real sweet, honey.”

“I should - I should get going. It’s late,” you whispered.

“Yeah… have a good weekend, Tillerson. Thanks again for sticking around today.” Rhett fumbled with his wallet for some cash, brushing you off when you tried to tell him not to worry about it.

“I’ll see you Monday.”

“Bright and early.”

You couldn’t rid your mind of the image of Rhett in his glasses all weekend. No matter how much you tried.

#shelby’s sleepover #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett x babysitter #dilf rhett 4 ever <3

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bokettochild · 6 months

Text

Febuwhump Day 25: (alt) "I Love You"

What's this? Day 25 when I haven't even posted previous days? Yes. Warriors was giving me brainrot and this thing sort of just spit itself out last night after a pot of coffee and rotting on my couch for hours.

Heads up, this story is set in the TBBU universe, so yes, we have an original character here: Sablya. My apologies if you hate OCs, she's actually pretty prominent in this story and yes, in a relationship with a Link, so DLDR if that bothers you at all <3

Rating: Teen

Wordcount: 4,626

Summary: Hit with a dark curse, the boys must seek out a user of shadow magic in order to help them. Luckily for them, Warriors knows someone. Unluckily for him, it's his ex-wife.

There's a particular brand of hurt that comes from words.

Simple words, words that once meant something precious, can turn into a knife that wrenches at the heart, and even when they’re meant with love, with care, with every amount of innocence, they still have the ability to plunge deep and strike a vein, severing sanity in their wake.

Warriors knows this, has known this. Since his mother’s first “I’m proud of the man you’ve become” had sounded, the very day when he most dreaded speaking to her to admit what he’d done; what he’d done for her and the girls; he’s known that words full of love can cause pain.

Words spoken in ire, somehow, cause less.

Given the choice between the two, the captain doesn’t know what he wants to receive when he enters the house. With his brothers behind him, in need, struggling under the burden of a dark curse that’s wound its way, tight, about them, he knows the need to hurry, to not linger. There’s only person in all Hyrule who can assist them at this moment, but that doesn’t make facing her any easier than all the other times he’s dared to try and do so.

The very concept of courage, when he stands at the doors of his own house, is a dart of pain to his pride, given how he, the hero, lacks it so just to walk through a door.

Does he want the screams, the pain and tears, the agonized look in warm amber eyes, or does he want something warm that will pierce and burn at a heart still in pieces from when last he faced her? He’s not sure. He’s not sure which would hurt more. He’s not sure which would be easier to survive.

“Are we almost there?” The desperation that colors words that should be annoyed, should be spoken with that signature put upon tone that’s nearly permanent from their vet, only further drives how his own hesitation is itself causing harm. The boys are all dragging, all pained, but to add the pain of their newly acquired curse to pain that already made function a struggle- he needs to get the help, and soon.

“Just a bit further, vet, I promise.” He tries to sound confident, assuring, warm, but he falls short.

Castletown really does bring out the worst in him, doesn’t it? He can’t even manage to be a comfort to the others while they’re here.

Eyes follow their weary forms curiously, although some skirt away, wary of the eaten down men and boys, armed to the teeth and clearly desperate, although for what, it’s doubtful the townsfolk know. It's a sharp contrast to their usual warmth towards him in the wake of the war, but then again, his scarf is absent.

The blue fabric hangs from Twilight’s shoulders, supporting the weight of their smithy who, for reasons none can name, has been affected the most, and thus is worst off of all of them. In the wake of the wizzrobes attack, what must have been a week ago now, the smithy has been listless, fevered, and in enough agony that walking seems entirely outside of his ability for the moment.

They need only last a bit longer though. They wander the streets at his tail, the boys leaning on each other heavily. Some had taken worse to the dark spell, others are still coping, and some, like the vet, are pushing their every limit to keep going. Goddesses, he can’t afford to hesitate, not with the like this.

Still, when the door looms ahead of him, his feet stutter and falter all the same, and though likely, he could excuse it as the curse, he knows the reason his mouth goes dry and stomach lurches has nothing to do with magic at all.

“Cap?” Sky’s looking back at him, past the blonde head resting on his shoulder, the sailor likewise struggling to keep pace having resulted in the skyloftian offering aid. Concern shines in crystal eyes, and it takes more effort than he’s got in him to try to smile back.

“I’m fine.”

He doesn’t even care that they all clearly don’t believe him. None of them have it in them to call him out though, and honestly, he’s a little thankful for that as he forces his feet to move again.

“We’re here.”

His hand stalls at the door.

Hyrule knocks, dark eyes dim as they turn up to him, worry the only thing still shining in them.

Goddesses, he needs to get over himself. These boys need him, need him to pull himself up by his bootstraps and ask his wife for help. For them. For their sakes.

The door opens with a familiar creaking, and despite his every attempt to steal himself for it, the sight of her still makes his breath catch in his throat.

Sablya is not so afflicted, and for a terrible moment, he half thinks the door will fly shut in his face, only...

Only, Hyrule’s hand has caught onto him for support. Only, Four and Wind are hanging from their older brothers’ shoulders. Only, Legend is swaying on his feet, even with the support of a cane to keep him upright. Cold though she’s turned to him, Sablya’s always had a bleeding heart, and whatever hurts he’s caused won’t stop her from seeing kids in need of help.

“What do you want?”

“Help. Please.” It’s a struggle to meet her eyes, to hold her gaze knowing full well what he’ll find. For them though, he manages. “They’re cursed, it’s-”

“Dark magic,” the words roll, accented and thick, like a cold wave over him. The door creaks again, just like it did the last time he made it inside; has she not had it fixed? “Come. Enter.”

With what strength he can muster, he scoops the traveler up and into the house, passing her by even as she darts towards the rest, offering a weak smile and steady hands to guide the rest inside. He doesn’t watch, even though he wants to, wants to see her warmth, even if it’s not turned on him. He doesn’t though, he pushes down the narrow hall and into the main room, and there he stops.

It’s almost like he never left.

There are no toys scattered on the floor, but the box still remains, tucked in one corner. Pictures, books, all the same, have only moved as much as needed for cleaning. The furniture is still in its place and muscle memory urges him to wind around it to his own chair before the fire.

He doesn’t. He settles Hyrule down on the couch, soothing curly hair absently, thoughtlessly, before dragging his aching body back towards the door. He passes her on the way, Wild curled in her arms. They don’t exchange even a look, but his heart still stutters at the ease she carries the younger hero, the familiar worried crease between her brows.

Twilight and Sky are the least effected so far, and they follow behind his wife, bringing the smallest two after. Time though is struggling, and while the weight of him is different from only a year ago, it still feels natural somehow to loop an arm over his shoulders and whisper encouragement to the man as they follow Legend’s limping figure into the house.

“Armor off,” is the order once they’ve made it in, door shut and the group of them gathered in the family room. It’s cramped, for ten people, but at least with the furniture as it is, but it doesn’t matter. “Tell me what happened.”

She’s already looking over Wind, dark hands cradling his ashen face like she used to with their son when he’d fallen and give himself a bloody nose or some other such injury.

“A curse,” Legend explains. “It was a wizzrobe. Don’t know what kind.” His breath is short, even as he’s crumpled down to sit at Hyrule’s feet, head leant against the couch arm. “None of our magic is any good and it’s- it’s affecting us physically as well.”

Amber eyes fall to stare at the lad, brows kitting together again. “How so?”

“Shortness of breath-” as though it wasn’t apparent “-pain-”

“Where?”

A shudder. “Everywhere.”

Her skirts rustle as she sinks down to be level with the scholar, hand lifted. “Where is it worst?”

Pink hair flies. “It’s not like that.”

“Explain then.” Her tone is soft, but firm.

Legend explains. He explains with words Warriors has seen in books on magic, but which he doesn’t know for himself. Sablya understands though, despite her hylian apparently still not being strong, and with prompting and feedback from the vet, she seems to get an idea of what it is that’s plaguing them. In the meantime, he leans at the couch’s back, hands mindlessly sinking to stroke curly heads and assure, as best he can, his little brothers.

“I think I understand,” the words have relief flooding over them, some of the boys even shedding a tear or two at the sound, “may I try something?”

“Go nuts.” Legend answers through a weary, pained smile.

It startles them, he supposes, to see the way darkness coalesces at her command, but when her hand rests against the vet’s chest, her voice low with the command to match his breath to her own, he sees tension bleed from the lad’s shoulders, resulting in something like a soft sob.

“Got it.” She moves to Wind next, although she orders, again, for the rest to remove their armor. “I cannot help you if there is a barrier. Take off the armor, I will help the children.”

It’s a struggle, in their weakened state, to get it off. Getting it on had been the same, but the risk of going without was too high considering the condition they’ve been in. It takes them all helping, or at least, those who wear it help each other, the vet’s hands joining after he sees to catch a breath.

Wind sags in relief when dark hands lift from him, and the vet moves to his side, gathering the younger up and waiting until Sablya has finished with Hyrule as well before pullng the traveler close as well. Both lads sink into him, nestling together, no longer in pain but fully drained from it’s effects.

Four is next, and then, because it is Twilight beside him, she quickly attends the rancher, although it’s only a second before she’s done. For reasons they can’t be certain of, but which the scholar had speculated might be in relation to magic exposure, the ranch hand had been least affected. While there’s still a sag to his shoulders as the hands of the captain’s wife lift from him, it’s not so much as to stop him pulling Four close with a soft hum, supporting the weight of the slumbering hero while their savior moves on to Wild next.

He tries not to watch, he does. He can’t help it though. He's missed her, even if thoughts of returning here have left him ill at ease and fumbling for ages. He can almost pretend, as he watches her drift between his brothers, that nothing happened. He’s home, she’s there, and save the lacking presence of a small child running about at their feet or tucked onto a hip or against a chest, it’s almost like nothing ever happened.

When all eight of the other heroes have been tended, she pauses. He sees her eyes drift to him, has to drop his gaze when it does, but she doesn’t step his way with that brisk step, with the determination that was turned on the rest. No, she lingers a moment.

“There are rooms upstairs. You are welcome to rest there.”

“Are you sure?” Twilight’s the only one with it left in him to speak, but the wide eyed stares of the rest convey their doubt and wariness.

Red hair swings free with her nod, drifting from where she’d hurriedly tucked it back while tending them. “You are guests, and you need rest. The children need to sleep, you all do, if you want to recover.”

“Thank you.”

“It is nothing.” Her smile is tight. “Please, make yourselves at home.”

Eyes turn to him, but he nods. He motions them along and, while the weight of magic still hangs from his shoulders, wrapping tight and making everything a pain, he just motions towards the doorway. “Stairs are at the end of the hall. Take any room that isn’t the first one on the right.”

The rancher’s brows raise, and the stares of the rest turn confused, but neither he nor his wife give answer. No, instead, she scoops Wind into her arms and, with a warning look nobody would dare disobey, not even Mask, she orders the rest of the younger boys to stay put.

“No straining yourself. I will get you.”

Such orders are not turned to Twilight and Sky, and the two men follow her out of the room, Four and Hyrule in their arms to be settled down. Usually, he’d demand they eat something before turning in for the night, but between the nausea and the exhaustion, he sees no reason to even try and suggest it. They need their sleep. They can eat when they don’t feel near ready to drop.

His wife is back a minute or so later, sweeping past him to gather Legend, only to be redirected to their champion. “I can last,” the teen vet assures, “get him first.”

She tuts at that, but listens. She doesn’t fight it, likely because she’s learned through experience with him that it’s pointless. It's only a short while later though that she’s back for the vet, and by then Time has mustered the strength to stand and follow.

Briefly, on his way out, their leader’s good eye falls on him, silent question hanging heavy, but he just grips the shoulder of the other in assurance. “I’ll be fine, just go rest.”

“Who is-”

“Someone we can trust,” and they are words that, from him at least, the others have all learned are never spoken lightly, can themselves be trusted. “Just go, sap. She and I need to talk anyway.”

There’s lingering curiosity there, but Time obeys. The man is too worn down, too tired from the last week, to likely even last through the long mess that would be answering all his questions. Time heads from the room, and while the house is a sturdy one, steps are heard overhead soon enough, signifying the motions of the boys to the rooms kept ready, at least while this house was still his home, for the presence of sisters, friends, and visiting family.

It leaves him alone.

Alone in a familiar room that’s his, but which feels wrong to linger in. The urge to wander, to stare, to take in the husk of the past, battles with the intense guilt of intrusion that he feels, even in his own home. Does he stay, waiting about for her to return? Does he wander freely, go where he will? He’s not been back since his first day returned from the war, and even then, he never made it past the hall. Is he okay to go to the kitchen and brew some tea for what will, no doubt, end up being a very tense night? Is he even allowed upstairs into their bedroom? Is he sleeping down here? With one of the boys?

He drags a hand through his hair and, for lack of anything better to do with himself, sits on the couch. Here, he’s least likely to cross the boundaries he can’t see, and here is where she’s most likely to look for him once she’s satisfied that young heroes are safely abed and no longer suffering.

Briefly, he hears steps pass. Briefly, he hears the familiar clatter in the kitchen. For a moment, the steps creak, skirts swishing up them with the brisque pace she always sets when worried or tense. It’s a moment later when the same sounds return again, getting louder as she returns to the main floor. She’s stalling, he thinks. Tending her guests by providing medicine for pain, blankets for warmth, and no doubt water for drinking and washing both. He’s glad the boys will have it, but every time her feet pass by the door, he finds himself tensing, panicking for a moment that now is the time he has to face her, and now he won’t have them here to act as a distraction for either of them. She just heads back up though, and he’s breathing in relief only to sigh it all out again in frustration with himself.

He needs to man up. She’s his wife for the love of Hylia! Yet even so, facing her is as daunting as walking up to face Cia, although his reasons are different. Against Cia, he was afraid for himself, afraid of her. Against Sablya, he’s afraid to shatter further what’s already so broken, afraid that somehow, he will cross the line of no return. It's not about failing with her, it’s the fact that he already has, and the question of how much worse he’ll make it.

“Your breath is bad enough, do not make it worse with a panic.”

Despite her words, his breath catches in his throat at the sound of her voice.

Her feet tap on the floor as she walks, but there’s a certain hesitance to each step. There's not the usual confidence in her pace, even if she crosses the room at the same speed as she would any other time, as she did just moments before when tending their guests. He risks a glance when the steps stop, and she’s standing in the middle of the room, facing him. He can’t manage to meet her eyes though.

“Armor off, I said. How do I fix the curse if you have it on?” She clucks her tongue, hands settling on her hips and, no doubt, golden eyes are staring down at him. He can feel their weight, but he can’t meet them. “Tch, come now, will you make this hard?”

The urge to remind her that the phrase in Hylian is “being difficult” rises in his mind, but he doesn’t say it. If anything, her attempts at the language are still endearing, even if her tongue is sharp as she says them.

He shifts, moving to shed the offensive attire. He’d forgotten, in the midst of aiding Time with removing his plate, that the mail he wears like a second skin these days was still on him. It’s heavy, yes, but it’s also familiar and grounding after so long wearing it for every waking moment. It’s almost a part of him these days, and shedding it is strange.

It’s strange to be without.

It’s strange having her eyes on him while he does so, even despite the fact that they’re married, that she’s seen him with much, much less. It’s different now though. They’re different. They haven’t been the young, happy couple- the one that stares back from pictures around the room; that smiles, arms around each other- in a very long time. Not since the war started.

He fumbles. Between the uncertainty and the curse that still lingers over him, his hands struggle with the buckles, the straps, never mind getting at the chain mail beneath it all. His hands tremble worse than normal, and even when he stops to master his breath, to try and calm himself, it only makes it worse.

Sablya clucks her tongue at him, and he can hear her hair swish over her shoulders with the shaking of her head, even as her feet tap across the distance between them. She’s moving closer, but that doesn’t change the fact that when she reaches out, hands brushing his arm, he still surges back.

She’s not Cia, she’s not, she’s nothing like. Still, he didn’t expect the contact, the hands, and all over again he must fight to re-steady his breath.

“You will not do this. You are weak; struggling.” He needs help, he hears, and his heart bleeds for it. Despite all, this woman will still stand there and offer aid, after everything he’s put her through, made her lose, all the hurt he’s brought to her life. “Let me.” She sighs.

So, he does. He drops his hands and only moves as she tells him, lifting his arm to let her get at the buckles beneath. In the back of his mind, a memory of her strapping those buckles herself, helping him gird himself for departure, for the war, plays in his head. Then, as now, her eyes had held a certain determination, one mixing with a sadness she refused to speak aloud.

“How you do these things to yourself, I do not know.” She murmurs. It’s not addressed to him specifically as far as he can tell, but he can’t help wincing at it anyway.

Does he answer? Apologize? Does he laugh it off as he might once have done to try and earn one of those wry smiles she would turn on him when they were young? Gods, he speaks like a man long aged, but the years spent courting, teasing, laughing and cheerful, they seem a lifetime ago.

Her hands are steady as they work the buckles, pulling belts free and finally lifting his pauldron away. He doesn’t need the help with his vambraces as badly, but she still moves on to them; his arm rested on her knees as she settles beside him, knee brushing his own and skirts folding over to drape over his legs as well as her own. She doesn’t move, he’s not sure if she notices, but he does. He can’t help but notice.

“Thank you.” He still can’t meet her eyes, and he doubts they will lift from where they work at leather straps. His own linger on her hands, moving deftly through their work. “For helping them.”

“It is the right thing.” She states simply, pulling free the vambrace and reaching for his other hand. She catches him by the wrist, grip fleeting, gone the moment he is where she wants him. “They do not deserve to suffer.”

He, who still sits with the curse heavy on him, perhaps does.

“They are heroes?”

He nods. She would know. He’s not sure how, but this woman isn’t the sort he could hide anything from, not ever. “Across time, yes.”

A nod, sharp. Her eyes remain lowered, but long hair falls over them. The urge to push it back, tuck it behind her ear, wells up within, but he stomps it down again. Chances are, she would welcome his touch as freely as he had hers just moments before, and the risk of it, of her potential rejection... he’s too much a coward to face it.

Silence hangs heavy between them as she removes the vambrace, setting it aside before moving, without stuttering, for his belt. It makes him pause, but he allows it. Lets her work the buckle of the baldric, his great belt, pulling them free and lying them aside. She’s methodic as she moves to aid him with his over tunic, and he lets her pull it free, shifting as he must to accommodate.

The mail is so much harder. He has to stand for that, and she follows after, both working to lift it free in an awkward tangle that would, at one time, have made them laugh together, at each other, at themselves. He would, maybe, have joked something, he can’t remember what, but he can’t. Words catch in his throat with her standing oh so close, determined stare fixed on him, on getting him free from the heavy shirt, and despite all else changing, the way she makes him breathless has not. At last though, it is free, and he’s standing there, defenseless, unarmed, unguarded, before piercing eyes that linger for a moment, hands that, by habit, smooth the shoulders of his shirt before starting away.

He wants to say something. Wants a word to come to him, to pierce the silence that hangs heavy between them. Nothing comes to mind though, only the urge to apologize, again, and again after, for everything. For himself, for his failures, for...until she tells him to stop.

“Sit.” She huffs, pushing back against him with the hand not holding his shed armor. “I will put it away.”

He obeys, sinking back onto the couch, now without the weight the mail brings to weigh him down. Somehow, he feels heavier without it.

She doesn’t take long with the armor. Really, it’s a matter of moving across the room to set it down beside everyone else’s; a mess for the morning once they’ve got the energy and strength to tackle it, or, more likely, do it again to depart and return to their work. He can’t imagine them being welcome past what’s necessary for them to recover, and his house or no, it’s hers as well. He doesn’t want her stuck with them just because they need somewhere to rest, not when the castle isn’t far at all, and he has rooms there already.

Her steps are slow this time as she returns, motions more hesitant as she reclaims the seat at his side. She’s more conscious, he thinks, of how she settles herself, and there is no brushing against each other save as is necessary; only her hand settling over his chest. Her breath is slow, controlled, but it trembles slightly. “Match me.”

It’s hard. It’s so hard. She’s leaning so close, all dark eyes and long lashes and fine features he could look at for an eternity. The slope of her nose, her cheeks, the way red hair curls so softly at the ends to caress dappled skin, the spots of pale flesh interspersed over the dark, it’s got his full focus, and his breath catches repeatedly for it.

“Focus.” She hisses, wincing the words, hand lifting for a moment from where it presses, warm, against his chest.

He tries.

Her chest swells, shoulders tensing, and he draws breath in. Her hair flutters, drawn lines loosening, and he exhales. In and out, matching to her and feeling the familiar weight of her magic ease around him, slipping beneath the curse’s bonds and lifting free, like a small blade cutting away awry stitching, working slowly, pulling, lifting and prying until the weight of it is gone and he’s left sagging back into the cushions, breath heavy despite no effort being required on his part.

Her hands slips away, dragging slightly over fabric.

He should say something.

“You are fixed. Rest now.” She doesn’t say his name. She won’t, he thinks, and golden eyes dart away as she stands, brushing hands down her skirt and moving for the stairs.

He should say something.

“Goodnight.” She says to the darkness in the hall, tone clipped, yet hesitant before she slips away.

His gaze is trapped on the walls, unable to turn to follow her. He needs to answer.

Her feet tap away.

“I love you.”

A stumble, a hitching of breath and then- the creak of the steps, the swish of a skirt, hands that fall heavy on the banister and then a shutting door.

Blonde hair hits the old couch, worn hands dragging through. The weight of the curse was almost better than that of the silence that answers his treacherous words. Words hurt, those that love, but silence pierces ever sharper in answer to them, and devested of his armor, he is but a man before it’s blow.

#sablya #lu warriors #linked universe #linkeduniverse #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump #don't come for me #writing this was a fever dream #they are in control #i cannot control the warriors #or apparently sablya #link x oc

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thechildofbhaalhasawoken · 2 months

Text

The Lakeside

Another new part of the slowburn Cullen x Lavellan series!

“Ellana,” he sighed against her lips, still with his eyes closed. “You are one of a kind.” She leaned back enough to look at his face, and cradled his chiselled jaw in her hands. “Ella,” she said softly. “My family calls me Ella. You can call me Ella, too.” Cullen’s heart filled with warmth as he looked at her beautiful blue eyes. She made him feel included, like he suddenly belonged to something. Something else than work and duty. Now he was part of a small club, mostly consisting of her family, with the exclusive privilege of her nickname. Cullen pulled her back closer to him and pressed his stubbled face against her cheek. “Ella,” he repeated, trying out the shorter name. It felt good.

In this chapter of the series:

Ellana doesn't get Cullen's feeble attempts at getting private time with her, and her friends are there to make fun of her.

Cullen tries again, and manages to whisk her away for a day to a lakeside in Ferelden.

Includes the lakeside scene with Cullen's lucky coin. Canon-compliant but extended.

Lots of sexual tension, fluff, making out, also sex talk, and non-sexual intimacy.

Read here in AO3 (only for registered users)

or you know, enjoy the sexual tension under the cut.

The Lakeside

Words: 7 986. Rating: Teen

Cullen Rutherford leaned forward, grabbed a black pawn piece with his gloved fingers, and moved it three squares forward on the chess board.

“Hmmh,” Ellana Lavellan reacted on the other side of the table. “You’re going to win this one, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Cullen said, looking insufferably smug.

“If I didn’t like your confident smile so much I would find a way to wipe it off your face.”

“I’m glad my win works for both of us.”

Ellana sighed and moved a white tower piece in a feeble attempt to protect the King.

“Go on then,” she leaned back in her chair, and watched Cullen move a piece.

“Checkmate,” he said, and leaned back with a self-satisfied smile.

“Remind me again, why do I keep playing with you?”

“You just said you like me,” Cullen pointed out, the scar on his lip moving with his lopsided smirk.

“I said I like your smile,” Ellana pointed out, matching his smirk.

“Oh, you keep me around only for my looks then?”

“Like we haven’t been spending hours and hours just talking within the last couple of weeks? Are you going to get cocky because of the attention you got in Empress Celene’s ball?”

“You were the shining star of the evening, my dear, not I,” Cullen retorted, his amber eyes betraying his affection.

Ellana felt her insides melt into a warm goo when he called her my dear . It wasn’t long since he had insisted on only calling her Inquisitor , after all.

“But you have still received more letters from Orlesian admirers!” she couldn’t help but giggle.

“They would make excellent kindling if it wasn’t for the scented paper. The smell makes my headaches worse. Nothing good comes from that country,” Cullen mumbled, making Ellana laugh harder.

Cullen’s grumbling was playful, however, and Ellana saw the smile around his eyes. They sat in their chairs facing each other, looking at each other for a while in silence.

Finally Cullen cleared his throat. “Thank you for the game, Ellana. Now I wonder how you are with the second book in the Empire series?”

“I’m almost done! I’ll need the final book of the trilogy very soon,” Ellana replied excitedly.

Cullen swallowed and leaned forward again, placing his elbows on his knees. He seemed to place his words very carefully, speaking in a lower voice. “Do you have some time tonight? I could come and visit you and bring the book to you.”

Ellana waved her hand dismissively. “Oh there’s no hurry, it will take me a couple of days to finish the second part. Besides, I promised to join Bull and some of the others at the Herald’s Rest tonight for a few drinks. Apparently they need an honest tavern night after Halamshiral.”

Cullen’s face fell almost unperceivably. “Ah, I see.”

“But you can bring the book tomorrow to the War Room meeting.”

“Certainly,” Cullen said and they both stood. “Have fun tonight, Inquisitor.”

Later in the evening the tavern door opened, and Cremisius Aclassi walked in. It was easy to spot the group he was looking for - his employer Iron Bull kind of stood out from the crowd. The Inquisitor and Dorian Pavus sat at the table too - the two of them had goblets of wine, Iron Bull a big tankard of ale.

“There you are, Krem! What took you so long?” Iron Bull said loudly as Krem joined them.

“Somebody needed to face Ser Morris and explain our requisitions to him so he won’t think we’re joking next time,” Krem said gruffly. He got the attention of the maid and ordered a tankard of ale.

“Ser Morris is a stuck up, but requisition officers need to be stiff as flag poles,” Iron Bull said. “Otherwise the Inquisition would be bankrupt already.”

“Speaking of stuck ups, the Commander sure seems like a driven guy,” Krem changed the subject.

The Inquisitor cocked her eyebrow at him. “What do you mean?”

“I saw him at the training grounds alone when I was coming this way. Giving a good beat down to a training dummy,” he explained, and took a good gulp of his ale.

Iron Bull nodded appreciatively. “Sounds like a good way to let off some steam. Maybe he has a night off, for once.”

Ellana suddenly froze and blood escaped from her face. “Oh.”

“Lavellan?” Dorian asked, noticing something was wrong.

“Nothing. I just realised something,” she said, staring at her wine goblet.

“Something to do with your dear Commander?” Dorian asked, and all three men around her leaned in with curiosity.

“Well, uh. Maybe.”

“Weeeell?” Dorian prodded her with his elbow.

Lavellan looked up at the three of them with desperation on her face. “I just realised he maybe offered to spend some time with me today, but I blew him off.”

Iron Bull, Krem and Dorian looked at each other, and then back at the woman.

“How did you only realise this now? What kind of circles do you talk around each other?” Iron Bull wondered.

“You haven’t heard those two? It would be painful if it wasn’t so endearing,” Dorian quipped.

“What did the Commander say?” Krem asked.

“We were playing chess after lunch and he offered to come to my room tonight to bring me a book we had been talking about,” Ellana explained.

“And what did you say?” Iron Bull asked next.

“What does it look like I said? I told him I was going drinking with you guys and he could bring me the book tomorrow to the War room meeting,” Ellana said, exasperated with herself.

The three men sat in tense silence around her, until they all suddenly exploded into laughter.

“Oh come on!” she groaned, holding her face in her hands in the middle of her laughing friends.

“Oh sweet Maker,” Dorian wiped the corners of his eyes, still laughing. “You… did you really think he actually wanted to come to your private room because of a book ?”

“Well not anymore I don’t,” they heard her mumbled reply through her hands.

Dorian almost fell from his chair from another fit of laughter.

Iron Bull tried to steady his breathing and gestured at the door. “He’s right there in the training grounds. You could go and ask him about the book!”

The Inquisitor lifted her wine goblet “No I can’t! I’ve had way too many drinks for that!”

“My dear, just think about it,” Dorian painted a picture, “you could have the Commander reading a book out loud to you right about now.”

“In your bed,” Iron Bull snickered like a teenager, “naked.”

“I’m so stupid,” Ellana wailed, burying her face in her hands again. “Believe me, I would have skipped this so easily if I had known what he really meant.”

“What I don’t understand is why you have to make it so difficult? You want him, he clearly wants you. Why couldn’t he just ask if you’re free tonight because he’d like to come to your room and make sweet love to you?” Iron Bull wondered out loud.

“I think it’s so precious that you were playing chess and he used lending you a book as an excuse to see you,” Dorian sighed.

“If you don’t mind me saying, Inquisitor,” Krem said, “but you two are made for each other.”

The Inquisitor blinked at Krem. “Why, uh, thank you Krem, I guess.”

Krem huffed into his ale. “You’re both complete nerds .”

In the morning the Inquisitor felt surprisingly good. She hadn’t stayed for long after her embarrassing realisation, and went to her room nursing a feeble hope of still receiving a handsome visitor. The Commander had not appeared, but at least Ellana had a decent night’s sleep and avoided a hangover.

After breakfast Ellana topped up her tea and carried the mug with her to the War Room. She was a bit early, but she spent the time alone going through her notes for the meeting.

Soon enough the door opened again, and in came Commander Cullen with his long strides and a straight back.

“Good morning,” he said and placed the papers from his hands on the War Table. “Did you have a nice evening?”

“Hmmh. I don’t think it was worth it,” Ellana mumbled.

Cullen smirked at her. “A headache?”

“Thankfully no,” Ellana shook her head and then lowered the teacup from her hands to the table. “About the book…”

“What book?” He seemed oblivious.

“The book you wanted to lend me last night? That I asked you to bring today instead?”

“Oh that book,” Cullen said nonchalantly. “I’m afraid I don’t have it with me now, my apologies.”

“Mmh,” Ellana squinted her eyes at him. “You didn’t actually want to come to see me over a book, did you?”

Cullen paused and looked at her. His amber eyes practically sparkled, and his lips stretched to a lopsided smirk. The look he gave her both infuriated her and made her stomach flutter.

“No,” he admitted.

Ellana groaned and covered her face with her hand.

His mellow laughter only made her regret spending the evening at the tavern rather than with him even more. “When did you figure it out?”

“After a few too many drinks,” she said and let both of her arms hang by her sides, looking at him with a pout. “You could have been a little more clear, you know. I would have happily told the guys to enjoy the evening without me.”

“That is encouraging to hear, but you know very well I’m out of my depth,” Cullen said defensively, but still smiling gently. “I need my excuses.”

“I don’t know about that,” Ellana mumbled just as the door opened again, and Leliana and Josephine came in to start the morning’s meeting.

Later in the afternoon, Ellana did her usual rounds around Skyhold, and winded up at the door of Cullen’s office, as she did every day. The doors were open, and the man was sitting at his desk, writing something.

“Ma vhenan,” Ellana said in a low, soft tone from the door, and stepped in.

“There you are!” Cullen looked up at her and stood up immediately.

Ellana stopped in the middle of his office, horrified that she had forgotten something. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Yes - I mean no,” Cullen stammered.

Ellana took the few steps remaining to the side of his desk, and looked at him in confusion. “Which is it?”

“There’s something I wanted to ask you,” he finally said, and looked around to see if someone else was entering the revolving door that was his office.

Ellana also looked around, and seeing as no one else was around, she sat on the corner of his desk.

“We have some dealings in Ferelden. I was hoping you might accompany me,” Cullen explained.

“Is something wrong? You didn’t mention this in the meeting today,” Ellana said worriedly, thinking that it must be something big if both the Commander and the Inquisitor were needed.

“What? No! It’s nothing to concern Leliana or Josephine with. I would rather explain there, if you wish to go,” Cullen said. He seemed a bit antsy, and Ellana wondered if it was his endearing bumbling around her and their relationship, or if she should be worried.

“When should we go?”

“Is tomorrow alright? I can arrange it on any day that suits you. We would need to leave in the morning, but we’d be back in Skyhold in the evening,” Cullen said.

Ellana squinted at him with suspicion. “Tomorrow is fine, but what is this about? Come on, tell me.” She reached for his cloak and tugged on the fabric needily.

Cullen took her wrist and shook his head, chucking at her. “No. You’ll have to wait. I’ll make the necessary arrangements so we can leave tomorrow morning.” He placed a kiss on her knuckles, looking at her from under his brow before letting her hand go. It made Ellana melt and give up. He was learning to handle her too well, she thought.

“Fine. Tomorrow morning then. What about tonight?”

“What about tonight?” Cullen asked as he returned to his seat at the desk.

“What are you doing tonight?” Ellana spelled it out for him.

“Ah, I’m afraid I have to work late tonight so we can ride out for the entire day tomorrow,” he said apologetically.

“Oh alright then. Be like that,” Ellana said, stood up and stepped to his side to lean over and press a kiss on his temple. “Remember to eat.”

“I will,” Cullen said obediently.

Ellana’s fingers ran through his hair at his neck as she walked past him to leave, and she looked over her shoulder at him with a cheeky smile as she walked out of the door. Cullen picked up the pen to resume work, but a warm smile played on his lips for a long time after she was gone. Nothing felt quite as good as receiving Ellana’s small shows of affection.

“Where are you going and why am I not coming with you?” Dorian asked sharply as he approached Inquisitor Lavellan who was pulling on her coat outside the Stables of Skyhold.

“Well good morning to you too, grumpy face,” Ellana told him in an amused voice.

A young stable hand brought out her horse and made sure the saddle and the bags were fastened properly.

“I am grumpy because you’re leaving me behind,” Dorian said and pouted. “Where are you going?”

“I have no idea, to be honest,” Ellana said, pulling on her gloves. “Apparently a day trip to somewhere in Ferelden. We’ll be back in the evening.”

“We? Who’s we?” Dorian asked.

Right on cue, Commander Cullen appeared from the stairs from the battlements while discussing with Captain Clark, a young but very promising officer the Inquisitor recognised.

“I’ll take point, Commander, and Lieutenant Kern will secure the rear. You and the Inquisitor will ride in the middle until our destination, where we’ll scout and secure the area before splitting up,” the young Captain was saying.

“Very good, Captain. Let’s get going so as not to waste daylight,” Cullen said.

“Inquisitor, Master Pavus,” the Captain greeted stiffly before walking off to get his men in order.

“Good morning,” Cullen greeted Dorian and Ellana, and asked the latter, “Are you ready to go?”

Ellana felt like giving him a kiss as a greeting, but stopped herself just in time. She had come to feel quite at home with him, but realised they weren’t yet at that kind of public relationship status. “Ready for anything, Commander.”

Dorian, however, looked from one to the other. “What’s going on?”

“I’m riding out with the Inquisitor for a change,” Cullen said, sounding rather pleased with himself. A stable hand brought out his horse as well. He took the reins and patted the horse on its neck.

“I see. Are you going to take her to meet your mother?” Dorian asked, his irritable voice turning a bit amused now as he crossed his arms on his chest.

“Not quite,” Cullen said, and added to Ellana, “don’t worry.”

“Fine. Go then, you crazy kids. But treat her well! And bring her back home before dark,” Dorian adopted a fatherly voice.

Laughing, Ellana kissed Dorian on the cheek as a goodbye.

Cullen and Ellana both got up in their saddles, and the Inquisition soldiers who were accompanying them also mounted their rides and they all rode out.

They spent the entire morning on horseback making good pace riding east. Ellana still had no idea where they were going and for what, but she had noticed a couple of things on the way.

First of all Cullen seemed to be in a good mood and quite talkative. While riding side by side, they talked about the obvious: Halamshiral, since they had returned from there only a couple of days ago. But their comfortable discussions ranged all kinds of subjects, and made Ellana feel warm and happy in Cullen’s company.

Secondly Cullen did not seem to be in charge, despite outranking all the other Inquisition soldiers quite obviously. It looked like Captain Clark was in charge. For something as standard as riding somewhere for an apparently routine operation the Commander of the Inquisition was not needed at all, so it certainly made Ellana wonder, but it was nice to see him relax and enjoy the outdoors.

Eventually Captain Clark motioned for them to halt, and for his team to ride forward. Cullen and Ellana halted and dismounted their horses.

“Let’s wait for a moment. This is good training for the new recruits that we have with us today,” Cullen said, standing by his horse and holding its reins in his gloved hand.

“Where are we?” Ellana asked, looking around for clues.

“We’ve arrived, but the men will make sure there are no nasty surprises. Our scout reports from the area have stated that there should be no rifts here.”

Ellana’s keen eyes followed the Inquisition soldiers closely. Everyone else seemed to know exactly what was going on and what to do, but she had no clue.

“Clear!” came the shout from somewhere they did not see. It was followed by a few others of the same kind, and soon Captain Clark rode back to meet them.

“Commander, the area is secure as expected. With your permission, ser, we’ll ride on and rendezvous later in this same spot.”

“Very good, Captain. Good luck. The Mayor of the village will be pleased to see you. Rendezvous in four hours,” Cullen told the Captain.

“Yes ser. Enjoy your afternoon, ser,” the Captain said with the first smile Ellana had seen from the young man all day, and he rode off.

The Inquisition soldiers mounted their horses and left, continuing along the same road they had arrived. Ellana turned to look at Cullen with raised eyebrows, and the man gestured to her to follow.

They walked their horses along a path under the hanging branches of old willow trees. The trees soon gave way to a clearing that opened to a lake. There was a small shack and in front of it a fire pit. There was a shelter that held a few logs that could be made into firewood, and the lake had an old pier but no boat.

“It’s beautiful here,” Ellana said out loud after she had taken it in.

“I’m glad you like it,” Cullen said as he led his horse to drink from the lake. Ellana followed his example.

They left the horses and Cullen took Ellana to the pier on the lake.

“Where are we?” she asked again hoping to actually get an answer this time.

Cullen walked a few steps in front of her and finally stopped at the end of the pier. The lake was calm save for a few birds flying off. Water lilies floated on the surface of the lake that reflected the cumulus clouds in the sky. It was overcast, but it didn’t look like it would rain.

“I saw how heavily the Winter Palace weighed on you, and how exhausted you were when we could finally leave,” Cullen said. “You walk into danger every day. I wanted to take you away from that, if only for an afternoon.”

“Oh Cullen,” Ellana said softly, touched by his sentiment. “Up until a moment ago I thought there was some work for us to do. But you really arranged some actual time off for us.”

“I did. I hope it’s alright,” Cullen said quietly.

“More than alright. Thank you. It really does feel good to be out in nature.”

Cullen looked pleased and his shoulders visibly relaxed. He leaned against the tall post at the end of the pier and crossed his ankles. When he spoke, he too sounded like he truly enjoyed the peaceful lake.

“I grew up not far from here. This place was always quiet.”

“Did you come here often?”

“I loved my siblings but they were very loud,” he said, his eyes glazing over for a moment as he was taken by childhood memories. “I would come here to clear my head. Of course they always found me eventually.”

Ellana watched Cullen’s face. He looked peaceful, with a smile not on his lips but around his eyes. “You were happy here.”

“I was,” he admitted and turned to look at her. “I still am.”

Encouraged by his affectionate look, Ellana took a step closer, close enough to brush her arm against his. “While we’re here, you have me all to yourself.”

This time the smile reached his lips, too, and he cocked an eyebrow at her. “The thought may have crossed my mind.”

He pushed himself off the post enough to wrap one arm around her lower back and give her a gentle kiss. She melted into his touch and into the kiss. When it broke they pulled away slowly, looking into each other's eyes with soft smiles.

After a moment of enjoying the peace and quiet, and each other’s company, Cullen continued reminiscing.

“The last time I was here was the day I left for Templar training. My brother gave me this,” he said and took out a small silver coin with Andraste’s symbol minted on it. “It just happened to be in his pocket but he said it was for luck. Templars are not supposed to carry such things, our faith should see us through.”

Ellana looked at the coin on his palm, and imagined Cullen treasuring it as his only secret possession, all through his teenage years to a young man to the seasoned veteran and General of an army standing next to her now. She knew that despite leaving the Templar Order, Cullen still owned very little of his own.

“A little luck can’t hurt every now and then,” she said.

“I suppose not. I should have died during the Blight, or at Kirkwall, or Haven, take your pick. And yet I made it back here.” Cullen picked up the coin between his index finger and thumb.

“Humor me,” he said, took her hand and placed the coin into her palm. “We don’t know what you’ll face before the end. This can’t hurt.”

Ellana looked down at the coin. She felt her heart palpitate. He was giving his most treasured keepsake to her? This means a lot to him , she realised, and closed her hand around the coin. I mean a lot to him.

“I’ll keep it safe,” she said and looked up into his eyes.

“Good,” he said in a low voice and moved to embrace her. He pulled her close to him and placed a kiss on her hairline. “I know it’s foolish but I’m glad,” he mumbled into her hair.

Ellana made sure to carefully put the coin into a pocket and then reached her hands up over the fur mantle up to his neck. She nuzzled her nose against his hard jawline, then his stubbled cheek. Their lips met for a slow kiss before they continued nuzzling their noses together, and finally Ellana buried her face against the side of his neck in a close embrace.

They had gotten to know each other slowly, and they had been through a lot already, but they had not been more intimate together than this. But she knew that this was her man. Her partner. Her loved one. For the rest of her days - be it ten days or a hundred years. With unspoken love aching her heart, she inhaled his scent and enjoyed his proximity.

Once Cullen and Ellana returned to shore from the pier, Cullen proceeded to remove his fur mantle and the coat that covered his steel cuirass.

“Now? Are we going to go for it now?” Ellana said with a grin and mimed urgently opening the clasps of her coat.

“No, Andraste’s mercy, no,” Cullen said with a reddening face, throwing his hands up. “I mean, not that I wouldn’t want to, it’s just that I was only going to…”

“It’s fine, I’m just teasing you! You’re an easy target, sometimes, I’m sorry,” Ellana said laughing, leaving her coat on.

“I’m sorry, I really… I would, but… not what I had in mind right now,” he said and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

Ellana came to him and touched his arms gently. “What did you have in mind?”

“I was going to take my armour off, yes, because I’d like to chop some firewood,” he explained. “I happen to enjoy chopping firewood, but it’s not very comfortable with full armour on.”

“I understand. Can I help you?” Ellana offered, and turned his hand around in hers, searching for the clasps for his gauntlets and pauldrons.

Cullen smiled at her softly with relief washing over him as she was once again so patient with him. “You can, if you like. You don’t wear heavy armour yourself and I suppose your people don't use anything as clunky as this?”

“No. It’s noisy and it slows us down. I can’t understand how you can move so naturally wearing this, it must weigh dozens of pounds,” she said and managed to get both of his gauntlets off.

“I’ve been wearing heavier armour than this for almost fifteen years. The pauldrons are attached here,” Cullen pointed to the correct place, and let the curious woman find out for herself. He enjoyed having her so close, watching her beautiful features bunch up in concentration.

Cullen felt a sting of conscience. They had been in a relationship for a long time now, but they still hadn’t slept together, despite the obvious attraction. Ellana hadn’t shown signs of being frustrated, but that’s the way she was. Understanding, patient, kind. And now she had been joking about it… This would be an opportune time for them to enjoy each other. They had the afternoon to themselves and it was very unlikely they would be interrupted.

He wanted her. He yearned for her. He had for weeks - for months, if he was honest. But somehow he couldn’t make himself go to her room in the evenings in Skyhold. Somehow he couldn’t ask her to come to his. He was afraid. He had never been in a relationship before, and now that he finally could have one, he was too afraid to make it happen. He came to realise, with Ellana only inches away from him, her fingers working on his body taking off the pauldrons one at a time, that he was afraid to love her because he was afraid to lose her. He had been hurting for so long. Now he had something beautiful in his life - something that eased the pain, and made him look forward to the future. The pain he would feel if he lost her would finally kill him, one way or another. He was certain.

“Joking aside,” Ellana said as she placed the pauldrons down to the ground and straightened up to continue with his cuirass. “If you don’t mind me asking… Let me, shoo,” she swatted Cullen’s hands away and found the next buckles by his sides and underneath his armpits.

“About why I am so slow with you?” Cullen voiced the thoughts in both of their minds with a weary sigh, and spread his arms to his sides to give her room to work. Better to face the question together, he decided.

“Well, um, yes. I don’t mind, but I thought if there was something I should know…” Ellana looked up at him after she had undone his left side.

“No, not really. Nothing to worry about,” Cullen soothed her fears away, and gently stroked the tops of her arms with his hands. “I’m just a slow, broken man. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, Cullen,” she said and moved to work on the right side of the cuirass. “It just occurred to me that there might be a religious reason, but you did say you haven’t taken any vows like that. Or if you haven’t, you know… before…”

“Maker’s breath, I’m not inexperienced,” Cullen said quickly, desperate not to have her think him a virgin of all things. “But I can see why you would think that. I am inexperienced in relationships, I’ll admit that much. I’ve never been in a relationship with anyone.”

“Not until now,” Ellana grinned up at him, and Cullen felt a wave of warmth wash over him. It left him smiling at her, and was happy to receive a quick kiss on the lips when she got the buckles of his cuirass open. “Is that it? Does this go over your head?”

“Yes, watch out,” Cullen said, grabbed the front of the cuirass, and lifted it over his head. Underneath he wore a black jerkin, which he also took off, leaving him wearing his boots, black trousers and a white loose undershirt. He set everything aside in a neat pile.

“So how does that work? Being a Templar you can’t really have a relationship but sharing bunks still happens?” Ellana asked with honest curiosity.

She looked him over - she still hadn’t seen him without his uniform and armour very often. He was a handsome sight - broad shouldered, trim waisted, his arms thick with muscle. His shirt was tucked into his trousers, so it gave her a great view of his powerful legs, his delightful behind and also his… front. Which was also a delightful thought to Ellana, especially given the subject they were discussing.

“Something like that,” Cullen said. “Relations between mages and Templars are prohibited. A Templar's actions can’t be clouded by personal feelings if the worst happens. Fraternising within the Order is frowned upon, so whatever happens, happens in secret. In, um, training camps in the woods. Or relieving watch duties in more ways than one,” he listed, and Ellana saw his neck turn a dark shade of pink. “Or there might be, um, opportunities with outsiders. Brothels or simply personal encounters. Some people seem to really like a uniform,” he added. By the way he was flustering and avoiding her eyes, Ellana realised he was likely listing his own experiences.

“It didn’t happen a lot, but it did happen,” Cullen shrugged.

“I think I understand,” Ellana said softly, and thought it might be fair to hint at her own experience. “It all sounds a lot more complicated than frolicking out in the woods. I never, um, sampled among my own clan, so to speak. The boys in my clan felt like brothers to me. But I’ve had my opportunities outside my clan.”

Cullen nodded slowly, but did not dare to ask for more details. It was enough for him to know that she, too, had experience but he couldn’t bring himself to think of her with anyone else.

Ellana thought Cullen had been uncomfortable long enough. “I’m sorry. Perhaps not the best subject of discussion for today.”

“No, I’m glad you brought this up,” Cullen said quickly. “I can’t imagine what strange signals I’ve been giving you.”

“At least the signals have all been confirming that this is a thing. Us. We’re a thing,” Ellana said, pointing at the two of them.

“Very much a thing,” he agreed, but then he took a breath and changed the subject. “It’s time for me to confess something.”

Ellana froze in place - what had she missed? “Oh? Is something wrong?”

“No, not exactly. I thought I’d chop firewood and build a fire so we can have lunch together. But I have to confess - I can’t cook to save my life.”

Ellana stared at the man for a heart beat before she suddenly burst into laughter. She placed a hand on Cullen’s chest as she leaned forward laughing. “Cullen! I thought you were continuing with the same subject!”

Cullen chuckled, took her hand and placed his other hand on her hip, almost like a dancing position. “What did you think I was going to confess? That I’m a eunuch now?”

“No! I don’t know!” Ellana laughed, feeling comfortable and happy being held by him. The discussion had cleared the air and eased her mind.

“I assure you, my lady, I’m very much not a eunuch,” he said in a low, rumbling voice and kissed the ear of the giggling woman in her arms.

Ellana, trying to squirm away from the tickling kisses, suddenly realised this was the first time she felt him without his armour on - and the man was pressing against her purposefully to make his point. Creators , his body felt incredible - warm like a steel cuirass could never be, hard with muscle, his shape unfamiliar to her after all those times spent sharing kisses with him always wearing the blasted armour. Ellana’s giggles quickly turned into a muffled low moan against the side of his neck as she ran her hands up his sides and then down his back, feeling his broad shape that narrowed from his shoulders to his waist. He pressed against her, his arms surrounding her like they never had before. Now only warm flesh and muscle and cloth, no steel or leather or fur between them. She felt his body flush against hers, and she felt his groin against her hip. No eunuch indeed. If Ellana had wanted him before, now her insides burned with desire for him.

Cullen breathed in her scent, feeling her silky hair against his cheek as he held her as close as he could. Closer than he ever had. He had been dreaming of feeling the feminine shape of her body against his for a long time now. He knew the curve of her waist from earlier embraces, but the sudden intimacy of only being separated by a couple of layers of cloth was overwhelming. His breath hitched in his throat and his heart pounded in his chest desperately, and he wrapped his arms around her tighter, like he never wanted to let her go. She was so warm, and so soft. Her hands exploring his body felt incredible.

Cullen couldn’t help but search for her lips and cover her mouth in a ravenous kiss that had her let out yet another muffled moan. He felt her melt in his arms, he felt her push herself against himself. She wanted him. And Maker, he wanted her. It would be so easy to just take his shirt off, lay her on the grass beyond the firepit, kiss every inch of her skin as he stripped her one piece of clothing at a time, and make love to her right here.

He certainly made the point of his joke of not being a eunuch. When he finally caught himself, he was already fully erect in his trousers, and she had certainly felt it against her hip.

“What I was going to say was…” Cullen broke the kiss and panted against her lips.

“Are you going to talk about cooking now?” Ellana groaned. Quickly she lifted her arms to wrap around his neck and made him duck down for more heated kissing. Her tongue swiped at his lips and slid against his tongue as she kept her body pressed against his.

Cullen was inches from losing control. His hands came down to grab her ass, and Maker, what a fine ass it was, he thought. He lifted her up in the air to carry her without breaking the kiss. He immediately regretted the move, because Ellana promptly, and very naturally, wrapped her legs around his thighs. He almost growled into the kiss, trying to resist her temptation. Blindly he walked forward slowly carrying her, their bodies wrapped around each other, until he reached the side of the firepit. Cullen carefully leaned forward and set the woman sitting on the fallen log next to the firepit.

“There,” Cullen said as the hungry kiss finally broke. Both of them were breathing hard and their lips were pink and swollen from the suckling kisses. He took a step back before he could change his mind, leaving Ellana sitting there with a stupefied look on her face.

“I’m going to make firewood,” he said, catching his breath. “And you, beautiful, are going to find out what the Skyhold kitchens have packed us for lunch. Because as I said, I can’t cook to save my life.”

“Creators, you have the discipline of an entire army of Templars,” Ellana sighed as he turned to walk away to pick up an axe. She saw - and had felt - the bulge in his trousers as he turned away.

Ellana sat where Cullen had left her, following the man with her eyes. He was so handsome. No, Ellana thought, not only handsome. He was hot as embers. The black leather boots and the black trousers were a snug fit, and watching him go did nothing ease the desire in Ellana’s stomach.

“So, food,” Ellana’s brain fogged with lust finally caught up.

With the axe Cullen walked back across the lakeside, smiling and shaking his head at Ellana.

“I believe the saddlebags on your horse should be packed with our lunch,” Cullen said helpfully. He struck the axe into a piece of wood and began carrying sawed off pieces of tree trunks to be chopped into kindling and firewood.

Ellana watched him work for a short while. Cullen was impressive and very strong, and his thick biceps hard at work showed through the loose sleeves of the shirt. Finally Ellana felt like her legs could carry her, and she stood to search the saddlebags.

Cullen judged the time and decided to add one more log to the fire. They still had some time left before they needed to head back. Ellana sat next to him near the fire on the picnic rug she had found in one of the saddlebags. She was packing away the leftovers from their lunch - and it was no wonder. The Skyhold kitchens had packed enough food for at least four people, and the two of them were stuffed.

Cullen watched her work, much the same way he had watched her take off his armour. With loving eyes, drinking in the sight of her when she was concentrating on something else. Ellana was humming some tune he was unfamiliar with. The Inquisitor had developed a crease between her eyebrows, but now it was gone. The woman next to him looked relaxed and content, humming away as she wrapped the rest of the cheese and the Orlesian levain bread into brown paper. The domestic normality of what they were doing warmed Cullen’s heart, and made him very happy that he had managed to pull this off.

“You’re staring at me,” Ellana said, and only then lifted her eyes to look at him.

“I can’t help it,” Cullen said unapologetically, and leaned back against the tree trunk that served as seating around the firepit. “You look lovely.”

“I thought I had cheese on my face. The Orlesian one was runny, and too strong,” Ellana said, scrunching her nose. Cullen thought it made her look even cuter.

“I agree. The Fereldan smoked ham, however,” he said and closed his eyes, touching his thumb and fingers together in a gesture of appreciation.

“I knew this wasn’t just for me,” Ellana laughed, “this was also about my grumpy Fereldan Commander escaping the Orlesian court.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Cullen complained, grumpily.

“Uhhuh. Not grumpy at all, vhenan,” Ellana smirked at him. “Now excuse me a moment.”

Cullen watched her get up, then swatted her hand away as she ruffled his hair - but his hair had come undone anyway when he had been chopping firewood - and watched her walk away to the woods.

While she was relieving herself, Cullen lounged by the fire with his fingers crossed on his stomach, his back against the log and his legs long towards the fire. He was warm, and content, and happy. His thoughts were racing forward, thinking of how they would arrive back to Skyhold late in the evening. Perhaps he would help Ellana dismount from her horse. Perhaps he would keep holding her hand and walk her to his office, lock the doors and embrace her like he had embraced her earlier today. Only this time he wouldn’t break it off. This time he would ask her to stay the night.

He was startled from his thoughts by shapely thighs suddenly surrounding his head as Ellana sat on the log behind him.

“Where did you come from?!” he demanded, leaning forward and looking at her over his shoulder.

“I’m… sorry? Did I scare you?” Ellana asked, stifling a laughter.

“You did. I shouldn’t be surprised that you don’t make a sound moving in nature,” Cullen breathed with his hand on his chest.

“It’s second nature. I don’t want to startle the wildlife or attract the attention of shemlen. Except you,” Ellana said, and touched his shoulders with her hands. “You I do want to attract.”

Ellana pulled him back to lean against the log, to sit between her legs.

“Like a moth to a fire,” Cullen sighed and settled back to a comfortable seat.

“Or a bee to a flower. A much less sinister metaphor,” Ellana suggested, and began to knead his shoulders with her palms.

“No, you don’t need to, hmmmm,” Cullen tried to tell her she didn’t need to feel like she needed to do him a favour, but his words melted away.

“How come I’m not surprised your shoulders are tight as bow strings,” Ellana said in a low voice.

Cullen couldn’t reply, his eyes had already drooped shut as Ellana used her palms to warm the tense muscles of his shoulders and neck. She pulled a little on the neckline of his shirt to reveal more skin. She noticed that there was a nasty looking but healed slash scar on his right collarbone and magical burn scarring on his left shoulder. She had a feeling he had many other scars hidden underneath his clothes. Someday soon she would kiss his scars, she decided. Every one of them.

Cullen didn’t remember that anyone would have ever rubbed his shoulders before, at least not like this. Ellana first warmed his muscles and skin enough to loosen his tendons a little, and now seemed to change tactics. She began using a bit more force. He squeezed his eyes shut and hissed between his teeth.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” he heard Ellana’s voice, but he shook his head wordlessly and let her continue.

Cullen felt like he melted under her hands, and his head lolled forward, drooping down. Her hands were surprisingly powerful and firm and warm, and she seemed to know exactly what she was doing. Cullen realised he must have lost sense of time, and he caught himself groaning as her hands felt particularly good on the sides of his neck.

“Maker,” he breathed. “Where have you learned this?”

He felt Ellana lean closer to him, and press a kiss into his hair. “My mother. She’s been helping the clan’s midwife and healer, and is pretty good with things like this. Does it feel good?”

“It feels incredible,” Cullen mumbled, quite unable to open his eyes yet.

But he didn’t need to. Ellana’s fingers moved from his shoulders to his neck and then to his scalp. She ran her fingers through his hair, stroking the unruly waves gently. She then placed her fingertips more firmly against his scalp and began to massage his head, slowly and deliberately.

Cullen’s body had relaxed with the neck rub, and his heart had melted with her stroking his hair. How stupidly good something as simple as that felt. He had been alone for a long, long time.

But this, her rubbing his scalp? This was almost orgasmic. He let himself lean against her, his head against her chest, his arm slung around her leg. He had never experienced intimacy like this. It was an overwhelming feeling to be able to let his guard down and relax. He felt safe, and he felt cared for. He felt… loved? He wasn’t sure if that was the right word, but his own heart certainly was full of affection and, Maker help him, love for the woman taking such good care of him. This kind of closeness and intimacy was better than sex. Then again, he had never made love to her. Not yet. Perhaps that would be better than this. It remained to be seen.

After a while, Ellana’s fingers slowed and eased to stroking his hair again. Cullen kept his eyes closed and head leaned back against her chest. He felt her soft kisses all over his face, and he murmured something unintelligible.

“Hmm?” Ellana’s question was a soft sound he felt against his brow from her lips.

“Come here,” he mumbled, and reached back to pull her down.

Laughing a little, Ellana let him pull her off the log she was sitting on, and into his lap so that she sat sideways between his thighs, her legs to one side. Cullen didn’t wait at all, but covered her mouth with a languid kiss as soft as his whole body felt like.

“Ellana,” he sighed against her lips, still with his eyes closed. “You are one of a kind.”

She leaned back enough to look at his face, and cradled his chiselled jaw in her hands. “Ella,” she said softly. “My family calls me Ella. You can call me Ella, too.”

Cullen’s heart filled with warmth as he looked at her beautiful blue eyes. She made him feel included, like he suddenly belonged to something. Something else than work and duty. Now he was part of a small club, mostly consisting of her family, with the exclusive privilege of her nickname. Cullen pulled her back closer to him and pressed his stubbled face against her cheek.

“Ella,” he repeated, trying out the shorter name. It felt good.

All too soon the lovers had to untangle from each other, put out the fire, put on Cullen’s heavy armour again and pack away their things to the saddlebags. They met with the Inquisition soldiers and Captain Clark, who told them that their routine mission had gone well and the Inquisition had another foothold in Ferelden.

They arrived back to Skyhold at dusk, and Cullen, with his heart full, did exactly as he had planned. He dismounted from his horse first, strode to the Inquisitor’s horse and helped her down.

As the stablehands took their horses and the Inquisition soldiers went through their routines around them, Cullen held Ellana’s gaze and her hand. “Walk with me?”

Ellana, who was molten wax in his hands, smiled and nodded.

Cullen tucked her hand around his arm and walked with her towards the stairs that lead up to the battlements. They talked together in low voices about sweet nothings as they strolled towards his office, just as he had planned.

As they neared his tower, a messenger and an Inquisition Lieutenant ran up to him from his office - and Cullen knew immediately his chance was gone. He let go of Ellana’s hand as they halted to a stand in the battlements.

“Commander! You’re back!” the Lieutenant blurted.

“There has been an incident in the Western Approach!” the messenger said urgently and handed him a missive.

“And there has been a confrontation between some mages and a Templar in the barracks,” the Lieutenant added.

Cullen turned to Ellana. “I’m so sorry, I-”

“I know. Go,” Ellana said softly, and touched his arm affectionately. “Thank you for the day, Cullen.”

The man stood there looking at her for a few heartbeats, until he clenched his jaw and bowed his head to her. “Inquisitor.”

Then he walked away to his duty, opening the missive in his hands as he did, with the soldier and messenger at his heel.

Ellana remained standing at the battlements for a while, until she turned and walked back to her own tower alone.

#cullen fluff #yes there is a mention of the bulge #because we're getting actual smut in the next chapter #nah but srsly #dude needs a shoulder massage #i should calm down #cullen romance #cullen rutherford #dragon age inquisition #cullen x lavellan #inquisitor lavellan #commander cullen #dorian pavus #iron bull #cremisius aclassi #cullen's lucky coin

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