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familyvideostevie · 6 months

Text

the meaning of it all

joel miller x reader

summary: Joel Miller, of all people, teaches you to ask for help.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: jackson au, post part i, joel and ellie worked it out! joel is soft! language, violence, fluff, learning to accept help and love.

a/n: this fic is a soft joel (think part ii joel but make it two years into jackson because he and ellie resolved everything <3) and a reader who is much more me than i've written before. i hope you like it! thank you again to @strangerfreaks who held my hand through this, i owe you my life.

___

Luck. God damned old-fashioned thank-fuck-for-that luck has kept you alive since the world ended. Deep festering rage and a near-constant state of fear have helped. But every bullet you've found, every undamaged can of food, every shot that landed in the right place so you were the last one standing -- that's all luck. Or a curse, depending on the day. Depending on how you're feeling about it all.

And Jackson? That's the biggest stroke of luck you've had in twenty years. A single woman on her own with plenty of working years left and no obvious red flags was probably a no-brainer for the community to take in but you feel like you've finally made it. After two decades of violence and horror and pain, you fucking made it somewhere safe.

You spend as much time as you can making sure everyone knows how grateful you are. You don't have any special skills, not really. You can shoot well enough, cook well enough, clean well enough. Young enough when all the shit went down that you don't have a trade or any work experience, you just go wherever they need someone in town.

Keeping busy means you're bone-tired most nights. Exhausted sleep means fewer nightmares, less time to wander the halls of your very nice but much too-big-for-you-home and miss everything you've lost. But picking up shifts wherever you can also means you don't meet many people beyond hellos and exchanging names. Farming is easy and you get to work with a lot of the kids in town, daycare much the same. You're lousy with power tools but you're able to carry materials wherever they're needed. Cooking is easy when it's stew for hundreds of people and doing dishes is even fun when someone turns on the radio. You're making it work.

Patrol is...patrol. You're able, so you're on the roster. It's not that you hate it, not exactly. Going outside the walls makes you feel like you're someone else. You slip back into the mask of fear and anger, the one that kept you alive for so long. And the worst part is it's comfortable.

You've done the training runs, the group patrols for three months. Infected still freak you out a little but you're smart enough to be more scared of people. All of the senior patrol members have cleared you for paired patrols and today is your first one.

Tommy meets you at the stables to check-in.

You don't really have any friends, though everyone is perfectly nice to you, but Tommy and Maria are probably as close as it gets. You figure they take a shine to newcomers like you, ones who come in alone, maybe to keep an eye on them as much as anything else. But they've both got a smile and kind word for you whenever you see them, always asking if you need anything. You always tell them no, you're fine, thank you.

"You ready?" Tommy says. "I've had them pull Apollo for you." You pat yourself one more time to make sure you have everything. Pistol on your thigh, knife at your hip, pack secure on your back. Hat and gloves tucked into your jacket pocket to account for the wind on the trails.

"I think so," you tell him. You blow a raspberry at your horse and he blows back, nudging your shoulder with his nose.

"After this, pretty sure you'll have done every job there is to do in this town. Pullin' crops, plantin' crops, cookin' crops. Kids, the library, cleanin', buildin' that ramp at Lenore's last month. You've been here, what, six months? And you've done it all."

It should make you feel good that he's noticed. It does, but only a little. You still feel like you could work every day for the rest of your life and not repay what he and this town have given you. To make up for the things you've done on the road.

"I'm the best floater in Jackson," you joke instead. Smiling makes people like you. You haven't had much cause to smile in recent years so you're still getting used to the urge. Tommy scoffs. "I don't do important council stuff like you and Maria, though."

He ignores that. "Y'know, pretty sure they call that a jack-of-all-trades. A real Ren-ai-ssance woman." You try to come up with a retort, eyes wandering to the patrol assignment board. Your name is under ELK CREEK and under it is --

"Quit harassin' her." Tommy rolls his eyes and flips off whoever comes up behind you. You turn around and see a man you know of but have never actually met.

"Joel," Tommy says. "I believe this is called havin' a conversation. You ever tried it?"

"Funny," Joel replies. He nods at you. "You my partner today?"

"Seems so." You introduce yourself, Apollo's warm breath at your back.

"Joel Miller," he says back.

You're a little intimidated, truth be told. You know him by reputation mostly. Tommy's big brother who came to town a few years ago with a little girl. They're both pretty much everywhere. Joel fixing houses and talking to kids in the street, going on patrols and always bringing back extra for whoever needs it. Ellie galloping around town with other teenagers and bringing home the biggest game. You've handed her books a few times at the library, too, seen her bright eyes and infectious energy underneath teenage angst that transcends even an apocalypse. And you've seen them together, heads down in the dining hall or pressed closed walking down the street -- heard rumors about why they came here, how they came here, too -- and one thing is clear to you: the Millers are beloved. By this town and by each other.

It's a miracle all its own in this fucked up world.

"You two ain't met yet?" Tommy says, pointing at the space between you. You snap out of your thoughts. "You've been here long enough to have met everyone by now."

"Guess not," you say with a wry smile. The younger Miller is too polite to call you out for not having a single friend in that time period, either.

"Well, here we are," Joel says. "Gonna keep us here forever, Tommy? Or can we do our job?"

Tommy claps him on the shoulder and winks at you. "Tone down the asshole for her first paired patrol, yeah?"

Joel snorts. He grabs a horse that was already tacked for him and leads it out of the stable. You follow with Apollo. The patrol coordinator hands out rifles and reminds everyone of the rules.

You hop on your horse. "You ready?" Joel asks, startling you a bit. "We'll gallop to the mouth of the river and then start patrollin'."

Something in you relaxes a bit at his clear confidence in you to handle yourself. You know you're with him for a reason -- he's one of the best. That, or maybe he just doesn't give a shit. Somehow you think it's the former.

You follow him up the hill outside the gates and through the tree line. The noise of the Outside is different than that of Jackson. Birdsong, snapping branches and dry brush under your horse, the wind rippling down the hill. You take a deep breath through your nose and feel a part of you come alive. It's funny how a world so beautiful can be so deadly.

Joel gallops a little ahead of you, strong and steady. You watch him, think about what you know. He's older than you, that much is obvious. Greying hair curling around his ears, lines on his face from more than just a stressful life. But he's strong, good at what he does. Those rumors come back to the front of your mind. How he and Ellie showed up, half-starved and bloody. How he and Tommy are the most famed patrol duo for Infected kills and otherwise. It makes you feel safe. It makes you want to learn from him. It makes you want to know more.

And he's got kind eyes. Somehow, he's got kind eyes.

"Alright," Joel calls back to you. "Route starts here." He slows his horse and you pull up beside him. He shifts in his saddle and turns his face to you. "Now, I know this is your first pair," he says. "I won't order you around or nothin' but my main piece of advice is that everyone has a different patrol style. Know how to adapt."

You dig your gloves out of your pockets and wiggle them on. Joel watches before his eyes snap back to yours. "Noted." You honestly didn't think he'd talk this much. "And let me guess. Yours is patrol in silence?" You punctuate the nervous quip with a smile.

Joel snorts. "Nah," he says. "Unless you're Max. Can't stand that fucker."

It startles a laugh out of you and any ice you'd imagined breaks for good. Max is one of the middle-aged men who probably would have been a lawyer or a politician based on the way he likes the sound of his own voice.

"Now," Joel says. "You done this route before?" His knuckles are a little red but he doesn't put on any gloves.

"Twice, I think. First log book in that old station, right?" Joel nods. "Second in the town?" He nods again.

"Color me impressed." His mouth tugs up at the corner into something you might call a smile. You try not to look too pleased with yourself. "Some of the dipshits on the roster don't even remember that much."

It feels like you've passed a test. His praise makes you feel nice. Noticed. Not something you often seek but you know yourself well enough to admit that you'd like a little more of it. Even if it's from a man you just met.

"Not that hard," you say softly. Joel looks at you for a moment longer before clicking his teeth. His horse starts to walk. You signal to Apollo to follow.

The patrol goes off without a hitch. Joel signs the log book in the station and you sign it in the tower. He lets you snipe two runners that he spots and doesn't scold you when you take three tries on the second one.

"Settlin' in okay?" he asks once you've rounded the town one last time and started back towards Jackson. "Six months, Tommy said?"

Despite his earlier words, you haven't chatted much this patrol. While you'd like to know more about him, want to get him to smile at you again, you're really just enjoying being out here with someone else, knowing that you're safe. That you've got somewhere to go back to.

"It's nice," you sigh. "I never imagined I'd find a place like this."

You really should pick up the pace to get back to town but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry.

"I know the feelin'," he murmurs. "Ellie'n me slept on the floor for a good two weeks at the start. Been two years and some nights I don't take my boots off."

"What a fucking life, huh?" That earns you a wry smile. "Having a house is...strange. All of the hinges squeak and I --"

"The hinges squeak?" You look over at him and Joel's brows are furrowed.

"Oh, I mean, it's no big deal --" You stumble over apologies. You don't want him to think you're complaining about a home his brother gave you when he sure as shit didn't have to.

Joel taps his thumb on the pommel of his saddle. "Can get that fixed, y'know."

You didn't know, actually. "Really?"

Now he looks at you like you're a little stupid. "Ain't you the one hauling shit to people's houses when they need a hand?"

He has a point and you hate it. It never occurred to you to ask for someone to come fix your hinges. They're just hinges, for fuck's sake. Other people have holes in their floorboards or leaks or need new rooms for family members. You're just...you.

Joel sighs. It feels like you've disappointed him and it swirls in your gut. "I'll take a look at it this week."

Your neck cracks audibly with how quickly you look up at him. "What? No, Joel, you don't have to --"

He says your name in a tone that you know means no arguing. "I know I don't have to. I offered."

"You don't even know me!" The words fly from your mouth before you can stop them.

He brings his horse to a full stop so quick you almost run into him.

"Look," he says. His gaze holds yours. Wow, he really can be intimidating when he wants to be. You can only imagine the things he's done, the things he's capable of. Anyone who has made it this long has blood on their hands. You've washed it from your own skin plenty of times. And yet, you feel completely safe. And you know that you'll probably do whatever he tells you. "I know how it can be."

Your gut swirls. "You don't know what I've been through," you say softly. It's not a jibe, it's just the truth. No one knows because you've told no one because it doesn't matter. You're here now.

"I've been alive for a while longer than you," he continues. "I've seen the world, just as you have. I've been out here. I was out here for a long, long time." He runs a hand through his beard, fiddles with his broken watch in what looks like reflex. "I know how hard it is to ask. To get back to something that makes any damn sense. But you can if you try."

The words linger in the chill around you. He's right, obviously. He's so fucking right that you want to be mad. You haven't asked for anything because you don't want to fracture the good thing you've got. Don't want to be too much, to be a burden they can't support, to make people think you don't deserve to be in Jackson. All things that don't make any fucking sense, not really, but you can't stop them. It's just how you're wired.

"So I'm comin' over this week to fix those hinges. Alright?"

"Alright." Something in Joel softens when you agree.

"Good," he says. "Good."

You finish the patrol in comfortable silence. All told it's been nice. To talk to someone, to feel like they give a shit about you even for just a few hours. You have no doubt Joel will be over to fix your hinges but you figure it'll fizzle out after that -- it always does. You don't know how to ask someone to stick around, anyway. But even this little bit of him will have been worth it.

Something both loosens and tightens in your chest when you get back to Jackson and through the gates. Goodbye beautiful, horrible outside world, hello safety, community, home. It's a trade-off. You and Joel hop off your horses and return your rifles. You're about to hand Apollo off to be brushed and returned to the stables when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Joel says your name and you turn around.

"Good job today," he says softly. "Not too excitin' of a patrol, but you're good out there."

You blink owlishly. "I-- thanks," you manage. "Maybe we'll get to go out again as a pair." You're showing your hand but you can't help it. You want more of whatever this was.

Joel's mouth pulls up at one corner. "Maybe."

___

Two days later you drag yourself out of the house for community breakfast. Most mornings you're out the door and at your work detail for the day before you can pop over but you don't have anything assigned today. It's a rare respite and it has you antsy. You don't remember how to be idle, aren't any good at it. Sitting in your empty house means your mind might wander to the thoughts you try very hard to keep at bay. The loneliness, the regret, the fear. The loss. It's always there and you've gotten better at dealing with it after so many years but some days you really just wish you could talk about it to someone, could just bitch and moan about how fucking awful this life can be.

But everyone is carrying their own shit and you don't need to add to it. You don't want anyone to have to carry yours, too.

Breakfast is quiet this morning. You settle at a table with your toast and your eggs and your potatoes and smile back at anyone who smiles at you but no one sits with you. If they did you don't know what you'd say.

But then the air changes. Your neck feels a little hot and you slowly look around until you see what's caused it -- Joel and Ellie are here. He's already looking at you when you meet his eyes and he smiles a little, a half-moon curve of his mouth, and nods. You wave.

Ellie waves back, which you don't expect. She says something to Joel and he frowns, rolls his eyes. She punches him in the arm and he flips her off and grabs two plates, starts to fill them. You smile down at your own food.

"Man, are the potatoes that fucking good today?"

You look up and find Ellie in front of you. You're pretty sure she's 16 or thereabouts, still growing into herself based on the way she shifts on her feet. Her right forearm has the outline of something floral. She notices you looking at it and crosses her arms, looking unimpressed. Ah, teenagers.

"Pretty okay," you tell her. "I don't know if we've met yet --"

"We kinda have," she interrupts. "I know your name and you know mine, so. And you're at the library sometimes when I check shit out."

This still does not explain why she's over here talking to you. You can see Joel in the breakfast line still, glancing over his shoulder every so often to see if she's still in the room. You try not to catch his gaze because you're a little afraid of what Ellie might read in it.

"Can I do something for you, Ellie?" you ask, not unkindly. She scrunches up her nose and then sighs.

"Joel told me not to bother you but I wanted to ask if you could look out for a book for me. At the library." Her words get faster as she reaches the end of her sentence. She takes a look at you, sees that you're not telling her to fuck off, or something, and keeps talking. Some book about the history of comics or something.

"Oh," you say. You feel a rush of affection for her and the fact that she can hold the record for headshots on a group patrol and still want to read about something she loves in her free time. "Yeah, I'll look for you. I don't have a library shift until tomorrow but I'll look and put it aside if I find it for you."

Ellie tugs on her fingers. "Don't you need to write it down or something?"

You smile at her. "No, I'll remember." You recite the title and author she just told you back to her and it seems to satisfy her. It's like a switch is flipped -- her earnest expression morphs into something you can only call mischief.

"So Joel's coming over to fix your doors, or whatever," she says. "How'd you crack him?"

"I--what?"

"You patrol with him once and he's coming over to your house," she says. "It took him like, weeks to laugh at one of my jokes. And I'm fucking funny!"

You have no idea what to say to that. Patrol with Joel was your first time talking to him and while he's a bit intimidating, sure, he never came off as anything other than...good. But you'd bet he wasn't always that way in this world. Maybe this girl in front of you had something to do with it.

And honestly, you're sure he just feels a little bad for you. He's nice enough to worry, to make sure everyone in town can do their part and you'll take what you can get even if it's temporary attention.

Part of you knows Ellie is just giving you a hard time because she's a teenager and you're kind of connected to the guy who looks after her so you're fair game, too. But she's talking to you like she wants to which is throwing you for a loop. And you're realizing it's been a long time since you actually wanted someone to like you. Well, Joel aside.

"You want to tell me one?" you ask. She looks surprised and then delighted.

"Oh, fuck yeah. Okay, let me think." You take another bite of your breakfast. "Okay, okay, I got it. What did the mermaid wear to her math class?"

You give it a few seconds before you shrug. Ellie grins. "An algae-bra."

Your laugh makes her grin bigger. "See? Fucking hilarious." She holds out her hand for a high five and you oblige. "Anyway, Joel's gonna come over tomorrow, I think. Seriously, dude, I don't know how you did it. He never used to be this nice!" She looks over her shoulder at the man in question. He's sitting down at another table. "He's getting soft."

Her voice is fond and you're pretty sure she doesn't notice. "You should go eat your breakfast, Ellie," you tell her.

She sighs like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fucking hungry. Let me know if you find that book!"

"I will," you call after her. You can't help but watch as she barrels back to her table with Joel and immediately makes an attempt at his bacon. He fends her off with his fork before surrendering a piece with a scowl.

He looks up and catches your eye again. You stand with your tray and nod at him, turning around before you can see his expression. Stupid, so stupid to be caught looking like that. But you can't help it -- looking at the love still alive in this shitty world and wondering what it feels like.

___

You run into Joel on your walk home from the next day's shift at the library. You spent probably far too much of it looking for the book Ellie wanted but it was worth it because you've got it tucked under your arm. It feels like a small miracle but you're not one to question it.

Maybe it's the good mood you're in, but when you see Joel from behind you call out his name. He doesn't stop walking but turns his head like he heard something. When he spots you he does stop, waiting for you to catch up.

"Hi," you say, suddenly a little less brave.

"Howdy," he replies, amused. "I'm headed your way."

"You --" He lifts a toolbox you now realize he's carrying. "Oh, right. Hinges."

"I can come by another day if it's not a good time."

Joel could knock on your door in the middle of the night and it would be a good time. "No, ah. Now's good." He motions for you to lead the way even though he clearly knew where he was going. He must have asked Tommy.

It seems like everyone waves as you two head for your street. They call out Joel's name and he knows pretty much everyone. You feel a little self-conscious being seen with him like this -- you, pretty much a nobody in town through your own doing and Joel, beloved by all.

It doesn't stop until you're almost at your door. "You're popular," you say, trying to make it sound teasing. Instead, it sounds awed.

Joel runs his free hand through his beard. "Don't remind me," he grumbles. "Can't go for a walk without a damn conversation."

You pull out your keys and unlock the front door. There are plenty of people in Jackson who don't lock their doors but you can't shake the need. "Sounds difficult."

He chuckles and you feel it zing up your spine. It's nice to make him laugh. "Yeah, yeah. S'pose it's nice." The front door opens with a creak and you look at him sheepishly. His eyebrows touch his hairline. "They all like that?"

You nod. Joel whistles. "Christ," he says. "Alright." He follows you into the house. You try not to think about what he sees. You've tried to make it your own, just a little. Posters you traded for, books you've collected. You cleaned the whole thing top to bottom when you moved in but somehow it still looks a little un-lived in. You're working on it.

"Don't let me bother you," Joel says, getting on one knee with a grunt and prying open his box. "Probably need 'bout an hour to get 'em all. I'll holler when I'm done."

That's your cue to busy yourself with something, anything, but you don't want to. You want to talk to him, to watch him do whatever he's going to do, to soak up this time with Joel before he walks out the door and you go back to being acquaintances.

"What are you going to use?" you ask. He looks up, a little surprised, before pulling out a spray bottle and a rag. He shakes it at you.

"It's some sorta homemade shit one of the younger guys cooked up," Joel says. Somehow he manages to sound self-deprecating, like he thinks he should've thought of it first. "I think it's...soap? And cleanin' stuff? Fuck, I don't know." He huffs a laugh. "I know it works, though. Back in the day we'd use shit you could buy on the shelf." He stands with a grunt. "You old enough to know that?"

That gets you to laugh. "Yeah, Joel," you say. "I'm old enough to remember the hardware store."

His gaze feels a little different than before, like he's allowing himself to look. "Hmm," is all he says. "I'll just --"

You don't know how to justify shadowing him as he oils your hinges -- there's a joke there's somewhere -- so you don't. You grab a book from the shelf and settle on your couch and try your best to read but your mind wanders.

It's pretty clear that you have a crush on Joel. You've spent one patrol with the guy but somehow he's gotten under your skin. It's inconvenient but also...nice? A crush at the end of the world. The fact that you can still feel something so sweet, so juvenile after all you've seen and all you've done is almost laughable. And it's not like it's going to go anywhere -- you're sure Joel thinks you're too young for him, too green, and he's probably tripping over admirers in town. But you can let it be something to keep your days interesting until it fades.

It was hard enough to love yourself before the world ended for reasons anyone could understand. Societal pressures, stupid comparisons, things that don't matter at all now. Who has time to think about being loved when you're constantly faced with death? Feeling desired, feeling loved, feeling looked after isn't exactly top of mind. You're not even sure you remember how. You put one foot in front of the other and that's enough.

But wouldn't it be nice to be on the receiving end of affection from a man like Joel?

"All finished." You startle and realize you haven't turned a single page of your book. If Joel notices he doesn't say. He wipes his hands on a rag and eyes you. "Pretty sure I got all the doors."

You hop up from the couch and try to find your words. "I -- that's -- you're --"

"Thank you will do just fine," he says with a smirk. He tucks the rag in his back pocket and crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

"Let me cook for you," you blurt out instead. "In exchange." You can make a few things fairly decently and making him something is another excuse to talk to him like this, to be on the receiving end of those eyes. "I can make chili. Does Ellie like chili?"

"Don't have to do that," he says kindly. "Helpin' you ain't a business deal. S'what people do here." He stands straight and heads for your front door, picking up his toolbox on the way.

"Joel," you say, snagging his sleeve with your fingers. You pull them back quickly and grab the book you brought home, holding it out for him. "Ellie asked me to look for this. Could you give it to her?"

He looks at the book the same way he looks at his kid. It's tenderness so raw you look away. "I will," he says softly. He tucks the book under his arm like precious cargo. "Thank you for findin' it for her." He clears his throat and looks at you, smirk back in place. "Wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks. You don't follow. "Havin' someone help you," he adds.

Your face feels hot. "I'll still cook for you," you say, opening the door. He shakes his head.

"You let me know if you need anythin' else, alright?" A quick smile and he's down the steps and back into the street, strolling back to his own home.

"I will." You say it to yourself and almost mean it.

___

You patrol a few more times over the next month but never get paired up with Joel. If you were a little braver you'd ask Tommy or the kid he's training to take over the schedule to put you two together but you don't. Instead, you wave at Ellie when you see her, nod at Joel from the other side of rooms where he's always talking to someone else. You let yourself enjoy the way your heart picks up at the sight of him and the thrill you feel after he smiles at you. It's a nice change to the boring, lonely routine you had before.

The doors in your house open and close silently.

Being outside is fine. You don't like it any more or any less, it just is what it is. Life at the end of the world continues on.

Until you have a bad patrol.

It's no one's fault and no one gets bit. You and your partner, Astrid, are tailing a buck that's wandering along your route. If you can shoot it you can load it on one of your horses and ride back together on the other. Winter is on its way and any extra meat helps.

You follow protocol. You're lining the deer up through the scope while she keeps watch. Just as you prepare to pull the trigger you feel it -- the pull of your gut telling you something isn't right. That feeling has kept you alive all these years so you lower the rifle and turn to Astrid just in time to see a stalker lunge out of the brush.

Its broken and jagged nails catch your shoulders and you go down hard enough to bruise. You can't hear anything over its snarls and the blood pounding in your ears but you do your fucking best. You wedge your forearm under its chin and try like hell to keep its mouth away from you. Your other hand somehow makes it to your belt and unsheathes your hunting knife and in one swift movement, you shove it into the soft jaw of the infected. Hot blood spurts over your face and you keep your mouth closed, shoving the corpse off you.

A gunshot has you whirling around and scooping up the rifle. You've got it ready to fire but you only find Astrid standing over a stalker corpse of her own, forehead bleeding and revolver smoking.

"You clean?" you ask her, eyes on her forehead. She nods.

"Shoved me into some thorns. You?"

"Yeah. Can we go home now?"

Your hands don't shake until you get back to Jackson. They tremble when you wash the blood from your face, your hair. You wish for just a second that you had someone to hold them, someone to tell you it's alright. Someone to talk to about how shitty your day was and how scared you were and how sometimes this life is so fucking exhausting and just when you think you're safe you're reminded that no one is safe anymore.

Maybe this is the kind of thing Joel was talking about. Asking for help.

The thought fades quickly. You can deal with this. You're just out of practice. You just got comfortable.

You go to bed as early as you can bear, closing your eyes and hoping for dreamless sleep.

You could only be so lucky.

You're no stranger to nightmares. Hell, who isn't? Usually, it's the same old shit -- people you've lost, fucked up things you've done, horrors you've seen. You know how to deal with it.

But this is the first time in a while you've got new nightmare fuel. The hot, rancid breath of the stalker and the agonizing sound of its moans. Your own choked gasps as you try with all of your strength to keep its rotting teeth away from you. Unlike reality, your dreams don't allow you to grab a hold of your knife and instead, you feel it take a chunk out of your neck, hot blood splattering your face and you have to just lie there as it bites and bites and bites --

You jolt upright with a small gasp. Necessity has taught you to wake silently.

"Fuck," you say to the empty room. No way you're going back to sleep after that. You swing your legs over the side of your bed and put your head in your hands. "Breathe. Breathe."

The sky is black through your windows. You have no idea what time it is but you stand before the lingering panic can take hold and make things worse. Fresh air will get the iron smell out of your nose. You dress in the dark in more layers than necessary but you want to stop shaking.

Jackson at night is quiet but there are always a few people around, always someone else who can't sleep. The sky is clear and the moon is bright and it smells like woodsmoke and the unique earthy feel of the valley. This is your home. So long as you have this you can get through it.

Your feet take you through the streets of houses, most of the windows dark. Just another lap around town and then you'll go home, try to sleep again.

Then you hear something. The gentle strum of an acoustic guitar weaving with the night air like a dream. A song from before, a song you recognize but don't know the name of, don't know the words. You wrap your arms around yourself and follow the sound down Rancher Street. If you find whoever is playing it you'll wave and walk slowly home.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see whose house it is. Joel is on the porch, rocking slowly and head leaning back, eyes closed as he strums. How did you not know he played guitar? It only makes sense that the hands that are capable of such violence can also make something beautiful. He can ruffle Ellie's hair and pull the trigger and fix your doors and do this.

Something in your chest tightens.

Joel's eyes open and land on you immediately. You realize how it looks -- you standing in front of his house in the middle of the night, watching him. But he stops his playing and calls out your name.

"Hey, you alright?" he says. You hover between taking a step forward and a step back.

"Couldn't sleep."

He shakes his head. "Can't hear ya," he says. "C'mere."

Step forward it is. Up the stairs and onto the porch that creaks a little under your boots. There's only one chair and a small table with a lantern on it. Wind chimes dangle over the railing and you drag your hand through them on instinct like a child with a toy.

"Sorry," you say softly.

"Only got one chair," Joel says. He's got one boot resting on his knee, guitar slung across his lap. He looks tired. "I'll go get another --"

You wave him off. "No, please," you say. "I'll stand. I'm too antsy to sit, anyway." If you sit down in a chair next to Joel Miller you might never get up.

He frowns but settles back into his seat. "You alright?" he asks again.

His gaze is a little too much. You feel silly all of a sudden, not sure how you got here. A fucking nightmare? God, you're ridiculous. You cross your arms and lean back on the railing and look anywhere but him.

"Couldn't sleep." Joel hums.

"Heard that one before."

He strums some more and you relax again despite yourself. "Sounds nice. Do you play a lot?"

"Sometimes," he says. "Old habit."

"It's a nice one. Better than walking the streets in the dark." Your tone is harsher than you mean it to be and Joel frowns.

"It's safe to," he says, as though your wellbeing is his personal concern. "Bit cold, though."

"Why are you out here then?" You're frustrated with yourself and taking it out on him just a little bit. The smell of blood fills your nostrils again and you press your fingertips into your crossed arms, hard, and close your eyes. Your breath stutters in your chest.

"Nightmares," Joel says wryly. There's some shifting, the scrape of wood on wood and you open your eyes. His are fixated on your fingers and you stop squeezing. The guitar is now leaning up against the house and he's got his elbows on his knees like he's about to ask you a serious question. The lantern light makes his hair look darker, less silver, but it also makes the lines on his face look deeper. You wonder what kind of shit he's seen. What things he has nightmares about.

"Had this conversation with Ellie a million times," he huffs, rubs his hand through his beard in what you now consider a familiar gesture. "You don't need to talk if you don't want to. But can't hurt."

Is he asking you to talk about your nightmare? Does he actually want to know? Do you know how to talk about it?

"I take it you're a fountain of emotional sharing, huh?" Again, the misplaced frustration. You don't know how to turn it off.

His eyes flash but he just leans back in his chair and shrugs. "Depends on the day."

The low-level hum of your infatuation with him flares and your traitorous brain bats it down right away. You want to see all sides that he can offer you, want to make him frustrated and angry just to see if that'll make him sick of you.

You run your hand through the wind chimes again, watching your fingers move through the air. You remember what the knife felt like in your hand, the way the blood was hot as it dripped down your wrist and onto your face.

"Tough patrol," you say. "Messiest since I got here." Joel says nothing and you don't look at him. "I...it was fine. We got jumped by some stalkers and it was fine but...close. And I -- I didn't realize how badly I wanted to come back here until then. How badly I wanted to go home at the end of it. Does that make sense?"

You finally look up and Joel's knuckles are white on the arms of his chair. When he sees you looking he crosses his arms. "Sure," he says, clears his throat.

The urge to try to explain more is overwhelming. "I mean, we've all done fucked up shit. I've been up to my elbows in infected guts and still come out on top and slept like a rock the night after. And all of a sudden I can't fucking handle a stalker getting in my face. It's like I've never had to get my hands dirty before and what if it means I'm going to fuck up next time --"

"Hey," Joel says firmly. You feel a hand on your forearm and realize you've been pacing, arms flailing as you rambled. He gives it a squeeze and then releases you. "Feel like I gotta say fuck now to catch up with you."

A wet chuckle works its way out of you. Where did that come from? Are you about to cry? On the porch of the man you have a stupid, stupid crush on? This is embarrassing. And his touch. People touch you all the time, all things considered. A tap on patrol indicating silence, a hand on your arm to get your attention, to brace you as you lift something. Children in town who don't know the horrors outside the walls give affection freely. Hell, Joel touched your shoulder after your patrol. You're not touch starved but you feel like no one has touched you with tenderness and meant it in years.

"Sorry."

Joel tuts. "C'mon," he says. "I asked."

"I don't think I feel any better."

He stands and grunts as he does so. He's so much closer than before, so close you can smell what you can only describe as Joel: wood shavings and gunpowder, laundry soap and leather. It's a little dizzying. He leans on the railing next to you.

"Bet when you go back to bed you won't dream," he says. "Usually what happens."

"Here you are again," you sigh. "Helping me out. I promise I get on just fine on my own."

"I know," he says. His eyes are warm and so, so deep. "Don't have to, though."

Joel, for all his kindness and popularity in town, is a man just like any other. A person who has seen and done shit that no one should have to see and do. You know he's got his fair share of secrets, of things he won't talk about. You all do. You know he can be unflinching and maybe even cruel, dangerous and deadly. Whatever is happening here -- this openness, this desire of his to help you out -- is hard won. You think about what Ellie said and let yourself have a dangerous thought: maybe he's this way with you because he wants to be.

You sway into him just a little before catching yourself and standing up straight. "I should go try that dreamless sleep," you say softly. "And you should, too." It does not escape your notice that you haven't talked about Joel's nightmares, whatever they are. You don't think he'd be that open. A piece of you imagines a world where you ask and he answers.

"I might," he says. Neither of you move.

That small piece of you would stay here all night. That small piece of you tries for the next best thing.

"Will you let me cook for you now?" you ask. It sounds a little desperate to your own ears. "Please?"

"Persistent, ain't you?" He taps his closed fist on the railing once, twice. "Well, if it's that important to you. Chili, you said?"

"I can have it done by sundown tomorrow. I'm on greenhouses but we always finish early. You can come by and get it. I'll do enough for you and Ellie for a few days." You're rambling but finally he's going to let you do something for him. Hinges, nightmares, it's too much. Maybe you can somehow cook out this affection for him, get rid of it with your own hands if you try hard enough.

"Alright," Joel says. He puts his hand on your shoulder lightly and squeezes once. You feel it all the way down to your toes. "Now get outta this damn cold."

He doesn't offer to walk you home. You'd say no if he did. You need the time to sort out the mess in your mind. You give him the most earnest smile you can manage and he watches from his porch until you turn out of sight.

Joel is on your mind all day. More so than usual, which is saying a lot. The crush has turned into something...more. Something that makes you hope and that something is dangerous. It's just setting yourself up to be hurt through no fault of Joel's when it goes nowhere. Because why would he be thinking about you?

"You're smiley today," Dina says. She's a sweet girl and you're paired together on greenhouse shift today. She's always got a story to tell about plants she and her sister saw in New Mexico or some weird mushroom she found on group patrol. You love how positive she is and you try to absorb some.

"Am I?" you say lightly.

She tugs on one more cucumber, putting it in your shared basket before wiping her face. She gets dirt on her nose. It makes her look young. "Got big plans?"

Your face feels hot. "Just cooking for a...friend." It's the first time you've said that out loud. It's probably true, right? Acquaintance, at least. Joel is important to you and it's taken an alarmingly short amount of time for it to solidify. That's just how the world works these days -- you never know how much time you have so everything moves faster. You care harder despite years of proof that nothing good comes of it. You can't help it. You were made to leak love like an open wound.

"A friend," Dina teases. Teenagers. You remember that she's friends with Ellie and it's very possible she knows exactly what you're talking about but she's too kind to say anything more.

"Yep," you say, popping the p. "Do I have to start teasing you about Jesse or are you going to cut me some slack?"

"Well, hey," she laughs. "I think it's nice to be excited about something. You're so serious all the time."

"Am not," you mutter.

Something you appreciate about Dina is that despite her age she knows when to leave it. "Whatever you say," she says primly.

Once work is over and you're back home the cooking goes quick. You focus just enough considering you want this to actually be good and for Joel and Ellie to like it. It's thank you chili, it's you are important to me chili, it's I want to see you every day for the rest of my life chili.

Well. It's thank you at the very least.

And food, especially in this world, means something extra. There's enough to go around in Jackson, more than enough, but anyone taking the time to fix something with their own hands means more. You know how different a meal can taste when someone makes it with care.

And to say you care is a bit of an understatement.

The chili is simmering and you're about to start on the dishes when there's a knock on the door.

"Shit," you say. You wipe your hands on a towel and pad down the hall in socked feet. When you open it you find Joel bathed in the golden light of the sunset. His hands are tucked in his pockets, the collar of his coat turned up to protect his neck from the chill that's settled in for the season. His face softens at the sight of you but his shoulders are still tight. Is he...nervous? No, you're projecting.

Here he is on your doorstep again. If you're not careful you'll get used to him being there.

"Sorry for bein' a bit early," he says at the same time you say, "I was just thinking about you ."

The tension melts out of him and he smirks like a man with a secret. "That so?"

Your eyes are wide as you find your words. Hopefully ones that aren't embarrassing. "Come in," you say. "I'm letting the heat out."

He follows you to the kitchen. "Smells good," he says.

"It's not quite done yet but that's a good sign, I guess." You stir the pot before rolling up your sleeves and taking your spot in front of the sink. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess, I was about to start on this --"

"Now I know you ain't about to do all that yourself," Joel drawls. It's a syrupy tone you haven't heard from him, not really. Is he...flirting with you?

"I...what?"

"Scoot," Joel says. He steps beside you in front of the sink and gently bumps your hip with his. "Seriously."

"Joel--"

"Does it look like I'm kiddin'?"

He keeps his eyes on yours as he shrugs off his jacket, tosses it on this island, and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbow. You look away from him so you can watch.

"This is getting ridiculous," you tell him even as you hop up to sit on the counter closest to the sink so you can see his face. He turns on the tap and starts on the various things in the sink even though some of them are clearly not from cooking tonight. "You'll be sick of this chili before I can pay you back."

"I told you it ain't like that," he scolds. "So quit it."

There's no real bite to his tone but you do as he says all the same. You kick your feet out a few times and do your best not to stare but fail miserably. The fall sunlight seems to have followed him into your house, pinkish-golden beams falling across his face. You can see a triangle of chest at the top of his shirt, a few dark curls teasing the hair on him. The scar on the bridge of his nose is much harsher up close, much deeper than the countless other ones that dot his forehead, his temples. He doesn't look as tired today. Maybe he got some sleep after all.

So did you. You didn't dream.

"How was your day?" you ask. Joel's eyes flick up to yours for just a breath before he looks back down at his task. His mouth pulls up at the corner.

"Fine," he says. "Had to fix the water heater at Ellie's place."

A piece of hair falls in his face and you shove your palms under your thighs so you don't brush it back.

You tap his denim-clad thigh with your socked foot, almost like a compromise with yourself when it comes to touching him. "And that took all day?" Damn, are you the one flirting now?

Joel seems amused in a grumpy way. "Well, no," he says. The faucet is on so he speaks a little louder. "Did some house chores. Worked on a guitar. Took a nap."

The image of Joel sprawled out on a couch is clear as day. You bet he looks relaxed in his sleep, the lines on his face not as pronounced, his breathing steady and even.

"Busy day," you say softly. He's about to say more, lips parted to ask about your day, maybe, but you're not about to admit that you spent all day thinking about him so you keep talking before he can. "Does Ellie like living in the garage?"

"Think so," he says. "She spends a night in the house every so often but I think she likes havin' her own space. S'important to me to give her that."

This is uncharted territory. You desperately don't want to step in shit, to somehow make him bring his walls back up. Everyone is protective of the things they love in this world and for good reason and you're pretty sure there is nothing and no one Joel loves more than Ellie.

"She's a good kid," you offer. "Everyone in town loves her."

Joel smiles down at his hands, that soft, raw smile you've seen a few times when talking about her. It makes your chest ache. "She is," he admits. "Pain in my ass, too."

You want so badly to ask him the details. How did they meet? How did they get here? How did they become so devoted to one another? And what happened in the last twenty years to get him to right now, washing dishes in your kitchen?

But you haven't earned that stuff yet. Maybe you never will.

"Does she like Jackson?" You remember what he said about them settling in, sleeping in the living room with their shoes on. You imagine he kept watch for weeks, maybe months, before deciding it was safe.

He nods. "S'good for her to have friends. And havin' school is good for her. She's real smart." He clears his throat. "And you? D'you like it?"

"Well, I like it much better now that my hinges don't squeak."

Joel laughs. "I'll bet you do." He's almost done, everything from your chili-making washed and set aside to dry. He's doing your dishes from breakfast but shows no signs of stopping."Do you cook like this a lot?

Your brows furrow. "I-- no, actually," you admit. "It's just me, so. Not worth putting in the effort that often."

He turns off the tap and grabs a towel and starts to dry. You should offer to help but you feel frozen to the counter. If you get any closer to him you might snap. His jaw is tight.

"When Ellie and I --" he stops, takes a moment to focus on the bowl in his hands. Joel, you've noticed, doesn't tend to say things he doesn't mean, at least not to you. It's like he knows that every word counts in a life as unpredictable as this. "We had a bit of a rough patch last year and we didn't talk for a while. I was damn near eatin' canned veggies on days Tommy didn't drag me to the community meals." He sighs and sets the bowl on the counter ever so gently. Violence and tenderness go hand in hand with him. "Just didn't have it in myself to try cookin' if she wasn't there to eat it."

It's the most vulnerable thing he's said. He keeps doing this -- offering you pieces of himself that you want to hold close, that make you think maybe he wants you to know him.

"Joel--"

"I guess what I'm sayin' is it's easier to take care of yourself when you're also takin' care of people who matter to you. That make sense?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "It does."

The whole scene is so...domestic that your chest aches. Joel in your kitchen doing your dishes. He's helping you yet again but this feels different. It feels like he wants to be here, talking to you. It feels real.

He finishes his task and dries his hands on a faded towel. You hop down from the counter to check the chili. "Should be done," you say. "Do you want to try it? Make sure it's worth it?"

"Oh, it's worth it," he mutters. You work to keep your face neutral. What does that mean? "Sure."

You pull a spoon from the drawer and while it would make more sense to just hand it to him you don't. Instead, you dip it into the steaming liquid and hold it out for him, your other hand cupped underneath to catch any spill. Joel stares at your offering for a few seconds and you wonder if he can hear your heart beating.

Then Joel reaches out slowly like he's afraid you'll bolt if he goes too fast, and lightly wraps his hand around your wrist. It's the first time he's touched you skin to skin and you know immediately that it's a mistake.

You'll never stop wanting him now.

His palm is warm, callused fingertips pressing gently into your skin and he tugs, bringing the spoon -- and you -- closer to his mouth. Everything moves in slow motion for a few moments and it's like you are the only two people in the world. Your kitchen fades and it's just Joel. His lips part and he slides the spoon into his mouth at the same time as his thumb strokes the inside skin of your wrist.

It's very possible that you gasp a little.

He closes his eyes and you're torn between watching his face and his throat as he swallows. You could look at him forever, you think, and never get enough. The set of his brow, the hard line of his jaw. Lines around his eyes and mouth from years of terror and violence but also from laughter and smiles. You want to learn every inch of him if he'll let you.

"Christ," Joel says. His eyes fly open and find yours. "That's good. That's real good."

"You're just saying that," you say weakly. He hasn't let go of your wrist and his thumb strokes once again. You wonder if you realize he's doing it.

Something in his face changes, something so small that you only notice because you're watching. It feels like he has decided something and you wish you knew him well enough to say what. You dare to hope it has to do with you.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm a good liar but I ain't just sayin' that."

Sweetheart. It echoes in your ears, burrows its way into your chest and takes root.

You're so fucked.

But there's something in Joel's gaze, in the brush of his thumb across your skin, in the fact he's just done all of your dishes and talked to you like he wants to be here that gives your traitorous heart some ground to stand on.

You send him home with as many glass containers of chili as he'll take. He argues that you won't have enough for yourself and manages to convince you to keep a few. You don't tell him that what you really want is to sit next to him at a table and eat it, knees bumping under the wood and his smile making your empty house feel warm.

"Tell Ellie I say hi," you say once he's out your door and on the porch. "And let me know if she likes it."

"Will do," Joel says. You hug your arms around yourself against the chill. He frowns slightly.

You wonder if he'd touch you if his hands weren't full.

"And thank you for--"

He shakes his head. "Not acceptin' thanks," he chides. "Not from you."

You don't know what to say to that. Joel seems to realize he's rendered you speechless, not for the first time, and nods his head before heading home.

"See you around, Joel," you call after him. It sounds half like a question and half like a wish.

He turns. "Countin' on it."

___

You do see him around but not as much as you'd like. Things pick up around town before the seasons can change and send Wyoming into winter. You find yourself in the kitchen most days helping seal jars for the community food stores, hands chapped from the hot water and heart light when you think about Joel. He nods at you from across the dining hall, opens the door of the library when you're going in and he's coming out, and tells Ellie to tell you how good the chili was when you share a shift at the stables.

"Fucking amazing," she says.

You sleep fairly well, going to bed each night with a little bit of lightness in your heart that you allow because why not? There's no way out short of Joel telling you to fuck off and you don't think that'll happen. If only you could get over yourself a little more and actually do something about it.

As much as you want to keep telling yourself that this -- glances across rooms, smiles from a distance, memories of his hand on your skin -- is enough, you're not sure that it is. The force of your want is destabilizing considering the most that's happened is maybe a little bit of flirting. But maybe this is you taking his direction to ask for...no help, not exactly, but to ask for something. To ask for him.

Today you're going on patrol. You decide as you mount your horse that you're going to ask Joel if he wants to get a drink when you get back. You want to talk to him again, let him under your skin a little more. Maybe tell him some things about yourself. Sometimes he's milling around the gate or on wall duty but you don't see him as you and your partner -- a fairly new kid in his twenties -- take your rifles and head out. You're on an easy route today, just clearing out the town over the hill and the highway exits near Jackson. Shouldn't take you more than a few hours.

It goes to shit fairly quickly.

The kid -- Conner? Charlie? You can't remember -- is rambling about the infected he's killed for some reason when you realize something isn't quite right. You can't hear any birds. Apollo snorts and it sounds panicked. You motion for the kid to stop talking but he either ignores you or doesn't see.

He sure shuts up when the clicker bursts out of a house to your left. Apollo startles and rears at the moment you reach for your gun and you can't grab hold in time.

You go flying, bouncing off a rusted-out car and landing hard on the broken pavement of the street with a popping sound. There is a pain in your shoulder so intense your vision whites out. The kid is shouting, the clicker is making that awful sound, but then you hear two gunshots and nothing else.

"Holy fuck," he says, rushing over to you. "Fuck, are you okay?"

Well, for a talker, this kid a good shot.

"Get the -- horse --" You roll onto your back with a groan and he grabs Apollo and settles him.

"What happened?"

You stare up at the sky, blue turning purple. It'll be sunset soon and you very well might be fucked if this is what you think it is.

"I think my shoulder popped out," you say through gritted teeth. Your head doesn't hurt like you smacked it and your side is only a little sore. Maybe some bruised ribs. Your hands are scraped, blood beading on the heels of your palms. "Help me up."

"Holy shit." He helps you sit up and then stand, your left arm hanging limp at your side. You hiss through your teeth as it gets jostled and lean heavily on the car. "You don't look so good," he says. "Can you ride? We should only be a half hour out of town."

"I...don't think so." You're pretty sure you'll pass out from the pain and this kid doesn't look like he can handle that. You don't want to fuck up the joint any more than you have to. "You're going to have to go back and bring someone to set it for me, okay?"

"But the rules say --"

"I know what the fucking rules say," you snap. Don't let your partner out of your sight. Your shoulder is throbbing and you might cry but not until this kid is on his way back to town. "That's why you're going to go as fast as you can, alright?"

"We should at least clear a building first so you can --"

"No time," you say, looking at the sky. "If we want to be back before nightfall you need to go now. I'll handle myself."

You really should know his name. He sets his jaw in a move that reminds you of Joel which causes a pang in your chest so intense you want to rub it away. "I'll clear that garage, okay?" He points behind you and before you can stop him he runs towards it with his gun out.

Lucky for both of you it's clear. You take Apollo inside and slump against the wall, pistol in your hand. The kid closes the garage door behind him and you hear the clop of his horse as he gallops away.

"Fuck," you say into the empty room. It's dusty and full of cobwebs and not much else. Empty metal shelves, a rusted-out lawn mower, some tarps so ratted they're useless. Apollo snorts. "Not your fault, buddy."

Death has been nipping at your heels for twenty years now. You've always expected it. And you're fairly certain you won't die out here. Maybe end up spending a night on this floor, having to walk yourself back to Jackson tomorrow morning. But you can't help the fear that rises in your throat. You know how an injury like this means so much more in this world. You won't be able to work for weeks. You won't be able to patrol, to pull your weight.

You're going to need a lot of help.

You close your eyes against the stinging tears and thud your head against the wall.

The pain dulls the embarrassment you feel when you catch yourself thinking of Joel. You wish he was here. If you'd been on patrol together this wouldn't have happened. You wonder what he's going to think of this.

What you'd really like is for him to hold you and tell you it'll be alright.

A few tears slip down your nose. Apollo noses at your knee.

There are no windows so you don't know how much time has passed. You start to question if this was the right call. Maybe you could have made it back on horseback, or at the very least slung across the back of Apollo like a sack of flour, arm be damned.

Your traitorous brain is about to remind you of all the things that go bump in the night out here when you hear something.

Someone is calling your name. Yelling it.

"Here!" you scream. Apollo whinnies. "I'm here!" You have no idea if they can hear you. You press your good shoulder into the wall behind you and try to push yourself to your feet but just as you do the garage door is hauled open and there stands --

Joel.

A sob bursts from your throat and you will yourself to pull it together. Behind him the sky is much more orange than it was when you first sat down.

Joel's eyes look you up and down once before cataloging the space and locking on some milk crates. He stacks two of them.

"Sit," he says. His voice is tight.

"Joel --"

"Sit."

You do as he says. He kneels at your feet and rummages around in his bag. His horse stands munching on some overgrown grass on the driveway. Did he come alone?

"How are you here --"

Joel cuts you off with a glare. His eyes are blazing, jaw grinding as he holds out a length of bandage.

"Hold this." He stands and his knees crack. "Kid said it's your shoulder. Anything else?"

The throb is still deep, still intense, but his arrival almost made you forget all about it. You shake your head.

"Didn't hit your head? Crack ribs? Nothin' like that?"

"No, I don't think so --"

"Need you to sit up straight," he says. There's no warmth in his tone but it's a little softer now that he's taken stock of the situation. "I ain't gonna lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell." He digs in his pocket for something and pulls out a square of leather. "Need you to bite down on this."

He squats so that you're just about face to face and holds out the leather. It feels like being in your kitchen, you holding out the spoon and fighting your desire to touch him. Except this time he won't look you in the eye. You open your mouth and he gently places it between your teeth, thumb catching the corner of your lips and trailing along the edge of your chin before he pulls away and stands up.

"I'm going to reset it on three, alright? Bite down hard on that." He finally meets your gaze and you nod and close your eyes. He puts one hand on your shoulder and the other on your wrist and you wince even though you feel incredibly safe in his hands. "Alright. One...two --"

Joel jerks your arm up and around before he hits three and you barely hear it pop back into place because, as he said, it hurts like hell. You bite down hard on the leather which also serves to muffle your scream.

Someone is talking to you."I know, baby, I know. Good job, you did a good job."

You open your eyes and wipe away a few tears with one hand and pull the leather from your teeth. Joel looks pained but his face snaps back to neutral when he sees you watching. His eyes narrow.

"Where did that come from?" He gently grabs your wrist and looks at your palm and you both find it bloody. "Got it on your face."

"Scraped my hands when I fell," you say hoarsely. He clicks his tongue.

"Give me that bandage." You don't even get a chance to hand it to him because he plucks it from your lap. "Gonna make this into a sling for this arm. Try not to move it much. Then we'll clean those hands and head home. Get you to the clinic for some meds." He gently positions your arm, which hurts a lot less than before but is still throbbing, and ties a sling so it's bent close to your chest. You can feel his breath on your neck as he does the knot.

And then he's back crouching in front of you.

Joel Miller on his knees for you so many times in one day makes you a little dizzy. Or maybe that's the adrenaline.

"Are you angry with me?" you ask softly as he wipes clean your palms and cheek with firm touches. The muscle in his jaw twitches again and his hands freeze for a split second.

"No," he says. "I ain't mad at you. I just can't believe the fuckin' kid left you here."

"I told him to."

"Can't believe that either. You know better."

"It's fine, Joel," you say. "It doesn't matter. I would have just walked back in the morning if no one came --"

He pulls his hands away and tosses the rag to the floor. "Damnit, it does matter," he curses. "'Course it fuckin' matters. Cut that shit out."

Now you're confused. It sure seems like he's angry with you. "Joel, I don't understand --"

His hands cradle your face and the protest dies in your throat. "You matter to me," he says thickly. His eyes are wide but his stare is steady. "Ain't it fuckin' obvious?" Anger and desperation are dripping from his words. "It matters."

For one long second you think he's going to kiss you. Now that might kill you.

You wrap one hand around his wrist and lean into his palm. A thousand thoughts swirl in your head but you focus on one. Joel is here which means you're safe. Joel is here which means he's going to take care of you. Joel is here. Joel is here. Joel is here.

"Oh," you breathe. You turn your face in his palm and press your lips to the center of it. His breath hitches and it feels like something big between you shifts, slots into place. "Okay," you say against his skin.

He pulls his hands away and stands. He works his jaw a few times before shouldering his pack and holding out his hand. "Let's go home," he says.

You stand with his help. "I think you'll need to help me get on my horse."

"Not a fuckin' chance," he growls but you can still see tenderness in his eyes. "Can't hold on well enough with one arm. We're ridin' together."

This Joel is one you haven't seen. But this is what you wanted, right? You want to see every part of him. Something molten and heavy sits in your stomach at how tense he is, how his hands remain gentle despite his harsh words. How he just told you that you matter to him. Maybe this is all a dream.

He helps you on his horse and then gets on behind you, tying Apollo's reigns to his so you won't lose him. He wraps one arm right around your stomach, mindful of your arm.

"Ain't gonna be comfortable," he says in your ear. "But it'll be over quick."

You lean back into him. Hell, it's all on the table now. If your arm is going to hurt you might as well enjoy your time pressed against him.

"Oh, I don't know," you say. "This isn't so bad." He snorts and snaps the reigns.

He talks low and steady in your ears as you gallop, his palm firm on your abdomen to keep you as still as possible though it's a hopeless venture. Your shoulder aches, sends sharp tendrils of pain through your entire arm with every stride.

He tells you that he was on the wall when your partner came back alone. That he knew something was wrong with you as soon as the kid came into view. He'd seen the patrol assignments and knew you were paired together. Kid didn't know what flag to use to signal his approach because you're not supposed to leave behind your partner.

Joel tells you how he hopped down from the wall and asked the kid where exactly he left you. Demanded to know how hurt you were, if you'd been bit. He was on a horse before anyone else could get their shit together, told them to get Tommy and have the clinic ready for you. Started hollering your name as soon as he got to the street, rifle ready for any infected to show up.

"Damn miracle when you yelled back," he says just as Jackson comes into view. You're sweating and dizzy from the pain, practically all of your weight slumped back into his chest. "Almost there, sweetheart. Doin' real good."

The rest of it is a blur. Joel takes you to the clinic where he becomes increasingly agitated that he set your shoulder wrong until one of the staff says he did it just fine. They give you a real sling and one painkiller to take if you hurt really bad, despite some harsh words from Joel in an attempt to get you more.

"Don't move it above your head for two weeks. Keep the sling on for that time, too. Ice it today, start moving it back and forth a few times in a few days. You got someone to help you for a bit?"

Before you can open her mouth Joel answer for you.

"Yes." The nurse hides her amusement well. She lets you go. Joel keeps his hand on your back as he walks you to your house.

You stop him when you get to your front door. "Joel --"

"If you're about to argue with me, so help me God, I'll --"

"I was going to ask if you need to go check on Ellie." You pull out your keys and after a second hold them out for him. Maybe letting Joel help you is helping him, too. You can handle that. You think.

"Told Tommy to when I left. I'll go home once we get you settled."

We.

"Okay," you say softly. He unlocks the door and motions for you to go in. You sit gingerly on the couch and Joel brings you a glass of water.

And then he paces. He looks at the books on your shelf without seeing them and rubs his thumb against his first two fingers over and over. And all of a sudden he won't look at you.

"Joel, sit down or something," you grumble. "You're making me nervous."

He stops. "Fine." His tone has a bit of bite to it that makes you close your eyes. There's an armchair in the room but he sits next to you instead. He presses his knee to yours, almost in apology.

The adrenaline has faded by now and all you feel is the ache of your shoulder and ribs and rawness of your palms and heart. The shoulder hurts like hell but in a way all of this hurts deeper, harder than that. In the way you know love, or the beginning of it, can hurt.

You sniffle.

Truth is you're overwhelmed. By what happened, by Joel coming to get you and saying all that shit. By him touching you, by him being here, by your own heart beating so quickly at his nearness. Even though you dared hope he felt something close to your affection for him it's a shock to realize he cares about you because you're you, not just because he's a good man. You've always wanted love that came from a place of purpose, which feels selfish on the best of days. You should just accept whatever kindness comes your way in this cruel world.

But, fuck, you've always wanted to feel chosen. Like you matter.

And you do. Right here, you do. From his own lips he's said you do.

You don't even realize you're crying until Joel curses softly and one wide, warm palm is on your face again.

"What's wrong? You hurtin'?" His thumb swipes at your tears. "Talk to me."

"I'm fine." You press your face into his shoulder and he holds you, hand soft on the back of your head. "I'm just -- I'm just really glad you're here, Joel."

"Course I'm here," he says into your hair. "C'mere."

There's nowhere for you to go considering you're already pressed against him. But his arms come around you fully, mindful of your shoulder, and your fingers fist in his shirt.

You should be embarrassed. On the scale of fucked up shit that's happened to you, today is remarkably low. But you let yourself have this. You breathe him in and let him hold you.

"I was going to ask you to get a drink tonight," you mumble. His chest vibrates with laughter.

"That so?" he says. His hand rubs up and down your spine. "Reckon I'd say yes."

You pull back just enough to see his face. This close you can see how his eyes have a bit of gold in them. "Really?" Even with proof of his affection right in front of you it's a little hard to believe.

"Am I readin' this wrong?" he asks. "It's okay if I am--"

"No," you say quickly. "No, you're not."

"Thought so." His lips pull up at the corner just a bit. "But, still. You've had a real rough day, and --"

"Joel," you breathe. You free your good arm from your embrace and put your hand on his jaw. He's touched you plenty today and you want to give it a try yourself. His face is warm, his beard gently rubbing against your skin. His eyes flutter close for a breath before he opens them wide and leans into your hand just a little.

"Alright," he says softly. Then he says your name, just once, ever so tenderly. It sounds like a prayer.

Joel Miller kisses you in the middle of your living room. Despite the affection you've been nursing for him over the last little while you never allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.

It's like this: the first press of his lips is soft like he thinks you'll pull away. When you don't he takes your lower lip between his and presses a little harder. Your hand slides into his hair and he palms your hip with one of his and cups your face with the other. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you open for him, let him lick into your mouth. You sigh into it and tug on his hair just a little. Joel makes a sound deep in his throat and then pulls away.

You're both breathing heavier than before, both smiling. Joel presses his lips to your forehead, your temple. He holds you against him and you breathe against the skin of his neck.

"Will you let me take care of you?" he says into your hair.

"For my sake or yours?"

You think he'll laugh but he just breathes. "Both," he says. "Hell, you know what's goin' on here. I showed my hand. Been showin' it." He pulls away so you can see the honesty in his face. "I told you in as many damn words as I know how."

He did. He did and you make yourself believe it. Love in this life is worth holding on with both hands. Whatever this is, whatever this is going to become, you want it. You want to let this man continue to teach you to ask for help. You want to learn from him, maybe teach him a few things of your own.

You want to love him. You think you could sooner rather than later.

You trace the line of his brow, run your fingertip over the scar on the bridge of his nose.

"Can you kiss me again?" you ask.

"What a fuckin' question," he says. "C'mere."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

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fieldofdaisiies · 2 months

Text

Whispers of the Forgotten | pt. 4

pairing: azriel x reader | type: angst | words: 2,6k words | masterlist

You are alone. The room is dark. Silent. Not a single noise audible. Not a single candle burning. Nothing but deafening silence and darkness, almost like an endless void.

And you. You are alone with your thoughts. Your fears. Your memories.

Nesta has left a moment ago, the wooden door is now closed, the room dark. She had asked you a few times if it would be alright to leave you alone, and of course, you said yes. You decided that you like Nesta. She has a powerful aura around her and is definitely not one to mess with. You would have loved to talk to her a bit more, but you couldn’t keep her here.

But damn, do you hate being alone now. You said you would be alright, but deep inside you knew you wouldn’t, but you didn’t want to keep her here. You couldn’t do this to her.

You are miserable and considered one of the most dangerous beings in this world — what would she do here? With you. She definitely has better things to do...

But now that you are alone, the room suddenly scares you. Being alone does. You didn’t want to keep her here, but you also don’t want to be alone.

Your curl your fingers towards your palms, drawing blood when your sharp nails pierce into your flesh. But the pain…you don’t even notice it anymore, having done this so many times over the past centuries. Whenever you were scared, or panic.king It was not in order to harm or hurt yourself, but to remind yourself that what is happening to you real, not some wild nightmare or hallucination, that you haven’t gone mad.

You lift your gaze and turn your head slightly, your neck aching. You realise quickly that you can’t stay here. You don’t want to stay here. Not alone. Not in the dark. Never again. You can’t do this. You can’t stay here right now.

No one told you you had to stay in your room, only in the Library. So the Library is where you want to be. Outside of this room. In the light. Surrounded by books and maybe one or the other person – the priestesses.

You shoot to the door and rip it open, dashing toward the first light source you spot. The large, towering bookshelves at the end of the corridor are lit and this is where you are heading right now, tired feet still carrying you over the floor rather quickly.

Once surrounded by many books, the scent of the old pages seeping into your nostrils, you inhale deeply and close your eyes for a moment, trying to level your breathing and still your mind.

The Valkyries once had breathing techniques you still like to use. Mind-stilling techniques that helped you to not go insane in your time in the Prison.

You hand reaches out and you brush over some books.

It is a soft, female voice that startles you slightly when you hear it behind you. “You must be, Y/N.”

You spin around and are met with a beautiful, tall female with teal eyes. She kindly smiles at you and you nod.

“I‘m Gwyn. I also live here. Welcome to the Library.”

You meet her gaze and stop dead in your tracks. "Gwyn?"

"Yes," she says, "actually Gwyneth Berdara, but I prefer Gwyn. Just Gwyn."

You look at her in slight surprise, feeling both nostalgic and sad. Your friend, a former member of the Wild Hunt, was called Gwyn. He is dead now.

"You are not scared?" You don't want to think about him, the friend you have lost. Another person who left the world too soon.

You swallow around a lump in your throat and your sharp fingernails brush over the spine of a book. You are thankful for the sweater Nesta has offered you on your way down here, having seen how much you shivered, now hanging loosely over your shoulders, the nightgown beneath still the same you have been wearing for centuries.

"Of you?" Gwyn asks with a smile and takes one step closer. You almost want to warn her to not get too close, but you know you would never hurt her. It’s only what you’ve heard your whole life. Don’t get too close to the demon. Stay away from the evil female.

The Bloodthirsty Baroness comes at midnight to steal your soul and leave you to bleed out. The Silent Reaper executes you before you can defend yourself. Not once have you done such a thing - only tales and legends made you seem like this demonic monster. You only ever avenged victims, took care of those who hurt them, and devoured the revenge you exerted. But you never hurt someone only to hurt them.

"Yes, of me." You meet her eyes again and see how she shakes her head.

"I have a lot of respect for you, but scared? I know you won’t harm me, so I'm not scared."

"Because the High Lord would kill me for it."

Her warm, soft palm lands on your chest before you have time to react. It startles you, massively, and you nearly choke on a breath. Your eyeballs threaten to fall out of their sockets by how wide your eyes are open — she is touching you. You are not irritated or shocked about the audacity, you are confused, startled, about her...kindness.

She smiles when she takes in the shock on your face.

"I am not scared of you because I know you have a good heart. Right in there, you are good, and I don’t have to be afraid of you, with the High Lord’s protection or without it. I know you wouldn’t harm me."

She pulls back her hand and you almost want to reach for her and just pull her into an embrace. She reminds you of your sister and right now you would give the world for just a simple hug from your sister. Or just a simple hug. Just someone caring enough for you to hold you.

“The fangs? The claws, the—”

“Incredibly amazing assets and most definitely very handy in battle. And as I said, I have a lot of respect for you, I can feel your power and I know what you are probably capable of. I am incredibly impressed by you and your powers, but they don't scare me.”

You almost want to laugh about the powers part. Because right now...you don't have them. Not with the amulet not being in your possession, not with some training. Every ounce of power you had, slowly drained from your body during the imprisonment.

But you shake your head and inhale deeply. You don't want to let your anger and frustration show right now, it wouldn't be fair when Gwyn has only been kind to you.

With a little chuckle slipping through your lips you shake your head. “You have a heart of pure gold, Gwyn.”

She only smiles politely, but a faint blush stains her cheeks. “You want company this evening?”

A sigh of relief leaves you. “There is nothing I would rather want." You sling your arms around yourself. "If you don’t mind, of course.”

───── ⋆⋅ ☽☾ ⋅⋆ ─────

The following day – armed with several books Gwyn helped you collect in the Library– you start to read up on Koschei, on spells and curses, on anything that could be important.

You dive into one book after the other, each one captivating you so much you forget about the time and world around you as you gather information, noting things done or remembering by heart. Your mind is sharp, fully focused on the book, eyes scanning every single word, taking it all in. There is so much that is important, you let your head fall back and then you inhale deeply.

Hopefully, they will give you back your amulet soon. You need it and you also want it back. It has been in your family’s possession for centuries, until Azriel–

You don’t dwell on this thought, straightening up and focusing back on the task at hand – going through yet another book and some pieces of parchment that come along with it.

By the special request of Rhysand High Lord of the Night Court, you are always working upstairs, in the living room of the House of Wind. It doesn’t bother you; most of the time you are alone, some tending to business inside the house, others training (Gwyn told you so) on the rooftop.

Sunlight brushes your skin and you revel in the feel of it. You haven’t felt, nor seen, sunlight in so long it now feels like balm against your skin. It is so good, you haven’t felt that alive in so long.

You are still kept somehow locked in, but it almost feels like freedom. You are allowed to roam freely in the House of Wind and the Library. You haven’t got your powers back, but as long as you are in here, you don’t need them. You only need a bit of sunlight, some wonderful conversations with Gwyn, a soft bed to sleep in and good food. It is enough and slowly contentment crawls back into your body – nothing you’ve never thought to ever happen again.

But now there is hope for you to find happiness again. Not with Azriel, and also not with him in your life, but there will be a way to avoid him somehow. Once you have your powers back and Koschei is defeated they might let you leave. You would go to the continent or even further away. As far away from the male who caused you that much pain as possible.

“If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

The voice startles you and you almost shriek, jumping up in your chair, snatching the book close. Your heart races like a wild horse and you whip around to look at Nesta.

There is a smile on her face, one that is too kind and empathetic – you are not used to that sort of friendly behaviour towards you.

“I am fine.” You'r answer is too quick. Too tight, and Nesta purses her lips.

“You may pretend to be, and you are damn good at it, but I know you are not.” She closes the door behind her and moves toward the table, bracing her slim hands upon the surface, manicured nails tapping against it. “What you have gone through…I think none of us can imagine, but I don’t want you to have to swallow it all up.”

Her throat bobs when she swallows. “I know what it does to someone, not opening up or not having anyone to talk to.”

“I don’t need anyone to talk to.” You meet her gaze. “I don’t need anyone.” You want this statement to be strong and steadfast, but your voice gives you away, breaking slightly towards the end, so you quickly add. “All my life, I’ve been alone. I was orphaned when I was a babe, later no one ever cared about me, then my powers manifested and everyone got scared and they started to fear and hate me.”

“You were part of the Wild Hunt.” Nesta interrupts you and you don’t like it. But her statement surprises you. How the hell does she know? Well, Rhysand has probably told everyone. How he knew? Either from his father or Azriel.

“I was.”

She claims the seat across you and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

��I’m sure they cared about you.” Neither of you looks away and power stretches out between you. You are both strong-willed and powerful, neither of you is giving in now. You wonder if she really only wants to help you, be there for you. There is not a kernel of bad blood inside her body, your soul detects nothing, and so it makes you truly think she might only want to be nice to you. But why?

“We didn’t care about each other. We tolerated each other, had our backs when we went out for the hunt, but that was it.” Slowly, you scrape a talon down the cover of the book.

“Did you give yourself your nicknames?”

Does none of them have manners? No knocking, no announcing oneself, just showing up.

You turn to Gwyn and raise your brow at her. You can’t be mad at her, she was too kind to you the other evening, and her words have strung cords within your heart you thought no longer to exist. So, inhaling deeply and calming your heart, your decide to be polite to her.

“The Bloodthirsty Baroness.” Gwyn walks up to Nesta, nothing but curiosity shimmering within her teal eyes. "The Silent Reaper."

Your eyes flick to her and in a smooth, polished voice you say, “I earned myself the titles.”

Neither Gwyn nor Nesta show a reaction but a chill courses through the room, cooling the temperature at least two degrees.

“But probably not for the reason you think," you silently add. You move the book away from you and flex your fingers, then curl them towards your palms. “I wasn’t bloodthirsty for innocent people, I only took revenge for those who could no longer do so. My hands were drenched in blood, but it wasn’t spilled in vain.”

“See,” Gwyn says with a small smile and slumps into the chair next to Nesta. “I knew you had a good heart.”

A cold chuckle parts your lips. “I wouldn’t quite say that I have a good heart, but I’m not quite as cruel as the legends and stories paint me. And the silent part is definitely true - always appearing at midnight, taking the souls of those with me who deserved it. No noise could be heard, no one could be seen and no trace was left behind.”

A smirk appears on Nesta’s face and she slowly bows her head. “Are you alright with being here?” She changes the topic and you are incredibly thankful for it. Or would be, if she hadn’t asked this question.

You can’t quite say no, because being here is not the worst place you have ever been at, but then, with Azriel always being somewhere around, it kind of is (not as bad as the Prison though…)

“It is alright.”

“I asked if you are alright.”

You chuckle again and give your head a shake. “I’m alright.”

Now, Nesta dips her chin and seems content with your answer. Insufferable, you think, but you have to admit you actually like her. She partly reminds you of yourself.

There is a little spark inside your mind, just a very small thought, a fleeting moment, that lets you think what if. What if you stayed here and became friends with Nesta and Gwyn. You could see yourself being friends with them and–

You immediately cut off your string of thouhgts.

This is bullshit. You won’t stay here. The first chance you get, you will be gone. Far away and never return. People who live here have hurt you, and you will never find forgiveness for them.

“Shall we let you work again?”

With a smile you dip your chin at Gwyn. “That would be nice. I’ve found quite some things already.” You don’t really know why you share so much, but you are all in this together, so why keep things from them. And so you continue, letting them in on what you have found out already, sharing some bits and pieces with them that could be of interest.

When the sun already starts to set outside and Gwyn and Nesta leave for training with the other priestesses you are for the first time reminded how much time you have spent bent over the books this day.

“Nesta,” you call after her once she is nearly out of the door.

She slowly turns to you, waiting, but Gwyn is already gone, her humming filling the otherwise silent corridor.

“Thank you for offering me to talk to you whenever I need it. And thank you…just thank you.” You smile a little sheepishly but she returns it with a bright grin. “Anytime,” she says and you add, “If you get a chance, just tell Gwyn thank you from me again as well.”

She bows her head and is gone in the next moment.

With a small, barely-there smile on your lips you focus your attention back to the task at hand. Spending so much time researching seems like a good thing to make time pass, you realise and reach for yet another book. It is big and has a thick velvety binding. Your fingers stroke over the golden lettering that says something about darkness and its creatures.

When you flip it open the first lovely being revealed to you is the Naaga. You haven’t seen them in a long time, you think, but you have had both good and bad memories with those little beasts. You flick through more pages, getting lost in every little word you read, reminding you of a time long ago.

So enthralled by the knowledge you gather from the book, you haven’t noticed that someone opened the door, nor that someone has walked in.

Not someone – Azriel.

"Can we talk?"

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii@nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22 @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @callmeblaire

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar x reader #acotar #azriel

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newworldwritings · 2 months

Text

NewWorldWritings Recs! (ATEEZ)

gif by @graphicstorage

these are some writings that i have read that i would love to share with the rest of atiny/readers. some of these quite literally made me cry, laugh, and relate.

let me know if any of the links don’t work!

more will be added too #newworldwritingsreblogs !

some of these do contain smut, dark themes, & lots more. so please remember to read the warnings that each author put in their works.

❕= SMUT/DARKTHEMES

OT8 x reader

❕player 1117 @peachesyeo

(series -> ongoing) obessive!gamecharacters!ateez x villainess!reader

❕morning mist @mint-yooxgi

(series -> ongoing) Yandere!Dragon!Ateez X Chubby!Reader

❕The Library of Illusion @kwanisms

(series -> completed) ateez ot8 × fem!reader

Want You Back @whimsicalwritingsandmore

(series -> ongoing) werewolf!ot8!ateez x werewolf!reader

��Circus @lani-heart

(series -> ongoing) ateez ot8 x reader

❕trope @bro-atz

(series -> completed) ateez member/gn!reader or ateez member/afab!reader

❕Black Ocean @bvidzsoo

(ongoing) Ateez members x female readers

❕room for three @honeyhotteoks

(56k series -> completed) nonidol!yunho x nonidol!seonghwa x reader

❕splish splash @atozfic

(20k) nonidol!san x nonidol!seonghwa x nonidol!wooyoung x nonidol!yunho x fem!reader

undying bonds @edenesth

(series -> completed) Hongjoong x fem!reader, Seonghwa x fem!reader

❕whichever way @igbylicious

(series -> ongoing) woosan x fem!reader

Hongjoong

you’re hongjoongs bias @jnginlov

(8.6k) idol!hongjoong x idol!reader

captains favorite @edenesth

(1.1k) captain!Hongjoong x doctor!reader

Black and White @atinystraynstay

(2k) Kim Hongjoong x fem!reader

Seonghwa

❕The Way to His Heart @edenesth

(series -> ongoing) general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

Cold Snap @ennysbookstore

(4 part series -> completed) nonidol!Seonghwa x Reader

❕Dancing With the Devil pt.2 @bro-atz

(2 part series -> completed) assassin!seonghwa x afab!reader

❕the trouble with hating you. @baekhvuns

(33k) badboy!seonghwa x reader.

Bingo @gummygowon

(1.8k) single dad!seonghwa x reader

❕you’re the one that i want @ateezmakemeweep

(series -> completed) bad boy!seonghwa x fem!reader

Yunho

❕Guerrilla @sorryimananti-romantic

(27k) serialkiller!dr.yunho x writer!reader

What Builds a Home @cosmicdumpling

(7.2k) husband!yunho x fem!reader

❕Memoir @baekhvuns

(16k) nonidol!yunho x reader

all i want for christmas is you @starrysvn

(11k) yunho x gn!reader

Yeosang

❕lessons in intimacy @honeyhotteoks

(14.5k) camboy!yeosang/barista!yeosang x fem!reader

Siren. @sorryimananti-romantic

(27.8k) siren!yeosang x sirenhunter!reader

San

❕ceilings pt.2 @yoongiseesawmp3

(2 part series -> completed) pe teacher!san x single mom!reader

❕The Art of Climbing the Corporate Tower @ennysbookstore

(2 part series -> completed) nonidol!san x reader

Love Poem @frenchkisstheabyss

(3.5k) dad!choi san x pregnant!chubby!fem!reader

❕Crafting Christmas @yoonguurt

(15.2k) single dad!San × reader

destiny @tainsan

(25k) idol!San x nonidol!reader

❕ch_i san @atzfilm (this one made me cry my eyes out)

(19k) android!san × reader

Mingi

❕nightmare, daydream @mingigoo

(11.1k) tutor!femreader x popularboy!Mingi

❕Shower Ecstasy @myhimbomingi

(1.6k) song mingi x afab!reader

❕Grease and oil @bvidzsoo

(5.6k) mechanic!mingi x fem!reader

Wooyoung

instagram @roomsofangel

(series -> ongoing) nonidol!wooyoung x fem!reader

❕Home for the Holidays @highvern

(24k) nonidol!Wooyoung x fem!reader

❕Midnight Kisses @mingigoo

(5 part series -> completed) bff!Wooyoung x single parent!femreader

Still You @edenesth

(15k) exbf!Wooyoung x fem!reader

Change of Heart @hotteoki

(5k) suitor!wooyoung x princess!reader

Jongho

to yours, jongho @halaboyz

(1.8k) busker!jongho x gn! reader

when strangers kiss @starlitmark

(5.4k) nonidol!Jongho x fem!reader

Guarding Hearts @edenesth

(15k) bodyguard!Jongho x actress!reader

#ateez au #ateez fic recs #ateez masterlist #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez fake texts #ateez texts #ateez fluff #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez drabbles #ateez dragon au #ateez series

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cheolaholic · 8 months

Text

ring of love; csc (01)

summary; agreeing to join vernon spectate an underground boxing match wasn't how you'd expect to spend your friday night. you also didn't expect to see seungcheol, someone you've lost contact with for years, become a part of the ring.

modern! au • boxer! au • hhu focused • multiple kinds of tropes • fluff, angst, smut

a/n; AND THE FIC IS OUT 💃🏻✨

ngl, i posted up the teaser at around 1am just to see how it'd go (was planning on deleting it right afterwards if nothing showed up). i woke up like 6 or 7 hours later and holy shit yall - i wasn't expecting it to get so much attention or blow up 😭 and it was just a TEASER 😭✋🏻 i've also gone through the small notes section of the taglist form (my favorite is the one that said they like my brain lol) either ways, i'm so glad you're all as excited as i am for this fic 🥹🫶🏻 it really means a lot to me <33

i'd also like to point out that i'm writing this fic as i go, kind of going with the flow, so, occasionally some things might not make sense but let's hope the flow goes well 🙏🏻

taglist at the end !

click here to join the taglist ♡

“hey there, babygirl,” vernon greeted as he took a seat in front of you at the library desk.

the nickname had you looking up from your laptop, shooting the boy a grimacing look.

“vernon, what the fuck?”

vernon chwe, an art major you had met on the first day of college during orientation, since both of you were in the same freshman group during said orientation.

you were entirely new to seoul, having spent most of your life in a small town in daegu (alongside your introverted nature, talking to new people while having to adjust to your new surroundings was basically an introvert’s nightmare).

when vernon approached you during one of the 30 minute breaks, he handed you a bottle of coke, a friendly gesture you appreciated a lot. that wasn’t what caught your eye though - it was his clothes. it’s not every day you’d see a college student wearing a bright neon tie-dyed shirt.

when vernon noticed your staring, he simply said “ah, yeah, the rest of my clothes are in the dryer. i’m vernon, by the way! vernon chwe!”

“...i’m ___,” came your response, “lee ___.”

from then on, you’ve both been stuck to each other like glue. always seen together to the point you both had been mistaken as a couple one too many times.

guess the saying of 'you're not real besties unless people think you're a couple' is true to an extent.

though you both have made it clear that the relationship between the two of you is strictly platonic.

the boy laughs at your reaction before shutting up as a few students shoot him a dirty look, a few others shushing him. “it’s fun messing with you, ___,” he said in a soft voice, not wanting to get on the nerves of the other students, “watcha working on?”

“just the usual presentation preparations,” you answered as you pushed back up your glasses and continued typing away.

“is this a group or solo project?”

“solo, which thank god. if this was a group and i had another bad luck on my groupmates, i was going to lose it.”

vernon cringes at the mention of groupmates. in your previous group assignment, you were stuck with not one, not two; but three parasites. he remembered how sleep deprived and stressed you were throughout the semester for said group project. he’d gotten you to submit an email to the lecturer in charge, writing out in extreme detail how you had to bear the responsibilities of the group members while they were out and about, partying, going out on dates etc.

however, you decided to go even further than just submitting an email.

it was the day of the presentation. as your lecturer sat in the front row seat alongside two other faculty members, you looked at your parasitic freeloading groupmates that were standing to your left.

“are you guys ready?” you asked in a quiet voice.

when they nodded their heads, you smiled as you pressed the clicker in your hand. anyone would have assumed your smile was that of an encouraging smile. you however, knew better.

as the first slide was projected onto the projection screen, the topic of the presentation was written in a big font while all four names of yours and your groupmates were written underneath it.

as you pressed on the clicker, one by one, the names of your groupmates began to be removed from the slide. the classroom was confused before catching on - you were calling out your group mates for being parasites.

your groupmates watched in a panic state as the students began whispering amongst themselves; the faculty members jotting things down on their clipboards.

once all the three names were removed with your name being the only one left on the slide, in a calm and collected voice, you said, “now, shall we begin the presentation?”

vernon remembered the proud expression you had when he met up with you the same day. “how’d it feel?” he asked, having helped you with your research and planned out the execution for the revelation of the free loaders.

“amazing!” came your reply with a beaming smile, satisfied.

“whatever happened to those three anyways?”

shrugging, you heard from some classmates that they had either gotten suspended or needed to retake the class. but, you didn’t care.

why would you?

if anything, you were glad you didn't have to deal with them for the rest of your studying years.

"hmm, fair enough," vernon responded before placing both arms on the table, leaning forward, "so, got any friday night plans?"

"if you're planning to drag me to a frat party-"

"not a frat party."

looking up from your laptop with an eyebrow raised, the boy just shoots you a smile - a smile that you can't help but feel suspicious of.

as you saved your work progress and shut down your laptop, vernon spoke again.

"have you heard of underground boxing?"

"i am not going to get in a boxing ring."

"you don't have to!"

once you've packed up your stuff and headed out of the library together, he explained more about the underground boxing.

it's a monthly event and is usually held somewhere in itaewon. when you mentioned that you didn't think vernon was the type to take part in these events, he replied with, "that's because i don't. a close friend of mine does and i usually go to support him with two other close friends!"

"and where do i play a part in this… support group?"

"don't hate me for this, okay? i just think that you could use some outdoor time, ya'know? i know you're introverted and want to hole up in your apartment the entire weekend, but it wouldn't hurt to try something new!"

you were silent for a moment.

"so, i'm a bore, is what you're getting at."

"what!? no! absolutely, not!"

when you let out a laugh at vernon's reaction, it had a few students around both of you stunned.

maybe it's due to your introverted nature that everyone assumed you'd be cold-natured too, black cat energy they call it.

but to vernon, he knew it wasn't the case. you just needed to be around the right people or in a setting you're familiar/comfortable with to be yourself.

'naturally introverted, selectively extroverted' as they called it.

"i'll go if you pick me up."

"does seven sound good to you?"

"yeap."

"aight, bet."

introverted ass: ik i should've asked this earlier

introverted ass: but is there like a dress code or smtg?

introverted ass: bcs i don't wanna show up looking extremely out of place

vrrnonie: casual should be okay

vrrnonie: maybe bring a jacket along

introverted ass: but it's a boxing match

introverted ass: wouldn't it be hot and stuffy from all that sweat

introverted ass: ?

vrrnonie: it's actually air conditioned, believe it or not

vrrnonie: and it's well ventilated too

vrrnonie: and there's not much people, dont worry

vrrnonie: the place can hold up to 100+ ppl

vrrnonie: but they usually only let in abt 70-ish?

vrrnonie: not wanting to be too stuffy, crowd control etc

introverted ass: so i'm assuming i can just wear my sweater and tights?

vrrnonie: yeapp

vrrnonie: reaching in 10 btw

introverted ass: wtf

vrrnonie: you can do your makeup in the car when we reach

vrrnonie: it doesn't start til 10pm so we can grab some dinner

introverted ass: again, wtf

vrrnonie: love ya bestie 😘

introverted ass: 🙄✋🏻

true to his word, vernon did show up ten minutes later at your apartment front door.

parking his mercedes-benz in one of the few empty spots, he then brought you to a diner he deemed to have the best burger in all of itaewon (of course that was after he let you finish doing your makeup, as he had promised you).

"so… how long have your friends been doing this whole underground boxing thing?" you asked, stabbing a few fries on a fork before shoving them into your mouth.

"oh, just one of them actually," vernon replied with his mouth half full of his beef burger. "wonwoo hyung acts as the manager while mingyu hyung and i are there as first aiders. occasionally, we'd help him train too. but, mingyu is the one he trains with since he works out more than i do."

"does this boxer friend of yours have a name?"

"i can't really say his actual name out here. but, his stage name is scoups!"

why does that stage name sound so familiar… you ponder.

it's now 1230am and you've been out way longer than you should be (technically, more like longer than you wanted).

by right, shou should now be on your bed, cuddled up in your blanket as you binge whatever series or movies are available on the many streaming platforms offered.

yet, here you are - in an underground boxing ring somewhere in itaewon all because your best friend had decided you should spend more time outside.

the match was nearing its final round and based on what you've heard from the people sitting beside you (vernon had left to go to the locker rooms where his friends were; but had assured you everyone is respectable and won't try anything weird. it didn't reassure you completely to be left alone in the crowd, but any kind of reassurance is acceptable at this point), it seems that the two final boxers would be JK and scoups.

(you had also taken a lot of toilet breaks due to the overwhelming feeling of being in a crowd for an extended period of time)

you still ask yourself why the name 'scoups' sound so familiar…

it was only when the loud cheers snapped you out of your thoughts, causing you to shift your focus onto the ring that you finally realise why that name sounded so familiar.

because right in that boxing ring, stood an old face you've been longing to see for years.

choi seungcheol.

taglist (i can't tag a few for some reason ㅠㅠ);

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arabellasleopardcoat · 10 months

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Categorical (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Aemond needs to blow off some steam, so you offer to verbally spar with him.

Warnings: Smut. Oral sex (F receiving) Friends/ Academic rivals to lovers. Torturing of philosophers.

A/N: Man, translating modern texts into High Valyrian is a pain. I did my best. Also look! My first Aemond smut. For nerdy explanations, go beneath the dots.

“No.” You laugh, placing your cup down. “You will not convince me of Archmaester Rene's superiority to Septon Immanuel.”

It's very late on the library. You are sitting cross-legged on top of the table, Aemond properly sat on a chair. If a Maester were to see you, or god forbid, a Septa, you would be scolded until their face turned red.

You shouldn't be here. Not in the library or alone with him, either. A loud feast is going on outside, to celebrate Princess Rhaenyra and her sons. Neither of you wanted to stay for longer than was strictly required.

It had been your idea. Noticing how pent-up the Prince was becoming, you had offered to come here in the hopes of letting him blow off some steam in a constructive way. If you had been taught how to handle a sword, you would have invited him to the courtyard. But you had been born a woman near Oldtown. Words were your preferred weapons.

“Rene shaped his era!” Aemond protests, brandishing the Second Meditation in his hand. “Without him, Immanuel would be nothing.”

You scoff. Here he goes again. One would think, for such a devout man, he would be kinder to the Septon’s views on philosophy.

“That's a bit much. Did Prince Aegon spike your drink?”

Aemond and you… It was a weird thing. As the daughter of a member of the small council, you had been brought to King’s Landing to foster alongside Princess Helaena. But as a girl from The Reach, you had little interest in embroidery and chasing bugs. No, you were more interested in learning politics and new languages. It meant that you were closer to her brother than her.

At first, both of you had been hesitant to break out of your roles, but soon, having someone who was as passionate as you were about learning turned seductive. Sometimes, too seductive.

“Perhaps you are right.” The Prince laughs, and you let your expression turn hopeful for a second. Had you finally defeated Aemond in an argument? You could actually dance from happiness because the man was as stubborn as they came. "Only on being a bit much. Because while that might have been exaggerated, you know I am right about any Maester being superior to the Septons in terms of exploration of philosophical themes. Septons stray into ethics too much, and do not solve the truly important questions.”

“And what is exactly wrong with ethics?” You frown. You have dedicated yourself to the pursuits of understanding how a rational human being behaves in society. It's interesting, as an overthinker. Obsessing over the existence of a universal way of doing the right thing occupies most of your days.

How different would life be, if there was a universal guideline to follow and have things always turn right? How easier, if you knew how to get the best outcome, each time?

“Nothing, I guess. If you like ethics, I am willing to indulge you. But Immanuel?” Aemond shakes his head, sliding the book to a corner of the table. It’s opened in the middle of one of the passages, one you know well.

One you hate well, too. A thing that thinks. A thing that doubts. Cogito ergo sum. You were not sold on the idea of reality being the product of a particularly malicious demon, but it was on-brand for Aemond. To you, instead, it ended up reading more like the ramblings of a madman.

“What’s wrong with him? His work is revolutionary!” And it is true. You are not exaggerating. No one else has done such a thorough job of explaining how one should behave, and how society and laws play into our choices.

“Who likes him, anyway? He is a nightmare.” Aemond shakes his head.

“To your logic self, perhaps. I find him very inspiring.” You try to keep a straight face as you say it, but your lips are twitching into a smile.

You are morally obligated to defend Immanuel's honor. He is the basis of your whole studies. But you have to admit, he is not the easiest read. Or the most interesting. The Archmaester is much more compelling in that aspect, but you would rather die than prove Aemond right.

“You are lying through your teeth right now. What would the Septon think of that?”

“Oh, shut up, you. It still doesn't prove your point.” And honestly, it’s a tactic so low, it impresses you. Moral attacks? Really? You grin at Aemond and he grins back, knowing you caught him red-handed. He shrugs.

“Do you want me to prove my point?” His hand taps on your knee. The Prince is not meant to touch you like this, no matter how innocent. You are not supposed to be this close to a man who is not part of your family or your betrothed. Yet, he never seems to care.

You and Aemond touch often. Always innocent touches, of course. A hand that lingers too long when passing over a quill. Lips that drink from the same cup, from the exact place your lips have left a mark. You circle each other, you chase each other.

You marvel each time he does, at the wonderful reactions he manages to prompts from you. Heart skipping a beat, palms getting sweaty, pupils dilating. You are in love. So in love it hurts, and it tears at you, but also feels like floating and sitting on the softest clouds.

It’s exquisite, the pain of loving. Overwhelming. Like standing in the freezing rain. Makes you feel so alive but so utterly lonely, knowing the object of your affections will never see you as you want him too.

You are his friend. The one he can count on to discuss the latest book or the intricacies of a long forgotten society. Never a woman.

How you long for him to look your way, just once. For his eye to linger on your lips a little too long. His hands to stray away from proper touches, towards intimate caresses.

And it hurts, when it doesn’t happen. You clear your throat, vanish those thoughts, and plaster a smile on your face. It’s easy, pulling witty remarks out of the tip of your tongue. It always is, with him. The debate manages to be lively and profound, minds bouncing from topic to topic until you exhaust yourselves. You make each other better, sharper, smarter.

"Of course, Prince of Arguing.” You tease, eyes crinkling at the corners. “No rhetoric. Or fallacies. Tu quoque.”

“I don't need them. I can do it with pure empirical evidence.” Aemond taunts right back, leaning forward on his chair. It sounds strange. More charged than usual. The tension between the two of you building, rising. Suddenly, it’s not a conversation about Septon Immanuel and Archmaester Rene.

“Oh?”

It’s all the permission he requires. Aemond gets up, abruptly. The chair falls back with a loud clatter. Neither of you pay it any attention.

“Look me in the eye.” He says, stepping closer. Your breath hitches at the proximity, but you decide there is nothing wrong with indulging him. The library is empty and no one will look for either of you. “Iksā iā run bona iotāpagon.”

You arch an eyebrow. Of course, he picks the one language you have yet to be able to master.

“Valyrian. How fancy.”

Aemond ignores you. You have no choice but to look up at him, with the way he is looming over you. This close, you can see his pupils are blown, and he looks slightly nervous. Does he think you are a dragon, perhaps, that he is speaking High Valyrian in such a soothing tone? You are about to make that joke, but it dies in your throat when he gets even closer, nose nearly bumping against yours.

"Bona umbagon, bona vestras kessa, bona vestras daor.” He mutters, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. You tilt your head up, like a flower moving to follow her sun. Whatever he is saying, you don’t know, but you recognize the words for yes and no. You do not dare speak, afraid of breaking whatever is finally building up between the two of you.

So many months spent playing cat and mouse, so many months making him give chase. Queen Alicent gushing about how good you would look together, how much she wants another daughter. Nights spent in the library, arguing just for the sake of it.

It doesn’t feel like a game, anymore.

Aemond leans forward, pupil dilated and dark. “Bona gīmissiks byka.” His nose bumps against yours. Your pulse accelerates. To jump or not to jump? His eye goes from yours, to your lips. You watch the slight smug quirk of that smart mouth you love so. It’s then when you get a hold of yourself. You love him too much to lose him to this if it were to go wrong. That line you don’t dare cross. You try to get off the table you are sitting on.

Aemond grabs your arm, not forcefully, but enough to hold you in place. You could get out of it if you wanted to.

“Bona daor gīmissiks olvie.” He whispers, carefully cupping your cheek in his hand. Helpless against him, you nuzzle his hand. Fervently, as if promising something, anything, he keeps going. “Bona ēza jorrāelagon, vēdros, ebas, daoriot ebas.”

Jorrāelagon. Love. A confession. For your ears only, in a way that fits both of you. High Valyrian has always been the language of the arts, after all.

Unable to resist him any longer, you kiss him. Forgetting all about how you should behave, how the library is empty and that if you two get caught, your reputation would be ended. You just couldn’t wait anymore.

You would know his voice among a thousand voices. That's why you know, even when it is a whisper, that Aemond is still speaking into the kiss, smugly.

“Bona ēza ēdrugon, bona ēza dijāves.”

You kiss him harder. He is quoting something against your lips, against your skin, as he presses lush and desperate kisses to the skin of your jaw. As you suck a bruise in the hollow of his throat.

He pushes you gently to lay on the table, giving you a wicked look. When you nod, Aemond hikes up your skirts, exposing your legs and lower stomach.

“And to think we could have been doing this for so long.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your belly button, smiling as you squirm desperately.

“Quoting things in High Valyrian?” You ask, unable to not tease him.

“That, too.” He laughs. “If you knew it, you would have figured out it was Rene's Second Meditation.”

You laugh, soon melting into a moan when he starts nibbling at your thighs.

“I’m not sold on his superiority, yet.”

“Trust me, my Lady.” Aemond grins. “When I am finished, you will be singing his praises.”

“Aemond…” You say, suddenly apprehensive. Despite trusting him, you are a smart and educated woman. You know that even a hint of doubt could ruin your reputation. And while you would gladly give your maidenhead to him, you do not feel comfortable enough to enjoy it. “I… We are not married.”

“I know.” He says, taking your hand in his and squeezing it. “I’m not that kind of man.”

“What are you doing, then?” You push yourself up on your elbows, to be able to look at him. Aemond remains crouched between your legs, busy with sucking a bruise on the juncture between thigh and hip.

“Finally, a subject where I am more knowledgeable than you.” The Prince smirks, before licking over your hole. You bite your lower lip to keep quiet, trying to stay still on the table.

“My Prince…” You whine. It’s a strange feeling, but a pleasurable one. His mouth is scorching hot over your sex, and his tongue is doing things that you are pretty sure are considered a sin by the Faith of the Seven. A shame you were never very religious.

You cannot think straight, with the way his tongue is lazily playing with your pearl. You try to be polite about it, but the moans leave your mouth unabashedly. If it were not for the feast happening outside, the whole Red Keep would hear your moans. You hope the music is enough to drown it. For your sake and his.

“Ah, weren’t you the most eloquent Lady in The Reach? Finish your sentence.” Aemond mocks, pulling back. It doesn’t make any sense to you, your line of thought long-lost to the pleasure he is delivering you. Unashamedly, you try to grind your hips against his face, but Aemond just tuts. “Use your words.” His voice is filled with the same smugness as when he beats Ser Criston on the training yard, or manages to make you change your mind on a subject.

The respite lets you think. Without him assaulting your senses, you try to recall what it was that you two were discussing. Knowledge. Aemond had been saying he had more knowledge than you about something, and his phrasing had been ambiguous. You had been about to ask him what he meant.

“I meant to…” He swirls his tongue around your pearl, making you cut off your question, again. He keeps at it, making your voice turn shaky. You cannot think straight, or speak without moaning. Not with the way his tongue presses at your entrance, not with how he keeps torturing your poor pearl. The bud throbs and feels swollen, and you can tell he is taking advantage of it. “Ask. I was going to… Prince Aemond!”

“What?” Aemond sits back on his heels, perching his chin on your thigh. Caressly, he takes off the eye patch. You respectfully don’t look. You know it’s not because he trusts you, or because he wants you to see it. It’s because he is about to dive right in between your thighs and with how wet you are, the garment would get soaked. And it would show. You know your body well enough to know that your juices would stain the dark leather.

Eventually, the night will come to an end and you two would have to return to your separate chambers through hallways full of people. If the Prince were to walk back with a stained eye patch, tongues would talk. More so, when your absence was noted. Half the Red Keep knows already how much time you spend together. He would not risk the stain on your reputation or on his. If it were found out you two were partaken in such deviant acts, both of you would be shunned.

So, keeping your eyes firmly on the ceiling to not embarrass him or force him to share something he is not ready for yet, you speak.

“I can’t speak with your mouth doing… Doing… That!”

Your cheeks burn. You are unsure how to name the act, and if perhaps you got over your shyness, you would ask him.

Aemond's response is clipped. Irritated.

“You should have thought about it before denying us for so long. Keep arguing. Or I’ll stop.” And it’s not your fault, really. It’s not like you were doing it on purpose. On the contrary. So focused on your feelings of admiration towards the Prince, you had been blind to his. You had never thought your love was reciprocated, and so were set on stomping on it until nothing but friendship and camaraderie remained.

Never would you have thought him angry at your constant shying away. The thought makes butterflies surge in your stomach. The fact that Aemond wants you so much that he is angry at the thought of not having you sooner has you weak at the knees.

Aemond takes your pearl between his lips, once more. He is careful, so the pleasure only edges to uncomfortable. You whine. He pulls away. You scream out on betrayal, before remembering exactly what Aemond asked you to.

“I meant… Ask if you meant you knew…” And back at it, he goes, this time rewarding you by licking a path from your hole towards your pearl. “Ah! More than me in…”

Too lost in your pleasure, you grab a handful of his hair, bucking your hips on his face. At this angle, Aemond’s nose rubs you just right, and you find yourself chasing the friction.

“Go on. I quite enjoy where this is heading.” He snickers, the vibrations doing wonders to make you lose your line of thought even more. But the threat of him stopping the wonderful, wonderful things he is doing is enough for you to rack your brain for anything to say.

“Knew more about matters of the flesh or if you meant… Aemond, Aemond, stop it! I can’t think.” You beg, on the verge of tears. Just as you are speaking, he starts sucking hard on your pearl. You have never, in your life, been as frustrated. It’s impossible to do his bidding when he is torturing you. Aemond has set you up for an impossible task. You would rather have the feeling stop than have to endure it a bit longer. Your body trembles, shaking and writing on the table. “High Valyrian!”

“Both. A few times.” Aemond answers, and you mumble back something incoherent. You are near something, a cusp of pleasure so intense you fear you might shatter from the force of it. You scream, shrill and high, feeling your body absolutely gush at his ministrations.

As you pant down from your high, Aemond tenderly fixes your skirts. He smooths your dress down, making sure there are no creases or suspicious stains. Completely at ease, as if he was not making you reach a peak that had your legs shaking mere moments ago, Aemond puts back on his eye patch.

You remain laying on the table, flushed and sweaty from the exertion. He gives you a mischievous look, and leans down to kiss you.

“Will you teach me, my Prince?” You ask, when you two part. It comes out more eager than you would have wanted, but you don’t care. You are not afraid anymore of showing how head over heels you are for him. And in the typical fashion of Targaryen men, Aemond seems to delight in the attention.

“Trust me. I intend to.” He pulls you to a sitting position. Still shaky, you cling to him. Aemond keeps grooming you, fixing your hair and tugging at your sleeves. You rest your head against his breastbone.

“Long engagement?”

“Short. I would marry you tomorrow, were I able to.” He answers, as he fixes a button that had come undone in all your trashing. Then, he grabs the Second Meditation and presses it into your hand. “So?”

“Yes. You win. Archmaester Rene is superior to Septon Immanuel.”

Credits:

The ideas that Aemond and the reader are discussing belong, of course, to Kant and Descartes. The Second Meditation of Descartes as a prelude to sex was my sexual awakening, during a philosophy class at like… I don’t know. Sixteen? There is this show our philosophy teacher showed us, where a philosophy teacher is the main character. Merlí. In the first episode, the Philosophy teacher seduces the English teacher by reciting the Second Meditation in the original French. As the years passed, and I too entered my love and hate philosophy phase, I never lost that memory. I really wanted to write something with it, and my Aemond’s fics tend to be more artsy.

Also, forgive me for using philosophy from the 1500 - 1600 AC. I just can’t find it in myself to make the debate on how many angels can dance on a pinhead fascinating (That one would be period, although not Westeros, accurate) Hm. I should have gone for Aquino, maybe.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond x fem!reader #prince aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic

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sweetlittlegingy · 2 years

Text

Just Come Home

✦Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Better Man Universe

✦Pairing: Father Figure Jake x Y/N Son

✦Word Count: 1.1K

✦Warnings: Light angst, fluffy Jake, nightmares, child crying

✦A/n: I loved writing this, Jake is super soft and I'm a sucker for dad!Jake.

✦Library (Follow for updates! I no longer have a taglist.)

An alarming cry jolted Jake from his sleep, waking him from the peaceful dream state that always consumed him whenever he had you in his arms. Listening out the silences of the house was calming, though as another cry is heard Jake knows that it’s Mathew.

You slowly stir awake, going to get up, though before you can Jake pulls you by the waist back to the bed.

“I’ve got him darlin’” He places a kiss on your head, and you can’t help the sleep-filled smile that settles across your lips. “You need your sleep.”

You go to protest, knowing that he needs his sleep just as much, if not more, than you do. But he is already up, pulling his sweats and t-shirt on. Sleep overtakes you again, as the silent form of Jake heads out the Mathews bedroom. Your heart fills with love, this past year with Jake had been a dream and you couldn’t imagine a better father-figure for Maty.

Jake hears Mathew’s quiet whimpers as he nears the child’s room, the darkness of the night incases the house as Jake passes the kitchen and a bright 2:13 am blinks in red.

He wipes the sleep from his eyes, yawning as his body is still wrecked from the pass week. He’s thankful that it’s a Friday night, the past five days the Dagger Squadron had been running drills with a new set of recruits. Each of the team member switching off teaching positions, depending on the days needed skill set.

Mathew’s door is slightly ajar and the light from his moon lamp, seeps into the hallway. Pushing the door open slowly, as to not scare the child, Jake sees Mathew sat up clutching on to the blanket that Jake had gotten him before going on a mission last month.

The light blue material, littered with planes, had easily become Mathews favorite comfort item. Jake couldn’t have been happier when he saw how much Mathew loved it, always having it during their nightly calls. It didn’t matter that Jake was on carrier in the middle of the ocean, every night they called and read a bedtime story. Though two weeks didn’t seem all that long, it had been a rough two weeks for all three of you.

Jake had officially moved in, and Maty was used to his presence every day, and those 14 days were hell. Maty was constantly worrying about Jake and was afraid that he wouldn’t come home.

In the last two weeks that Jake had been home, Mathew was attached to his hip. Wanting Jake to do everything with him, school drop-offs (which worked perfectly, as Maty was now going to school on base), nightly homework, and you even lost the privilege of bedtime stories.

Jake couldn’t have been happier that Mathew wanted to spend so much time with him and grew to love their newly formed routine.

Slowly walking over to the side of Mathew's bed, Jake softly sat down not wanting to startle him. Jake realized that Mathew's eyes were still closed, and he was in fact still dreaming. Jake slowly reached out for the boy, moving to bring Mathew’s shuttering form to his lap.

Rocking Mathew ever so gently, Jake slowly pushed back the hair on his head. Quietly muttering sweet nothings, hoping to calm the child, or slowly ease him from his dream state.

Mathew slowly started to wake up, his body going ridge, until he realized that it was Jake holding him. Rubbing at his eyes Mathew slowly looked up and found a smiling Jake staring back at him.

“Hey buddy, you okay?” Jake quietly questioned, still afraid of startling him.

His little head nodded, giving Jake a silent answer. Which only meant one of two things; Mathew was still half-asleep, or he’d been having a horrible nightmare. Jake had a gut instinct that it was the latter.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Another silent nod without a reply, Jake new that Mathew would open up in his own time. Moving the five-year-old off his lap, caused a silent whimper and tiny hands to clutch onto Jake’s shirt.

“I’m not going anywhere bud. Let’s just lay down, I won’t leave you bubba.”

Mathew’s body instantly relaxed and moved over as much as possible to make room for Jake to fit into his small bed.

Once they were both comfortable, with Jake laying down and Mathew laying on top of his chest listening to his heartbeat, Jake slowly started to fall back asleep.

Though he was quickly awoken by Mathews small voice.

“You didn’t come home.”

Confusion painted Jakes face, unsure of what Mathew was referring to. Lazily stroking the child’s head, Jake urged him to continue.

“In my dream, you didn’t come home.”

Jake patiently waited for Mathew to continue, still not understanding fully.

“You never got off the big ship. You died and me and momma were all alone again.” Though his sniffles and whimpers had subsided, Jake didn’t miss the one that came from the small body as he talked.

It broke Jakes heart to hear that he was the reason that Mathew was crying, he hated that his little 5 year old boy could have such fears. That the thought of losing Jake, had caused him so much pain and that there was an actual chance that one day Jake wouldn’t come home.

He couldn’t tell Mathew that, he would do everything in his power to come home. To be here with you two, even if that one day meant retiring from flying.

“Buddy, I will always come home to you. That’s something that you don’t ever have to worry about.” The little hands clutching Jakes shirt released slightly, though Jake could still tell that Mathew wasn’t full relaxed.

“I’m never going to leave you and your momma, Mathew. I promise.” Jake held up his pinky finger for Mathew, to which the little boy wrapped his own pinky around.

The duo had started doing pinky promises, a promise that could never be broken, or so Jake had told Mathew. It became their silent code and comfort language when Mathew got worried or stressed.

With their pinkies wrap around each other, Mathew brought their hands together to tuck under his head, resting peacefully against Jakes chest.

As Jake started to drift off to sleep, cradling Mathew, he heard the boy let out a last whisper, before falling asleep.

“We’re never gonna leave you either daddy.”

Jake's heart stopped for a moment, like a bucket of water to the face, he realized that maybe it was time to hang up his wings.

#jake seresin #jake seresin fluff #Soft!Jake Seresin #dad!jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin blurb #jake seresin fic #top gun fluff #top gun maverick #hangman #jake hangman imagine #jake hangman x you #jake hangman fic #hangman fluff #hangman x reader #tgm #pure fluff

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shares-a-vest · 18 hours

Text

Just a Shirt (Read on ao3)

wc: 1.9k | Rated: T | cw: Mild descriptions of Steve's s4 injuries (mostly the scar on his neck), Hospital mention, Brief mention of nightmares

Tags: Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Post s4 Fix-it (Everyone Lives), Hellfire, Fluff and Angst (Happy Ending), Love Confessions, Injury, Cuddling

Eddie makes Steve a customised Hellfire shirt, just for him. Based off this ficlet/headcanon. But the BIGGEST thank you goes to @tangerinesteve (formally babydollbaron) for their incredible tags below. They gave me the biggest and softest brainworms. I hope I did your wonderful ideas justice!

“Here-p,” Eddie mumbles, pushing a too-neatly folded shirt into Steve’s hands.

“Uh, thanks,” his boyfriend hums, quirking a brow in confusion.

Eddie shrugs the whole thing off for good measure because it’s just a shirt – that’s all it is.

... But not really.

Like, at all.

He looks away, avoiding Steve’s gaze. While their relationship isn’t too new for gifts, it might be too fresh for a t-shirt that screams, ‘You are part of me and I can see that you are in pain and I think I can fix it. Nay, I need to make you comfortable’.

Yeah… it’s perhaps a little too premature for something that says all that.

So Eddie looks at the floor, his beige sock blending into the similarly-coloured carpet that lines Steve’s bedroom. His foot really only looks like an actual foot and not a patch of carpet thanks to the hole in his sock that is currently exposing his pinky toe.

It’s just a shirt, he desperately reminds himself as he catches Steve unfurling it out of the corner of his eye.

It’s just a shirt.

A customised Hellfire shirt he made especially for Steve.

One that is two sizes too big, made of the softest cotton and led to an emptying of his wallet to obtain. A Hellfire shirt that has short sleeves and a loose, scooped neck Eddie fashioned himself after borrowing a sewing book from the library. A neckline he sewed on Mrs Pemberton’s machine after crossing the trailer park and answering a slew of questions from an all too inquisitive Max Mayfield.

It’s a Hellfire shirt in its logo only – despite what his friends might think. Or the fuss all his pea-brained lost little sheepie buddies kicked up along the way.

They have been a total nightmare these past few weeks, scheming and plotting and sabotaging like a little hoard of gremlins. But Eddie supposes he can really only blame himself.

He should have never said anything, never asked Gareth for the original master copy of the Hellfire logo he knows his best friend keeps filed away in secret on the rare occasions they let in new members. Or to get new t-shirts printed in instances of spilled beverage-based stain emergencies. But then Gareth of course squealed to Jeff, who teased Eddie mercilessly before blabbing to Freak, who, well… Freaked about the possibility of a jock joining Hellfire.

The shock. The horror! Oh, the humanity!

And then came what was nothing short of a campaign via Dustin, Mike and Will, all collectively working to not only prevent Eddie from something he wasn’t even going to do in the first place but to also create a drama so seismic that rumours got around the whole of Hawkins that one Eddie Munson would no longer be running his little ‘demonic’ social club.

Or at least that’s what Wayne said Ernie at the plant had told him that his son had said.

The only thing is, Eddie feels more than a little sorry for Lucas Sinclair, a kid now sulking around, utterly crestfallen that his favourite Laundry Basket Friend isn’t also secretly a full-blown nerd.

It’s just that Eddie wanted to give Steve a nice, soft, comfy shirt he had hoped he would look at just like he is right now.

Besides, Steve had admitted that he liked the Hellfire logo months back when they first started dating. Told Eddie it was, “So creative, man”, after expressing some mild disappointment that he hadn’t shown up for their first date wearing it.

He smiles at the memory, Steve’s eyes lighting up as soon as he hopped into the Beemer, far too eager to head off to Benny’s Diner that he hadn’t even bothered to let Steve chivalrously walk up to the front stoop of the new and improved Casa de Munson.

“Eddie…” Steve says, his voice just above a whisper and sounding just as soft as the too-important shirt in his grip.

“Don’t worry,” he snorts, “I’m not making you join or anything it’s just… You said you haven’t been sleeping well…”

He gestures with his hand, searching for the right words. Better words that won’t sound so monumental and weighted as Steve’s eyes trail right along the shirt’s scooped neckline.

The hem is probably a little flimsy, but hopefully, Steve won’t fucking claw at it like the old Tigers gym shirt he almost tore in two a few weeks back after bolting upright in a sweat after a nightmare. That is what did it – really set Eddie on his mission. Seeing Steve’s sniffles turn to tears and how he tried to hide them away, shrugging Eddie off before rushing to the ensuite bathroom.

He had come back a few minutes later, eyes red as he hugged his arms across himself, appearing small and frightened but acting cold as ice.

“Yeah…” Steve nods before mouthing what appears to be the word, “soft”, as he balls the fabric between his fingers.

“Hell, I know you haven’t been sleeping,” Eddie continues to ramble, “Just… tossing and turning. Also your… Y’know…”

He gestures to his own neck, referring to the still-reddened scar around Steve’s. One that Eddie knows leaves his throat scratchy and hoarse at the slightest provocation. A mark that nosey townspeople gawk at when Steve is at work, leaving him all embarrassed and well, not like Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington at all.

And Steve hadn’t even told Eddie about that part. Nope. He found out from Robin, who swung by the mechanic one afternoon, inconsolable about her best friend spending their shift at Family Video hidden away in Keith Anderson’s stinky loser palace of an office.

“Mhmm,” Steve nods, pursing his lips.

Eddie knows he isn’t mad – it’s just something his boyfriend doesn’t talk about. That he doesn’t like talking about.

He needn’t ramble anymore, really – fill the silence between them or attempt to explain himself because, in a flash, Steve slips off his tight-fitting navy polo and replaces it with his new Hellfire shirt.

And Eddie can’t help but beam at a job well done.

It hangs nicely. Loose enough to sleep in, but not billowing so much to swallow that physique entirely. The neckline sits just where he had hoped too, much lower than the regular Hellfire shirts, scooped below Steve’s collar bones so that even if it stretches in his sleep, it couldn’t possibly pull and tug at his scar.

It’s perfect.

Exactly what he wanted to give Steve, who looks down at the devilish, very metal logo – a sight that is sure to scare off his snooty parents for good if they ever see it.

Before he knows it, Steve lunges for him and Eddie feels his cheeks squish against his boyfriend’s hands as he is kissed.

And kissed.

And kissed some more.

Kisses that last for long enough and grow softer with every peck that Eddie soon feels his legs buckling and he forgets altogether what they are even doing up here, in Steve’s bedroom, in the middle of the day on a warm summer afternoon.

It’s just the he –

“ – I love you,” Steve smiles when he comes up for air and –

His eyes blow wide in an instant.

And Eddie is sure his own do too – maybe even pop right out of his goddamn skull with an audible gasp in there somewhere as well as they both fully realise what has just been said.

Steve loves him?

Just the same as he loves Steve. So much that he is blurting it out now, in the middle of his bedroom on a warm, mid-summer afternoon – perhaps months too early when they are probably, most likely still in the honeymoon phase.

All because of one perfect t-shirt.

Steve’s brow pinches together and his jaw goes slack as he looks away.

“I…” he trails off, drumming his fingers on Eddie’s shoulders.

“Stevie...” he tuts, smiling back at him.

He steps closer still, closing any remaining space between them as he loops his arms around his partner’s middle and squeezes him tight.

Eddie backs them a step back, then another. Then another until he is at a safe enough distance to rock Steve back and collapse onto the bed.

They fall with a conjoined, “Hmphf” – one that knocks the wind out of Eddie’s already breathless lungs and has Steve momentarily distracted away from whatever inner turmoil he had going on a moment ago. As he lands on top of his boyfriend, Eddie gets a feel of the shirt, now warmed by Steve’s permanently hot body temperature. A feeling that makes it seem even softer.

Like it is already worn in and loved.

He wants to ball a handful of it up in his fist and never let go.

But Eddie forces himself to sit upright, settling down in a straddled position to hover over Steve’s clothed form. He smiles down at the sight beneath him, his giddiness short-lived and quickly fading as a big, brown and now glistening set of panicked eyes return.

“Stevie,” he whispers, running his hand up Steve’s torso.

He ghosts his fingers with a featherlight touch over the printed logo, an illustration he had first scribbled on the back of his math book in his junior year.

Eddie leans forward and takes Steve’s hands, clasping them tight and one by one, he brings them to rest above his head where his super-soft signature swoop is sticking every which way, mussed by the bedspread.

He can’t help but chuckle a little at the sight – momentarily giving into the greedy feeling he gets when he thinks about how this Steve is the one he gets all to himself.

But Steve frowns, those expressive brows looking positively pained now as if only one thing could possibly soften them.

“I love you too,” Eddie says, freeing a hand to delicately pluck at Steve’s loosened neckline, “Obviously.”

“You do?” Steve asks.

Eddie nods as a visible relief washes through Steve’s eyes, leaving his brows to soften up so much he wonders if his boyfriend might now cry.

And before he can say or do anything more, Steve bolts upright, once again leaving Eddie feeling winded and more than a lot flushed this time as he wraps his arms around him and buries his face in his neck, snuffling close like the world’s cuddliest puppy.

They stay like this for a long while, simply breathing in sync as they hold each other. And soon Steve begins to sink, his body going lax as his head slips down onto Eddie’s shoulder.

“I really wanna sleep,” he hums as tears seep through Eddie’s own plain black t-shirt.

“You wanna try now?” Eddie offers, pulling back enough to give an encouraging little smile.

Steve nods, refusing to let him go as they lower down together as one, his eyes fluttering shut when his head meets the bedspread.

“Wanna get all cozy under the covers?” Eddie continues, nudging at the bedding.

He really doesn’t want to move too much more – not when Steve looks like this.

Relaxed.

Loved.

Comfortable and wrapped up in a softness Eddie would like to keep him cocooned in forever.

But as he always does, Steve moves for them and rolls to the side. He snuggles in close, burrowing his head between the crook of Eddie’s neck and the mattress all protected and safe. Eddie palms around for the blanket and haphazardly wraps what sliver of it is free around them, shielding his partner a little more for good measure.

It’s good like this.

Calm. Warm.

Soft.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #healing steddie #stranger things s4 #lily writes a fic #fluff and angst #cw injury #steddie fanfiction

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coraniaid · 1 year

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Absolutely hate the received wisdom that Buffy Summers is not "book smart" or that she doesn’t care about doing well in high school. How little attention are you paying to the show if that’s your take on the character?

Consider:

When she first arrives in Sunnydale, one of the first things Buffy does is make friends with Willow Rosenberg, explicitly because she wants to hang out with somebody smart and get caught up with the classes she’s already behind on.

After seeing her permanent record in her sophomore year, one of Buffy’s teachers (Teacher’s Pet’s Dr. Gregory) tells her that she has “a first rate mind” and that he “know[s] you can excel in this class”.

Buffy had a favorite teacher (Homecoming’s Ms. Moran) whose class she says “changed her life” and whose failure to remember her the next year obviously upsets her a lot.

When she gets the ability to read minds in Earshot, one of the very first things she thinks to use it for is showing off in class to impress her teachers.

After Buffy comes back to Sunnydale for her final year of high school, one of the terms Principal Snyder insists she meets to be accepted back is a “glowing letter of recommendation from any member of our faculty who is not an English librarian”. Since she doesn’t get kicked out again, we can presume she got one (even if not from Ms. Moran or the late Dr. Gregory).

In Lovers Walk we find out that Buffy got a 1430 in the SATs. That’s a score which means Buffy probably outperformed at least 95% of people who took the test in 1998 (when the average for college-bound seniors was 1017).

In Choices, Buffy gets accepted into Northwestern, and is clearly heartbroken that she isn’t able to go.

Buffy Summers spends practically all her free time in school hanging out in the library.

Yes, Buffy often struggles in school. She’s often absent, and doesn’t always have the time to do the homework. And when she is in class, she’s often late or too tired to concentrate.

But the reason for this isn’t that Buffy “isn’t smart”, it’s because – spoiler warning, I guess, for those of you that obviously managed to miss it - she’s a vampire slayer. She effectively has a whole full-time job, a whole secret life that means she doesn’t have time to do homework or prepare for tests; something that keeps her awake all night so she can’t focus on her schoolwork the next day. When she comes out as a Slayer to her Mom, in Becoming, one of the things she tells her she wishes she were doing rather than having to save the world is explicitly “studying”.

And she does all the stuff above anyway. How do you think she’s managing that if she’s not really smart?

Yes, Buffy isn’t quite as academically talented as Willow. Yes, she often makes self-deprecating jokes about how poorly she’s doing at school (telling her Mom before parents’ night in School Hard that her teachers will be impressed that she always brings a pen to class “ready to absorb the knowledge”; worriedly asking Giles before an English makeup exam in Faith, Hope & Trick whether they “give you credit just for speaking it”).

But these pretty obviously are jokes. Buffy’s problem in School Hard is with Principal Snyder, who’s threatening to expel her because he blames her for “starting fights” and is worried she’s going to burn down a building, not with any of her actual teachers. Not with her academic results. Buffy passes the English test she was worried about, in fact she passes all her required makeup tests. She does this even without Willow’s help.

The only time we see Buffy actually completely fail a test is in Nightmares, which ... isn't anymore real than the conversation she has with her father later that episode. It's one of her nightmares being brought to life; because Buffy does care about doing well in school and is afraid that she won't.

Yes, Buffy finds some classes boring – but so does Willow. Many high school classes are boring, no matter how smart you are. Yes, Buffy struggles with some subjects (like French) more than others. (It’s probably not a coincidence that learning a foreign language takes much more time and practice than many other subjects.) But nothing in the text of the show suggests that Buffy is not smart and motivated, or that she wouldn’t be doing really well in high school were it nor for the fact she’s a Slayer.

Quite the opposite, in fact. The show repeatedly tells us that Cordelia Chase is who Buffy was in her old school in LA. Cordelia’s popular, she’s on the cheerleading team, her parents take her on expensive holidays. These are all presented to the viewer as things Buffy used to have, and would still have if it weren’t for her Calling.

And Cordelia’s also really smart. She has teachers who praise her for doing the reading and answering questions in class and who offer to help her with her homework, she looks forward to the SATs because she “do[es] well on standardized tests” (and while we don’t learn her exact score, from Xander’s reaction it’s clearly meant to be impressively high), she boasts in Lovers Walk that she has a lot of experience in covering up how well she’s doing academically. We learn in Choices that she got offers from Duke and Columbia and USC.

That’s who Buffy is. That’s what she’d have been doing in high school if she wasn’t the Slayer.

Literally what show are you watching if you don’t spot that?

#btvs #buffy summers

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octoberclidan · 8 months

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We're Here for You

Request: what about a TFW x reader where is more sensitive & has trouble going to bed alone after hunts? not nightmares, but just the need for safety. she seeks out each member individually, to ask if she can sleep in their bed. later, they find out that you’ve asked each of them, & you all just end up sharing one bed?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester x Reader, Castiel x Reader

Masterlist

Story

It wasn't that bad of a hunt. No one had broken any bones or been hurt too badly, just a few scrapes and bruises. No one had died either, apart from the witch who had been causing trouble, so all in all it was actually a pretty successful hunt. Still, [Y/N] was disappointed when both Sam and Dean wanted an early night, and she knew Cas would get suspicious and ask why she was still sitting with him and not going to bed when it got late enough. The witch, although they'd killed him, had put up a fight. He'd been using a curse that he'd designed himself to make people hallucinate their worst fears, making them to pay up for a 'cure'. Knowing about how real monsters were, [Y/N] wasn't even sure what her worst fear was, but she was sure she didn't want to experience it, whatever it was.

She was sitting in the library with Cas typing up some notes from the hunt, trying to put off going to bed for as long as she could, when she noticed Cas staring at her. When she looked up to meet his eyes, his eyebrows were furrowed. "What?" She asked, hoping he'd shrug and go back to his research. She wasn't so lucky though.

"Aren't you tired?"

"Just a little".

"You should get some sleep [Y/N], it's important". He said, now looking concerned.

She sighed and looked away, a little embarrassed, before she looked at him again. "Can I tell you something Cas? Like, it's a bit embarrassing so I'd prefer if you didn't tell the boys". He closed his book and angled himself so he was looking straight at her.

"Of course, you can tell me anything. You know that". Cas' look of concern made her smile. She had never had a falling out with him, whether on a case or not. She always found him easy to get along with, and he seemed to care about her just as much as he cared about the Winchesters.

"I don't like being alone after hunts. I know I'm a hunter, I know I'm in the safest place I could possibly be and that nothing is going to 'get' me, but still. I dunno, I just can't sleep after them, like I feel anxious and a bit paranoid that something followed us home, even though rationally I know nothing did. So, I'd prefer to just stay up and sit with you".

"[Y/N]-" Cas started.

"I know it's stupid and doesn't make any sense, but it's just how I feel. We really don't need to discuss it. Is it okay if I just sit here with you?"

"It's not stupid. I understand". He offered her a reassuring smile and she felt herself relax slightly with relief. "But you really should get some sleep, it was a long hunt". Just as quickly as the relief came, it was gone again and replaced with worry. Cas pushed his books back and stood up before pushing his chair into the table, and she looked up at him confused. He held out a hand to her, and she hesitated but took it, allowing him to pull her up. "Come with me". He turned around and began to walk out of the library and she cautiously followed behind him. They walked past her room, and he stopped outside his room. While Cas didn't sleep unless there was something wrong with his grace, he still had his own room. Sam and Dean had insisted he have a place that was just his. There wasn't much in it, just a bed, an empty closet, a desk with some books that Sam had recommended, and some tapes that Dean had made for him. He pushed open the door and walked inside, turning around to gesture to [Y/N] to come in with him.

"What are we doing?" She asked as she stepped into the room.

"You're going to sleep, I'm going to watch over you so you don't have to worry about anything". She felt her heart swell, his expression was so genuine, as if there was absolutely nothing wrong with her not wanting to be alone. The thought of telling her that she was a hunter and shouldn't be afraid hadn't even crossed his mind. The only thing he cared about in this moment was that she should get some sleep. Expecting him to pull over the chair from the desk, she was surprised when he took off his trenchcoat, loosened his tie, and began to untie his shoe laces. "You should take off your shoes too, you'll fall asleep more easily if you're comfortable". He said as he pulled back the covers and sat on the bed.

"You're.. you're going to sleep too?" She asked as she kicked her boots off and walked over to him.

"No, I don't need sleep, and I wouldn't be able to watch out for monsters if I was asleep too. Dean says it's easier to sleep when he's holding someone, so you should hold me". She smiled at him, she wasn't used to people being so thoughtful for her. She slid into the bed, and he pulled the covers up over her shoulders. He slipped his arm under her shoulders and pulled her closer so her head was on his chest, and she wrapped an arm around his waist.

"Thank you, Cas". She yawned and tightened her grip on him. She felt completely safe, which had never happened so soon after a case.

"Sleep [Y/N], I'll be here when you wake up".

***

[Y/N] was sitting in the bunker's kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. It was late, too late to still be up. She had her head propped up on her hand as she lazily picked up spoonfuls, trying to make it last as long as possible so she could once again avoid going to bed. The hunt she'd just got back from had been a wendigo, one of her absolute least favourites. She actually usually chose to stay in the bunker when they suspected it was a wendigo, just research for the boys while they handled it, but they hadn't known what it was until they got there this time. It wasn't a great hunt, there had been several local victims before they found it. Even though [Y/N] had been the one to kill it in the end, it didn't feel like much of a victory. Cas had had to leave halfway through the hunt, some issue in heaven, and that had left them without his safety net. If any of them had sustained serious injuries, they were a long way from any hospital. While Sam and Dean didn't seem to be affected by this, it left [Y/N] even more on edge than usual.

"You're still up?" She heard a gruff voice and she dropped her spoon in surprise, the metal clang echoing throughout the kitchen. Her head snapped towards the door, where she saw a very sleepy looking Dean, dressed in his dressing gown. She quickly grabbed her spoon and cleared her throat, hoping he didn't see how jumpy she was.

"Oh, um, just hungry I guess". He walked over and sat down opposite her.

"Why aren't you asleep?" He asked, grabbing a handful of cereal from the box and popping it into his mouth. She just shrugged and pushed around some of her now very soggy cereal around her bowl. "It was a tough hunt, huh?" He asked and she nodded.

"Yeah".

"You got it though, you did good". He said and she gave him a small smile. Dean wasn't one for chick-flick moments, but he'd always hand out a compliment if he thought someone deserved one.

"They creep me out, the wendigos". She said, letting go of her spoon and deciding she'd had enough. Dean scoffed.

"Yeah, because they're creepy. I'm glad we don't come across many of them".

"Me too". They sat in silence for a moment. [Y/N] had been hoping that Cas would turn up at some stage, finished with whatever was going on in heaven, and then she could ask him to stay with her again, but there was no sign of him. Knowing that Dean was going to ask her why she wasn't going back to her room, she sighed and decided to just ask him instead. "Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"Could I... I mean, would it be weird if... if you don't mind..." She was awkward, she didn't quite know how to ask him what she wanted to. He gave her a confused look, so she took a deep breath and tried again. "Look, I know it's silly, but I hate being alone after hunts. I just can't sleep and I don't feel comfortable after them. I don't feel safe". She could feel her cheeks heating up as she was leading up to asking him. "Would you mind if I slept in your room tonight?"

"Not at all". His answer was so quick it took her a moment to register it. "Don't tell Sam but I don't sleep well after hunts either, nightmares, you know?" He took another handful of cereal and shoved it into his mouth before closing the box. He grabbed her bowl and walked over to leave it in the sink, before turning back to her. "Come on". She stood up and followed him out of the room towards the bedrooms. They were quiet as they walked past Sam's room, and Dean ushered her into his room before closing the door behind him. "Sorry about the mess". He said as he pushed a pile of clothes off the unused side of his bed. He took off his dressing gown and threw it over his desk chair, leaving him in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He got into his bed and held up the covers, motioning for [Y/N] to join him. She did, though she made sure to leave a gap between them. "I don't bite". He chuckled, and she looked over at him.

"I just don't want to make you uncomfortable, this is your space".

"You're always welcome in my space. Come here". He held his arm out and she moved over to be closer to him. He wrapped both of his arms around her waist and pulled so half of her body was on top of his, one of her legs between both of his. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and she closed her eyes, listening to his heart beat below her. "I wouldn't do this with just anyone, you know. Have a soft spot for you". She smiled to herself and listened as he began to quietly hum something, the thoughts of the wendigo long forgotten as she quickly fell asleep.

***

She'd been lying in bed for two hours, her eyes trained on her bedroom door, thoughts of vampires barging in. Sam and [Y/N] had arrived back to the bunker after taking out a nest of vamps that turned out to be bigger than they'd originally thought, and it had left her pretty shaken up. She'd killed several herself before one dug his teeth into her shoulder, and Sam had taken out the rest. He'd cleaned her wound and put in a couple of stitches before they'd left the town, but it was still aching. She wanted nothing more than to ask Cas or Dean to stay with her for the night, but they were out on a hunt of their own and wouldn't be back for a few days.

She had been debating with herself whether or not to go and find Sam. She knew she'd fall asleep if he was there, but she also knew that Sam liked his privacy even more than Dean did, so she'd been putting it off. Her exhaustion but inability to fall asleep eventually got the better of her though, and she got out of bed. She opened her door and walked down the hallway, the only noise being the quiet patting of her feet against the floor. When she got to Sam's room, she knocked and waited for an answer. She felt vulnerable out in the corridor alone, especially since she knew Dean and Cas weren't around. It was eerily quiet, and she started to worry when there was no answer from Sam. Not being able to take the silence anymore, she quietly opened his door and looked inside. He was in bed, sound asleep. She felt a little bit guilty knowing she'd have to wake him up, it had been a tough hunt for him too, but she needed to.

"Sam?" She whispered, walking over to the side of his bed. "Sam?" She tried again, this time gently shaking his shoulder. He woke with a start and quickly looked around the room before his eyes focused on [Y/N].

"[Y/N]"? He asked, his voice low with sleepiness. He rubbed his eyes and glanced over at his clock, confused by the time. "What's wrong? Are your stitches okay?" He sat up in bed.

"Yeah they're fine. Sorry for waking you".

"Don't worry about it, what's up? Can't sleep?" He asked and she shook her head. "You wanna sleep in here?"

"Would that be okay?"

"Of course, here, lie down with me". He moved over in the bed, and she got under the covers with him, surprised by how warm it was. "Big spoon or little spoon?" He asked and she giggled. "Hey, I know I'm big but I can make a good little spoon when I want to". He chuckled.

"Are you a good big spoon too?" She asked and he nodded.

"The best. Turn around, I've got you". She turned to face away from Sam, and she felt his arm snake around her waist, pulling her close against his chest, his head resting on hers. "Do you feel like talking about it? Whatever is keeping you up?" She could feel the vibrations of his voice against her back.

"Do you ever... feel unsafe after a hunt?" She asked, and there was a pause before he answered.

"Yeah, yeah I do sometimes. Especially if it's something new. I've been in this my entire life, so I'm used to most things, but when we face something new, all I want to do is stay up and research everything I can possibly find so we can be better at killing it the next time. I stayed up for three days straight once after a hunt when we lost people, Dean was worried about me. We need sleep, it's important. If you're not well rested then you could make mistakes, so sleep is good. Sleep helps keep us safe". He snuggled in closer to her, she could feel his gentle breathing on the top of her head. He began to tell a story about one of the first hunts he and Dean ever took on without John, and as interested as she was, his low voice and the warmth of his body quickly sent her to sleep, feeling completely safe wrapped up with him.

***

"[Y/N]?" She was nearly asleep on the couch in the Dean Cave when Sam's voice woke her up.

"Hmm?" She asked. They'd arrived home from a simple salt and burn earlier that day, and had been lounging around watching movies all evening.

"I think you're falling asleep there". Dean chuckled from beside her.

"What? No, no I'm awake". She sat up and straightened herself out.

"You looked like you were sleeping". Cas said from his chair. "You must be tired from the hunt".

"I'm actually fine, I think I'd be up for another movie". She said as she stifled a yawn.

Sam, Dean, and Cas all shared a knowing look. "[Y/N], can you come with us for a second?" Sam asked as he stood up. Dean also stood up and held out his hand to her. She looked at it for a second before furrowing her eyebrows at them.

"Why?"

"Just take it, come on". Dean said, waving his hand in front of her. She looked over at Cas who gave her a reassuring smile, and she took Dean's hand. He pulled her up and wrapped an arm around her shoulder as Sam led the way out of the room, Cas following behind them all. They walked past her room, Cas' room, and both Sam and Dean's rooms, before stopping outside one of the spare bedrooms.

"Now, if you're not comfortable with this, just tell us and we'll forget about it, alright? But just know that we are all comfortable with this, we came up with the idea as a group". Sam explained.

"Okay..." She was apprehensive, but Dean gently squeezed her shoulder and she tried to relax as Sam opened the door. Inside was a large bed, much larger and much newer than the beds in the other rooms. The desk and bedside table were all covered in photos of the team, some old, some new. Photos of all four of them smiling, photos of them all dressed up for a case, photos taken at restaurants, bars, motels. All happy memories. "What is all of this?"

"This". Dean gestured to the entire room. "Is our post-hunt room". He grinned at her, but she was still confused.

"Look, we all know you don't feel safe immediately after a hunt, and we know that you do feel safe when at least one of us is around. We also don't always feel great after a hunt, and we feel better when you're around". Sam smiled at her.

"So we decided that after hunts, if we are all in the bunker, we'll spend the night together so we can properly rest". Cas finished explaining. "So you can sleep". She didn't really know what to say, she never would have expected the three of them to come up with something like this and actually do it. She looked up at all three of them, all smiling at her, all hopeful that she'd agree. She really did love all three of them, and this just boosted that love for them even more.

"This is.. amazing. It's so thoughtful. I can't believe you organised this". She laughed a little, looking around at all of the photos. "We're all going to sleep in here?"

"Well, I'll just rest. But yes, we will be here with you all night". Cas said.

"How are we all going to fit?" She asked, eyeing Sam who was practically the length of the bed, and Dean and Cas who weren't much smaller than him.

"Don't worry, we've figured it out". Dean winked at her. "Want to show her Sammy?" Sam walked over to the bed and pulled the covers back. He slid in, and maneuvered himself so he was lying on his back right in the centre of the bed. "You're next Sweetheart". Dean pushed her gently towards the bed, and Sam opened his arms.

"You're gonna have to lie on top of me. I promise I'm softer than I look". Sam smiled at her. "C'mere". She crawled onto the bed and over Sam, laying down over him. She wrapped her arms around his back and he wrapped his around her. She lay her head on its side on top of his chest, and their legs tangled together. She looked up as Cas and Dean walked around to either side of the bed and got in on each side of her and Sam. Dean wrapped an arm around her waist, and Cas wrapped an arm around her waist too, above Dean's and below Sam's. Dean pulled the covers up over all of them before leaning up to kiss her forehead.

"Go to sleep, we're here for you and you're safe here". He whispered to her. She was completely cocooned by all three of them, surrounded by the best hunters in the world and an angel. There was no way anything was getting to her like that. She was completely safe. Between Sam reaching up to stroke her hair, Dean stroking her arm, and Cas tightening his grip around her, her eyes closed and her breathing deepened. She did manage to whisper an 'I love all three of you' before she finally drifted off, and fell asleep smiling as all three of them said it back.

The end

298 notes · View notes

cloudslostlibrary · 2 years

Note

1. Do you own any stuffed animals?

omg tons

i want more and more and more

2. Are you scared of the dark?

not rlly just more scared of what can be in thw dark or jump oit of the dark :,)

3. Do you like bugs/ arachnids?

theyre cool

but god they can be annoying sometimea

4. Do you like paper crafts?

oooo yes infind them very neat and cool!

i personally cant do them but if someone made something for me id cherish the thing for life-

5. What is your favorite dinosaur?

Oooooo a hard one

hmmmm id have to say raptors or Moschops

silly little dudes i must say

Im glad youre doing well and have eaten + drunken something! M proud of your for it and for doing some small self-care things!

Do you have any stuffed animalss?

if you had to guess how many blankets do you have?

Do you prefer cold or hot weather?

Aww thanks!! That means a lot to me

1. I have a few, most are in storage though I believe

2. I have four blankets currently, but I imagine I have dozens in storage

Currently I have a sheet, a fuzzy blanket, and two weighted blankets

3. I currently live on a tropical island but I used to live in Michigan and I much prefer cold weather. Especially now that I’m used to the warm weather I love going back to the cold because I can wear layers lol

More questions below :D /np

1. Do you paint your nails?

2. Do you prefer the ocean/lakes or the forest?

3. What is your least favorite color?

#cloud answers #library member nightmare #tw food

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7-wonders · 1 year

Text

Our Very Own Greek Tragedy (Pt. 1 of 2)

Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x Reader

Summary: You love Morpheus, and Morpheus loves you. You're the happiest that you've ever been in your life, and your love's intention to propose to you is just the icing on top of the cake.

Too bad you don't remember any of this when you wake up.

Or, yes this is based on that post that I made about Reader and Morpheus being in a relationship in the Dreaming but then you don't remember your dreams when you wake up.

Word Count: 5.9k

Notes: First off, a huge thank you to @writethrough for reading this over and editing it for me. I had spent so much time on it that none of it made sense anymore and I'm SO thankful to you for offering to help me out. Seriously, I cannot thank you enough.

This is part one of a two-shot! I want to say that now bc this is so angsty, and I don't want anybody to think that I'm leaving things as they are in this fic. There will be more, and it is being written. Don't worry.

Part Two of Two

The village that lies to the east of Dream’s palace is quaint and fairy tale-esque with the cottages lining a cobblestoned street, a small market, and the general whimsy that comes with places such as this. It’s a village that you take your time meandering through, saying hello to every member of the dreamfolk that you come across (something they take great delight in), and enjoying yourself and the gift of lucidity in the Dreaming. Today, though, you’re nearly running through the village with one mission in mind: making it to Fiddler’s Green as quickly as possible.

Morpheus had left a note for you tucked into the book you were reading in the library, instructing you to meet him, and after not seeing him for a few days, you’re almost desperate to find him now. You wonder what people would say if they knew that the brooding King of Dreams and Nightmares that’s forever dressed in all-black is a romantic at heart, but it also doesn’t matter what they would say–you love it.

Fiddler’s Green is just as beautiful as always with grass swaying gently in the breeze and all manner of plant and animal life inhabiting it. It’s as if every picturesque meadow has been rolled up into one, and standing under a tree taking in his masterpiece is your favorite work of art. Though he claims he doesn’t have a favorite area of the Dreaming, that he loves every part of his realm equally, you know that Dream of the Endless is especially fond of Fiddler’s Green.

“Morpheus!” He turns around when you call his name, even though you know he sensed you the moment you arrived here. Again–he’s the most romantic sap you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

You feel almost ridiculous as you run towards him, like some left-behind lover whose soldier has returned from war. But that’s how Morpheus, and the act of loving him, makes you feel–like you’re living every great love affair and love story all wrapped into one. Even though it’s been mere days, you missed him.

Morpheus is already waiting for you with arms open, and you throw yourself into his embrace hard enough to send you both onto the lush grass. Considering Morpheus is strong enough to not even move when you collide with him—having the preternatural strength all beings that should not exist have—you think he just enjoys the feeling of collapsing into an undignified heap with you. Somehow, even in the blur of a few seconds, he’s managed to maneuver your positions so you’re under him when it should most definitely be the other way around.

You certainly won’t complain about this.

As you stare up at Morpheus, his head haloed by the rays of the sun, you can’t help but think that he looks ethereal. He’s always unfairly beautiful–it comes with the territory of being Endless, of being unable to be fully contained in a regular human body. Still, looking upon him today feels almost too much to bear, like you’re staring straight into the sun instead of just seeing the edges of it. You would gladly burn your eyes beyond repair if this was the last thing you were to see.

“Hi.” You smile at him radiantly before leaning up and kissing him. Everything feels so heightened in the Dreaming, especially emotions. You can’t just be happy here. No, it’s happiness that feels incandescent. Not that you’re complaining, of course.

His hand comes to cup your face, and you nuzzle your cheek into it. “Hello.”

There’s so much you want to say to him, but it all feels too overwhelming to even attempt to verbalize. Instead, you settle on, “I missed you.”

“As I have missed you.” The stars in his dark eyes sparkle with mirth. “You have not been sleeping properly.”

Your ears grow hot; you should have known better than to assume Morpheus wouldn’t bring this up. “I have a good reason though.”

He raises an eyebrow, daring you to try him. “Oh?”

“I’ve been busy?”

Morpheus looks entirely unimpressed at this, but you had to try.

“Listen, it’s hard for me to properly relax when I’m busy and I know that I have stuff that needs to get done!”

“You could have called upon me. I would have granted you rest.”

“Y’know, contrary to popular belief, I was able to take care of myself during rough patches prior to meeting you.”

“How you ever survived is beyond me,” he says dryly, a small chuckle forming deep in his chest when you smack at his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t ask you to leave your realm for something as stupid as me not falling asleep at a reasonable hour.”

“Nothing involving you is ever,” he makes a face because he hates cursing, finds it crude, but he’s trying to get a point across here, “‘stupid’.”

“It’s very sweet of you to offer,” you lean up in order to kiss him again, the urge becoming too strong to resist, “but I’m able to get through a couple of restless nights without you.”

The conversation comes to a stop as words are replaced with kisses. It’s only been a couple of days, but you both feel the need to reacquaint yourselves with the other’s body. Morpheus is extremely gifted with words, and that doesn’t stop when his mouth is otherwise occupied–when he touches you, he writes all the poetry he wishes to say along the surface of your skin. Long after the sensation of his fingers on your skin has faded, you’ll still feel, see, his declarations of love like an invisible tattoo.

Morpheus finally pulls his lips away from yours, making you whine as you chase after the kisses you’re being unjustly deprived of. He doesn’t move too far away, thankfully, and rests his forehead on yours.

“I believe I have a better solution to you not finding enough rest to visit me.”

“Yeah?” You’re intrigued now. “And what’s that?”

“You could simply stay here. With me.”

“While I would love nothing more than to spend both my day and my night with you, I have responsibilities that I have to, y’know, be responsible for. Besides, isn’t it you who always says that I ‘can’t live the entirety of my life in the Dreaming when the Waking is awaiting’?” You try to deepen your voice in an attempt to mock him, but it only serves to make a fond smile appear on his face.

“I have said that, but because you have always been a mere visitor to my realm.” He sits up, bringing you along with him, and holds both of your hands in his. “What if we made your residency here permanent?”

“What?”

You know what he means, but it’s a little difficult for you to wrap your brain around. You’ve discussed subjects such as marriage before, but only ever in the abstract. Never has he been so clear with his wants as he is right now.

“You want me to live here?” You were going to ask if he wants you to move in with him, but there’s a pretty big difference between moving into an apartment with someone and moving to the realm that one rules over. “With you?”

Morpheus nods. “You should be aware, though, that I am a selfish being. Were you to say yes to me, I would want it all.”

“And what is it that you want?” A smile plays at your lips, and you try desperately to hide it and act as cool and unbothered as he looks. It’s surely not working, but you at least feel like you’re holding your cards close to your chest in a situation where you’re about to burst.

“Is it really not obvious? My love, I want you. As my wife, as the queen of my realm, as my lover and best friend and companion. And in return, you would have it all as well. Everything that I have, everything that I am, would be yours—has been yours for a long time. I simply did not know it was you that I was waiting for.”

You put a hand over your mouth to hide the huge grin you’re now sporting. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“No. When I formally ask you, it shall be an occasion befitting what you deserve for a proposal. Consider this…me speaking my intention to soon ask you for your hand.”

“Can I give you my answer now?” You can’t not tell him your answer–you think you’ll burst if you have to keep it to yourself.

“You may, but I will still ask you when the time comes.”

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes.” You kiss a different part of his face after every ‘yes’, finally kissing his lips. “I’ll marry you, and I’ll–I’ll be your queen. Whatever you want. You say you’re mine, but I’m just as wholly and completely yours. I always have been, and I always will be.”

Never have you seen Morpheus fully smile before. You consider yourself lucky to see his lips just barely quirk up in a fond smirk–sometimes he will have an actual smile, but it’s always barely there, and one needs to know what to look for when he does. Now, he grins at you, and you see why his smiles are so rare. If you thought his mere countenance rivaled the sun, his smile could put a damn supernova to shame.

When you throw yourself at him for the second time, Dream has the foresight to transport both of you to his chambers in a whirlwind of sand before your passion fully envelops you; you and a very abashed Dream Lord have taken more than enough verbal scoldings from Gilbert, who has physically manifested into his human form to admonish you against coupling at Fiddler’s Green. (You’re still ashamed when you recall the time where he said, “I am happy for you both, truly, but I must beg of you to please keep your affections to a—I believe it is called PG-13 rating—while you are here.”)

It’s a good thing that he does, because it feels impossible to keep your hands off of each other as your surroundings melt away to nothing. All there is, all you need, is you and Morpheus and this moment. The world could be burning to ash around you and you wouldn’t care, so long as Morpheus was touching you the way that he is.

You used to never understand why books and other forms of media referred to sex as “making love”. It sounded ridiculous, in your opinion; sex is…sex. Something carnal and pleasurable. If anything, you thought it should be called “making pleasure” instead. But then you met Morpheus, and suddenly it all made sense. Sexual intimacy with him is just a physical manifestation of the love you share—a love so potent it bubbles over your ability to contain it.

And oh, does that love manifest most pleasurably when you’re in bed with the King of Dreams and Nightmares. It makes your head spin just how devoted Morpheus is to you. In all situations, really, but especially in this one. It’s his realm you’re in, and he’s the one that has been mistaken for a god or deity by more cultures than can be named. He’s more powerful than any god that has ever existed or will ever exist, and yet he worships you as if you’re the one who’s holy. He would lay himself bare at your altar as a willing sacrifice, and the realization leaves you breathless. (As well as the way he’s moving his hips–that leaves you breathless, too)

Later, you’re attempting to recover your brain cells as Morpheus has you in his embrace, listening to your breathing as it finally evens out

“Do you think you’ll ever come to visit me? In the Waking?”

It’s a conversation you’ve had many times before, with Morpheus’s answer always remaining the same: no. He’s explained to you that it’s not that he doesn’t want to see you, it’s that he’s not sure if there still remains a threat in the Waking. Though you’ll never say it to him, you think he’s avoiding his trauma instead of dealing with it head-on.

“Perhaps,” Morpheus says, “if Lucienne can find out what became of the Magdalene Grimoire and the Order of Ancient Mysteries.”

“I’d protect you, you know.”

“You would?”

“Mhm. I’m scrappy.” You hold your fists up to illustrate this.

Instead of fearing your fighting prowess, Morpheus grabs one of your fists and kisses each knuckle. “Yes, you look the part.”

“I get the feeling that you’re not taking me very seriously.”

“How ever did you gather such an impression?” He smirks as he says it, your cheeky love, before brushing his thumb over your ring finger. “I confess that I’m not very familiar with the concept of wedding rings, but I do look forward to creating one for you to wear.”

“Will you wear one, too? After all, if you get to let everyone know that I’m taken, I want the same for you.”

He tries to act unaffected by your words, but you’ve known and loved him long enough to see the faintest tinge of pink on his cheeks that lets you know you’ve gotten to him. You’re about to tease him when your vision tilts for a moment before becoming fuzzy around the edges, and you frown in disappointment when you realize the familiar feeling: you’re waking up.

Morpheus senses it too, holding onto you a bit tighter as if this can keep you tethered to his realm. Unfortunately, he’s given the advice about you not living your life in the Dreaming more than you could count. To not follow it would make him a hypocrite. More often lately, it seems as though he’s regretting those words–hence him voicing his intention to propose to you.

You laugh at the obvious displeasure on his face. “Better get on that proposal sooner rather than later, huh?”

Though he scowls, he refuses to let you leave without a kiss. “Until we meet again, darling mine,” he says, his words echoing as you’re pulled back to the Waking.

•••

Whoever invented alarms must have been a sadist; there’s no other reason for them to be so loud (certainly not to be loud enough to actually wake you up). You groan at the harsh sound that repeats over and over, refusing to open your eyes as you fumble a hand along your nightstand until you feel the glass surface of your phone. Hitting it harshly a couple of times, you finally manage to turn it off and bask in the sudden, blissful silence of your room.

As you yawn and rub at your eyes, slowly stretching your limbs and procrastinating actually getting up, you try to hold onto the fleeting fragments of your dreams before they’re gone for good. You’ve never remembered the things you dream about; it’s always random glimpses, if that. More often than not, the dream completely fades by the time you’ve gotten out of bed.

Though you can’t remember your dreams, you do know that, lately, they must be rather nice. With the way you’re consistently left with residual contentment and happiness, it’s impossible that you’ve dreamt about anything not completely and totally wonderful.

What you do remember, at least before you get out of bed, are certain feelings. Before consciousness invades and wipes the slate clean to prepare you for the day ahead, there’s flashes of what you might have dreamt of. The feeling of soft skin under your fingertips, or the way the sun shines on an unruly mop of black hair. Your head in someone’s lap, and the brush of lips against yours.

You really wish you could remember those dreams.

When enough time has passed that your second alarm goes off, you grab your phone this time instead of shutting the alarm off. Though it’s certainly not the healthiest morning routine, you’ve gotten into the habit of scrolling through your phone until you’re nearly rushing to make it out the door on time. With this self-awareness in mind, you unplug your phone from your charger and roll onto your other side to lazily scroll through your notifications and apps.

Instagram and Snapchat stories show that a surprising number of people you’re acquainted with go out on weeknights, which makes you a little envious of their stamina and fortitude. Twitter hasn’t sunk like the Titanic yet–you’re not sure if you’re happy or sad about this. The couple of TikToks your friends have sent make you exhale harshly through your nose in a lazy laugh, and you respond with the appropriate emojis. There’s a few matches on Tinder and Bumble you should probably respond to, but you’re not feeling very into them at the moment (they don’t have the dark hair, alabaster complexion, and starry eyes that you’re unknowingly looking for), so you ignore the messages for now.

Finally, when you can’t put off getting out of bed any longer, you throw the covers off of you and rush through the rest of your morning routine. Brushing your teeth, making your hair look some semblance of tamed, grabbing whatever clothes are sitting on top of the basket of clean laundry you still haven’t folded, snagging something quick for breakfast, and predictably, rushing out the door. Just another boring, mundane day in your boring, mundane life.

•••

Dream of the Endless stands across the street from a small coffee shop, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. He knows why he’s so nervous, of course. Though he can claim to his trusted emissary that he’s wary of any fringe members of Burgess’s cult, it’s actually because he’s seeing you for the first time in the Waking world. In your world.

This would be so much easier in the Dreaming. In the Dreaming, he feels entirely at ease; after all, he is the Dreaming, and the Dreaming is him. But now, in a world in which he wants no part of, he feels entirely lost and out of his element.

For over 100 years, he had remained locked up in a glass prison underground. An entire century had passed by, one where he had no idea of anything that occurred in this world or any other. Fates’ sake, he hadn’t even been aware of the Second World War until he had escaped, what with Fawney Rig being too far away from any locations of significance to be hit during the Blitz, and Morpheus doing his best to tune out any of the drivel from the guards trying to pass the time.

Morpheus is still trying to get “up to speed,” so to say, in the current era. Something he is failing miserably at, if Matthew is to be believed. All of this to say, he’s regretting his spur-of-the-moment decision to visit (well, as spur-of-the-moment as a Dream Lord who is a stickler for rules can get), and he’s almost tempted to put this whole surprise to rest and wait until you arrive in the Dreaming later. It is a surprise, which means you have no idea he’s been planning this.

Those closest to him (read: Lucienne and Matthew, the only two with the balls to actually try in the first place) expressed their concern for this idea of his. After all, “Morpheus” and “surprise” are not two words that often go together. But Hob Gadling, his dear immortal human friend, had so liked it when Morpheus made an unexpected appearance that he was sure that surprise visits from those they care for must be something all humans enjoy. Besides, it’s not as if you haven’t specifically requested for him to come and see you in the Waking.

Though his mind is, and has been, made up, a certain raven holds a grudge and decides that, for once, he’s going to attempt to be the voice of reason instead of the voice of chaos. Looking up at him from where he stands on the ground next to Dream’s boot, Matthew says, “Look, I’m just saying! What if she’s not happy to see you?”

“While your concern is appreciated, Matthew, it is unwarranted. I can assure you that we last parted only because we were forced to.”

If Matthew could roll his eyes, Dream imagines that’s what he would be doing right now. “Yuck, got it. Please don’t continue with that. But, like, I thought we were chill the last time that I saw her! And then today you’ve got me running messages so I figured I’d stop and say hi, and she just ignores me when she sees me?” He scoffs in disbelief. “No, she didn’t just ignore me. She looked at me like I was a nuisance!”

“Perhaps she had you mistaken for another raven.” Morpheus’s lips twitch as he tries his hardest not to smirk at Matthew’s outrage.

“Yeah, one of the other talking ravens she knows.”

Up until now, Morpheus was unaware that such a small being could hold so much disgruntlement. It almost makes him relax. Almost.

But then he makes the mistake of seeking you out through the windows. When he finds you, the breath he doesn’t need catches in his throat.

His beloved. His soon-to-be betrothed. His future wife and queen.

You’re sitting at one of the tables against the large window, head down as you read without a care in the world. The hand not holding your book open is loosely wrapped around a paper cup sitting on the table. Late afternoon sun bathes you in warmth, and Morpheus is struck by the image you make. Oh, the beautiful dreams he could create with you as his muse (yes, he’s aware of the irony, seeing that he was married to an actual Muse (capitalized) at one time). Suddenly, Morpheus understands what you mean when you tell him he has such a ‘kingly air’ in the Dreaming. It’s because he’s in his element, somewhere he’s familiar with. Here, in the Waking, you look much the same.

Any thoughts of leaving and returning to the sanctity of his realm fled his mind the moment he saw you. Morpheus steps off of the curb to make it across the street, and it’s only Matthew’s panicked squawking and his jerking on his coat with his beak that keeps him from getting hit by a car. Right, traffic rules are much different now than they were before his imprisonment. For one, cars can go above 20 miles per hour.

“Try not to get yourself killed, lover boy.”

Morpheus glares at his raven, but finally nods once. “Stay here.”

This time, he steps onto the road after making sure there are no vehicles coming his way.

A small bell chimes above him as he opens the door of the coffee shop. Morpheus supposes this shop is the same as all others, but he hasn’t had the opportunity to experience such novelties yet, so he takes a moment to appreciate the relaxing atmosphere and the aroma of coffee beans in the air. Though he doesn’t need human food or drink to survive, he can still appreciate such things.

Finally, finally, Morpheus approaches the table you’re seated at with his hands shoved deeply into his coat pockets. You don’t look up at him, too lost in your own world, and he takes a moment to admire you before he says, “Is this seat taken?”

When you look up at him, he’s expecting you to jump up and hug him, as you do almost every time you see him (though he’s never been especially fond of hugs, he’s learning to quite like them when they come from you). At the very least, he’s expecting you to grace him with the smile he adores so much.

What he’s not expecting is what he gets, which is the complete lack of recognition in your eyes and the small, awkward smile you give him. The type of smile reserved for strangers, or people one doesn’t very much like. A cold chill runs down his spine, and he tries to push away the dread that comes along with it.

“No, I guess not,” you say begrudgingly.

You’re simply teasing him, Morpheus attempts to reassure himself as he sits down across from you. In a couple of seconds you’ll break and laugh at him for getting so worried, and everything will be alright. Convinced of this, and determined to make you break sooner rather than later, he places his hands on the table, knowing how much you love to hold hands with him.

Morpheus realizes something is wrong when you jerk your own hands away from him, sliding them into your lap protectively. Your gaze becomes guarded, and he can see the way you straighten up to try and give off an aura that you are not to be trifled with. Scrappy indeed, he thinks dryly as he tries not to immediately panic.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” you ask.

Okay, now he’s panicking. Morpheus always knows when he’s being lied to, but especially when it’s a mortal lying to him. As he looks at you, he can sense none of that deception within you. You genuinely do not recognize him, and that hurts so much worse than if this were a joke taken too far.

You’re staring at him expectantly, and Morpheus realizes you’re still waiting for an answer from him. “I–” he stutters uncharacteristically, clearing his throat before trying again. “I…apologize. It appears I have mistaken you for someone else.”

The tension you held at the potential of someone seeking to do you harm melts from your body, and your smile returns. “Ah. Sorry I’m not that person.”

“No, the fault lies with me.”

His voice is trembling, and he has to force the words out of him. This visit has gone so terribly wrong, and Morpheus needs to abscond before his emotions tear this building apart. So he stands, though it pains him to do so, and gives you a polite nod and a, “Good day to you,” before stumbling (well, stumbling as much as an Endless can) out of the coffee shop.

Matthew, who had been sitting on a bench down the street enjoying pieces of popcorn left behind, looks up at Dream in alarm when he sees the tears building in his eyes. That’s always been the one flaw of this human body–how easily tears come. At least this time, they’re warranted.

“Hey, Boss, what happened?” Matthew asks, abandoning his snack to land on Dream’s shoulder. “You didn’t…oh no, you broke up, didn’t you?”

He shakes his head. If only it were that simple. “No. She did not recognize me. I was a mere stranger, interrupting her day.”

“What? How is that even possible?”

“I do not know.”

He’s completely and utterly lost right now, and wouldn’t even mind his sister throwing a loaf of bread at him as she did the last time he felt this lost. If it would give him the same sense of clarity as that visit with dear sister Death had, then he would take it. But instead, he takes one last look at you, back to reading your book, before fleeing to sulk in the Dreaming and wonder how it all went wrong.

•••

The weird interaction you had earlier sticks with you as you get ready for bed. It had just been so odd, how sure this man was that you were whoever he assumed you to be. Though you felt bad for his obvious disappointment when he learned otherwise, you were glad to be rid of his presence after he briskly left the café. Sure, he was attractive (like, otherworldly, would-make-a-model-burst-into-jealous-tears attractive), but the intensity he carried with him…well, it scared you a little bit.

Apparently, though, it didn’t scare you enough to not think about him. There was just something about him that made him impossible to forget. You huff angrily, not wanting to think of the man with pitch black hair and starry blue eyes, but your brain seems to have other ideas as you try and fall asleep. No matter, because sleep thankfully comes quickly to you tonight, aided by a cup of tea that, while not your favorite, did give you the desired effect of actually falling asleep at a normal hour.

It’s when you find yourself in the Dreaming’s library, wondering if you’ll need to track Morpheus down today, when it hits you. The stranger at the café who you didn’t know at all was actually the love of your life…the love of your life that you didn’t recognize when he was standing right in front of you.

Why hadn’t you recognized him?

Your heart drops, and keeps falling, when you think about how upset Morpheus must be. This, in turn, makes you extremely upset as well. What the hell is going on right now? You need answers, and since you’re in the Dreaming, there’s only one person (well, two people, but that’s neither here nor there) that can give you some.

“Lucienne?” you call out, knowing she’ll appear sooner rather than later and that it’s no use to go looking for her.

Sure enough, she’s standing in front of you in a matter of seconds, wearing a purple overcoat and with her glasses perfectly polished. Seeing a friendly face such as hers would normally make you smile, but you’re too anxious right now to do such a thing.

“Where’s Morpheus right now?”

“His Lordship is in the throne room, conducting some research. May I–”

You’re already running out of the library before she can finish, calling out, “Thanks, Luc! Sorry!”

As you sprint along the hallways that you know as well as your own home now (but do you? would you remember them when you wake up?), you take note of the dreary weather outside and the rain rolling down the windows in fat beads. Morpheus once told you the realm’s weather was often dependent on his mood. If it was raining right now, then surely he’s upset. Worse, you’re the cause of it.

“Morpheus?” You seek him out the moment the heavy doors to the throne room open ahead of you. He’s sitting on his throne at the top of the long stairway, piles of books haphazardly scattered around him. He’s been crying, you can tell, which makes the tears you’ve been holding back spill forth. “Oh, Dream.”

Rather than take the stairs down to you, Morpheus simply magics himself in front of you as you cry at how heartbroken he looks. Wordlessly, he hugs you. If this weren’t such a dire situation, you’d be thrilled he took the initiative for once.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t–Why didn’t I recognize you? I’m sorry, I wasn’t doing that on purpose.”

“Do not apologize. Please, for you have nothing to apologize for,” he soothes.

“Yeah, I do.” You pull away from his hold to look at him. “I asked you to come and visit me, and you were nice enough to actually plan to surprise me, all for me to not even know you. You must have been crushed.”

“It was not your fault.” His eyes grow a bit distant as he thinks for a moment. “I should have known, actually. Matthew was very upset that you ignored him, and believed that you did not care for him any longer.”

That memory suddenly comes back to you, of a raven who landed in your path and refused to move no matter how harshly you shooed him away, and you groan. “Oh no! Great, now I have to apologize to him too.”

“There will be no apologizing for anything from you.” His tone of voice leaves no room for argument, so you simply nod. You’ll just slip Matthew a bagel when Morpheus isn’t paying attention.

“Why can I not remember you?”

“I confess that I do not know.” He reluctantly releases you from the warmth of his arms, only so he can hold his hand out to you. “Come.”

When you grab his hand, you feel the whooshing of sand around you before you find yourself with him in the library. Inexplicably, the books he had been reading are sitting on a table next to the plush reading chairs. You’ve long since learned not to question “how” or “why” when in the Dreaming.

“Lucienne has graciously offered her services in helping me discover why you cannot remember the Dreaming, and how we can remedy that,” he explains, taking a seat. You go to sit next to him, only for him to pull you into his lap instead. You should have known better than to sit away from your touch-starved Endless. “I have a couple of contacts in the Waking as well, who may be able to help should we not find answers here.”

You’re touched, but your natural reaction is to joke. “All this for little old me?”

“You will find that there is nothing that I would not do for you, beloved.”

It’s such a simple phrase, uttered quickly before Morpheus picks up the book he had been reading and begins to peruse again. Yet, coming from him, it sounds like the sweetest music, sweet enough to have your heart thumping against your rib cage. You know Morpheus can feel it, because he always does, so you tamp down the embarrassment and grab a book of your own.

If the evening wasn’t spent searching for why you can’t remember the Dreaming, this would be a pleasant way to pass the time with your lover. The rain has slowed from a torrential downpour to a regular rainstorm, making the library feel cozy and peaceful. It’s quiet, save for turning pages and the occasional note from you or Morpheus. Best of all, you get to simply be with Morpheus, with no expectations for either of you.

You almost forget the reason you’re here until your vision tilts familiarly and your body feels heavy. Sitting up, you grab onto Morpheus’s coat in a last-ditch effort to keep yourself in the Dreaming as panic consumes you.

“No, don’t make me wake up,” you plead, even though he can’t do anything about it. “Please, I don’t want to forget you again.”

“Shh,” he attempts to soothe. “It will all be alright. You will wake up with no memory of this, and go about your day, and when you come back to me, I will have found a way for you to remember your time here. I swear to you that I will find a way.”

He’s sincere in his promises, you know that, but none of it helps the animal terror that comes with knowing you’re going to forget. You try to voice this, but can only continue to repeat, “No, no, no, it’s–”

You shoot up in bed, one hand on your heaving chest as your eyes dart wildly around the room for some perceived threat. Once you become aware enough to realize it was simply a nightmare, you groan and rub the tear tracks (when did you start crying?) from your face. After so many nights of wonderful dreams, you forgot how terrible nightmares can be.

It’s times like these where you’re glad you don’t remember what it was about.

You’re tempted to go back to sleep so you can wake up again on a better note, but your alarm, that old enemy, chooses that moment to go off. Rolling your eyes, you huff before shutting it off and reluctantly getting out of bed to start your morning routine. Brushing your teeth, making your hair look some semblance of tamed, grabbing whatever clothes are sitting on top of the basket of clean laundry you still haven’t folded, snagging something quick for breakfast, and predictably, rushing out the door.

Just another boring, mundane day in your boring, mundane life.

•••

Tag list of those who asked to be tagged on the original post (let me know if you'd like to be tagged in Part Two!): @igotanidea @chocogoths @kiwistarfruit @crafygamerscrafts @aspenmushroom69

#morpheus #morpheus imagine #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman imagine #the sandman

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lilap20 · 5 months

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Prologue : The Princess

In the year 99 after the Conquest, Queen Aemma gave King Viserys I her second born, a daughter she named Nymeria in honor of the courage in the baby as well as herself. Even if he was not the son he had hoped for, Nimerya was very loved and well received by his father the King of the Seven Kingdoms and by his big sister Princess Rhaenyra.

The childbirth greatly exhausted the Queen, who, it was thought, would die after the birth of her second born. But the Seven decided otherwise, the Queen survived thanks to the love she gave to her daughter and thanks to the help of her eldest Rhaenyra.

As a child, Rhaenyra was an exemplary little girl, beautiful, brave and intelligent, characteristics she seemed to derive from her Targaryen blood. Very precocious, she was admired by the entire court and adored by her parents.

Her sister, Nymeria, was calm, cheerful, and courageous. She rode her dragon, called Nightmares descended from the line of Caraxes at the age of 7 like her older sister.

As Rhaenyra grew up, she was called "Delight of the Realm", a name that belonged to her perfectly given her beauty and character. Her uncle Daemon Targaryen showered her with gifts, and she had enormous affection for him.

His sister on the other hand was often compared to the Queen and wife of Aegon the Conqueror, Rhaenys Targaryen. She loved learning, read a lot of poetry and loved music, moreover her beauty was almost that of the late Queen. She rode her dragon twice as much as Rhaenyra, her dream was to travel wherever she could. She loved the stories of her uncle Daemon Targaryen because he traveled everywhere and always brought back useful memories.

The young Princesses have always been close and united, especially seeing what their mother Lady Aemma was going through with her repeated and unfinished pregnancies in order to have a male heir. If Princess Rhaenyra did not want to end up like this, her sister Princess Nymeria quickly accepted her fate, telling herself that she had to be courageous when the time came.

As Princess Rhaenyra grew up, she met a close friend, Alicent Hightower, daughter of the king's hand. The two were almost inseparable, they had many companions.

Princess Nymeria didn't make many friends because she was observant and liked to hide in the palace libraries. It was in these places that she met Talyssa of Tarth, her faithful friend and lifelong companion.

Time passes and the Princesses grow up. The Kingdom held its breath because no male heir arrived and the question of succession was on the lips of all the members of the Councils.

Even though she knew she wasn't concerned, Nymeria couldn't help but think about where this would all lead and what his fate would be.

Master Aeris Targaryen

#imagine cregan stark #cregan x you #cregan fanfiction #house of the dragon #fanfiction house of the dragon #house targaryen #daemon x rhaenyra #rhaenyra targaryen #original female character #cregan smut #fire and blood #the dance of the dragons #female character house of the dragon #alicent hightower #cregan x reader

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amber-michaelson · 2 years

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Fallen Angel

Yandere Bowers Gang x reader

-Headcanon here-

Summary: they are obsessed and decide to act on it

Read at own risk

Warning: swearing

Fm = favorite movie

Yn pov

"Hello" I smiled sitting next the platinum blonde boy "I'm yn" I said and took out my books "victor" he greeted quietly before the teacher started speaking and through the lesson victor explained the previous lesson and showed me his notes which I gladly expected the help before the bells go "thanks so much victor how will I ever repay you" I asked packing up my stuff "you don't have to but whenever you need help just come to me" he smiled putting his bag over his shoulders "I'll make sure to keep that in mind" I murmured and went our separate ways, over my first week me and victor got closer and he's been helping me a lot "bye vic" I smiled and walked into my history class and sat at my normal spot in the back "good day class today we will be preparing a project which will be due in 2 weeks" the class groaned in disappointment "don't worry you will be able to pick your own partners" I looked around for anyone familiar but nothing "can I be your partner" I turned to the voice and see one of the people that hang around victor "of coarse I don't mind" I smiled and moved my bag to make room for him "yn and belch you will do ancient Rome" the teacher explained and did the rest of the groups and aloud us to go to the library "so yn I see you hang around victor" belch made small talk as we gazed for books on the shelves "yeah he helps me with my homework and tutors me" I smiled and started piling the books in my hand "let me carry those" he smiled taking the books out my hands "oh thank you belch".

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎Time skip▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

I smiled as me, victor and belch made our way down the hall "hey guys who's this" we paused as two boys stepped in front of us "oh hey Henry" victor murmured "hi I'm yn" I smiled at both of them "well cutie I'm Patrick" the one smiled licking his lips "I'm Henry" the other crossed his arms "well its nice to meet you two but I need to get to my maths class bye guys" I smiled and walked away.

And everyday day after that I was the new member of the bowers gang and over the time the boys became more and more disappointed if I talk to anyone but them or gave anyone my attention "guys come on it was one thing" I whined as they kept quiet as we made our way behind school to belchs car so we can get something to eat "but you could've asked us" victor muttered and opened the door for me I climbed in with victor and Patrick sitting next to me "why are you so protective" I asked but didn't get a response instead silence filled the car the only sound was the soft tones coming from the radio "belch can I have a water" I murmured leaning forward "yea here" Henry muttered handing me a bottle of water I slowly uncapped it and took a sip and closed it back up "this isn't the way to the has station" I murmured but slowly started to feel dizzy and my vision started fading "what did you do" I leaned forward and felt tired "it's OK now" Victor's voice turned to whispers before I blacked out completely 'this is where the nightmare begans'.

My eyes adjust to the darkness it had been a few hours since belch dropped of breakfast for me they'd lock the door to the room I was in except for the attachment bathroom, the room had no windows and was lit up by a flickering light.

"Babe we're home" I sighed in relief as Henry unlocked the door it was getting more and more boring when they leave I was starting to actually miss them "we were thinking how about we go into the lounge and watch a movie" victor smiled sitting on the edge of my bed "you mean leave the room" I was shocked I haven't left the room on months "yes since you've been so good we want to reward you" I giggle happily and jumped up and hugged them "come on tiger" Patrick murmured and lifted me up and carried me down stairs while the others got get the stuff ready "how was your day" I asked as he settled us onto the couch with me on his lap "it was good but missed feeling your but on my dick" I blushed as he slightly grinded against me "Patrick stop being a perv" Henry smacked the back of Patrick's head while giving me a blanket and setting beside me while victor brings the drinks and sits on the other side of me and belch brings the snacks and settles between my legs "what do you wanna watch" Henry passes me the remote "how about fm" I put on fm and snuggled into Patrick's chest 'maybe this isn't a nightmare after all'.

My other it works

Check out my other works

#x reader #x reader fluff #yandere x reader #yandere it x reader #yandere it #it stephen king #it x reader #yandere bowers gang #yandere bowers gang x reader #bowers gang x reader #bowers gang #yandere x willing darling #yandere x willing reader #fluff #yandere fluff

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hellfireghoul · 1 year

Text

Goodnight

Sebastian Sallow x f!SlytherinReader

Summary: After the colourful events of your fifth year, the trauma you'd experienced was haunting you. Not wanting to go home for the summer holidays to your muggle non-understanding parents, the question arises: where will you stay over the summer?

Words: 4.9k

Warnings: Reader experiences anxiety & a panic attack. Spoilers for the game. Ominis isn't our friend :((( Other than that, mostly fluff

Notes: Thank you all so much for the support and the love on my writing. This is really a great hobby for me (and usually self-indulgent), and I'm so flattered that so many of you enjoy what comes out of my brain. My blog just hit 100 followers, thank you!

End of term. The summer holidays had begun. The air felt a little lighter and a beautiful bright blue sky shone over the castle and surrounding hamlets.

There had been a certain buzz in the air, an almost palpable excitement for the upcoming break over the past few weeks at Hogwarts. Exams were over, many students taking their O.W.L.S and N.E.W.T.S had returned to their regular scheduled care free attitudes. The Professors even lightened up during the last few weeks of term. Even Professor Sharp didn’t give Garreth detention for blowing up his maxima potion, by somehow adding Puffskien fur to the concoction. Weasley getting off scot-free under Professor Sharp's watchful eye was unheard of up until now.

Breaktimes were largely spent outdoors, the main common areas of the castle left tranquil and silent in the cool shade. You preferred this however. The calming atmosphere of the castle and the alone time was what you desperately needed.

You spend your afternoons curled up on a bench in the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower with a book, or preferably your common room. The library was your usual haunt but it had become unbearable in the heat. Plus, Madam Scriber seemed much more irritable than usual, although you could hardly blame her, being stuck inside that sauna all day. She was stalking around looking as if she was about to cast Glacius on herself.

The question had arisen early on Monday morning, the last Monday of term.

“So, are you going back to your parents for the holidays?” Sebastian asked, slumping down next to you on the almost empty common room sofa, leaning his elbows on his knees.

He looked tired nowadays, not the same confident, charming freckle faced boy you’d met on your first day. Hints of him returned every now and then, but it felt as if you were seeing him through a thin veil. It broke your heart.

You shook your head, giving a definite no. You hadn’t even told your parents you weren’t planning on returning for the summer holidays. At least not straight away. You weren’t sure what you were going to do but, Merlin knows you couldn’t just go home.

You loved your parents, dearly. You didn’t hate the muggle world either, quite the contrary in fact. Despite all this, you just couldn’t quite bring yourself to face your perfectly normal home and perfectly normal parents. Not yet. Not after the year you’d had.

The truth was, ever since defeating Ranrok and witnessing Professor Fig’s death mere months ago, you didn’t sleep. Or if you did manage to drift off, peaceful sleep was evaded by horrific nightmares and haunting images of your beloved Professor Fig laying lifeless before you. Or Ranroks bellowing, booming distorted voice, pounding in your ears, and that huge monstrous dragon creature looming over you.

You wake up in cold sweats a lot, panting and shaking. It was useless to attempt to settle again after that, instead most early mornings, you’d make your way into the common area and curl up once again, with a book.

That wasn’t the only thing lingering and haunting you. Sebastian. You had witnessed him perform the worst Unforgivable imaginable. He committed murder, on his own family member no less. That was your best friend, of course you wouldn’t turn him in. You couldn’t. A part of you wanted to hate Sebastian for what he did, for being so stupid, but you never could. Your eyes still fixed on him with the same adoring gaze you’d always had, but the guilt was eating you alive for feeling this way. About someone who’d done something so terrible, someone you were protecting.

Still, everytime he came and joined you like he did on that Monday morning, you desperately wanted to throw yourself into his arms. To sob into his chest and spill every single tiny worry you’d been having while gripping him so tight he couldn’t move. Sebastian had no idea the turmoil you’d been experiencing over the past few months. He was aware something was up, but in his mind he’d put it down to just recovering from recent events. He had no idea the true extent of your suffering. You couldn’t bring yourself to even mention it. He was going through so much himself, his Uncle, and now losing Anne. Even Ominis had abandoned his best friend. You couldn’t blame them. So you'd simply just kept quiet. He was in agony too.

So the both of you sat there, in a lingering silence, you staring at your book and Sebastian at the floor.

After a moment, Sebastian responded.

“Where are you going to go?”

You shrugged indifferently.

“I’m not sure yet. My parents aren’t going to be home for the first few weeks, and I don’t fancy being alone in my muggle house.” You lied, flicking the page of your book, knowing your parents weren’t going anywhere. The height of their adventures includes visiting the coast sometimes for a weekend once a year.

Sebastian shifted for a second in his seat, elbows still resting on his knees, seemingly deep in thought.

“Why don’t you stay with me, for a bit?” He asked, hesitantly.

You turned to look at him for a second, your eyes pulling away from your book for the first time in what felt like hours. Your eyes had to adjust to your surroundings, the edges seemingly blurry.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, my Uncle’s house in Feldcroft. It’s the only place I’ve got. But it’s empty now, with Uncle Solomon...” He trailed off at his words and you nodded gently, showing that he needn’t go no further.

“And Anne… doesn’t want to see me. She’s staying with her friend’s family I think. Ominis, I’m not sure. He’s not spoken to me since… everything” Sebastian continued thickly.

“So, I wouldn’t mind the company, if you-“

“Yes. That would be nice.” You cut him off, responding a bit too quickly.

In all honesty, you couldn’t think of a better offer. Sebastian couldn’t bare to be in that house alone and you couldn’t bare to be with people that didn’t have a clue what had happened to you. Or even begin to understand what had happened to you. And where on earth do you begin to even explain such events?

“Settled. You can stay as long as you like.” Sebastian said, softly.

The last day of term approached very quickly. Everyone hugging, saying their goodbyes with their mountains of trunks following closely behind them and a shower of owls in hot pursuit.

The majority of students were readying themselves for the Hogwarts Express, you and Sebastian amongst another small handful of students were awaiting carts to take them and their luggage to various hamlets across the Scottish Highlands.

Amongst the sea of faces awaiting to head over to the Hogwarts express, you caught a glimpse of one of your favourites.

You made a beeline straight for the pale faced boy, who was standing amongst his peers with his luggage.

“Ominis!” You approached him slightly out of breath, having to push through the crowd.

“Oh, Y/N.” Ominis said, softly.

You didn’t hesitate and pulled him into a long, hard hug. He jumped slightly at the sudden contact, and you muttered an apologetic ��sorry’ in his ear as you pulled away, forgetting his rule about surprise hugs. They tended to startle him.

“How are you?” You asked tentatively.

“I’m fine, how are you?

“Oh Ominis, I’ve missed you.” You could feel your throat closing as you clung onto the boy's robes.

“Where are you going for the summer?” You asked suddenly, aware that Ominis usually spent the summer with the Sallow family.

“My parents.” The boy said, coldly. You were aware this tone wasn’t directed at you.

“Oh, Ominis…” you sighed apologetically.

“What about you? You’re going home I assume?”

“No,” you croaked. “I’m, I’m staying in Feldcroft, with-“

“Ah. I see.” Ominis cut you off, he couldn’t bear to hear the name of his former best friend any longer. The betrayal he felt over Sebastian’s actions cut deep.

“Are you sure you don’t want to-“ but again you were cut short.

“No thank you, Y/N. In my eyes he is no better than my parents.”

Your eyes widened at this comment, it hit you hard.

“You surely don’t mean that, Ominis.” You gasped.

“I won’t discuss it further. Have a pleasant summer, Y/N.”

And with Ominis’s final words, the distant sound of the Hogwarts Express pulling up rang in the air. The steam engine hissed lowly in the distance, and the crowd of students suddenly erupted to life, all clambering for their luggage.

You watched as Ominis gathered his things and disappeared into the crowd without another word, your stomach burning and twisting and his words still echoing in your ears.

You returned to Sebastian after your brief conversation with Ominis, you didn’t share any details with him. You decided he didn’t need to hear what had been said.

The two of you clambered onto a Thestral cart that was heading for Feldcroft.

It took you a mere few hours to settle at the Sallow house. Feldcroft was much livelier since Ranrok’s loyalists had cleared off, although some locals still seemed on high alert, which was perfectly reasonable in your book. There were still remnants of battle preparation scattered across the hamlet, crates of chinese chomping cabbages and Dark Wizard dummies still everpresent.

You’d unpacked your trunk, and Sebastian had shown you your bed.

You were sleeping in Anne’s old bed.

You’d seen the Sallow house once before, and it was cosy and quaint, much like all the other houses in the settlement. It wasn’t much but you felt safe. You had Sebastian. That was enough.

Sebastian had been in and out of the house all day, chatting briefly to neighbours and locals. A lot of people seemed to be wondering about the whereabouts of the rest of the family. Sebastian had come up with a clever lie about Anne, and as far as the rest of Feldcroft knew, Uncle Solomon had died in a tragic accident defending his brother's children from Ranrok’s loyalists. After his fifth conversation that afternoon with another local wanting the latest news, he stormed in through the front door, locked it behind him with his wand and slumped down on his bed, face in his hands.

A deep sigh escaped his lips and he rubbed his hand roughly over his face.

“People asking questions?” You asked, quietly.

“Too many. Once I leave Hogwarts, I’ll be out of this place.”

It was late into the evening when shot up from the kitchen table, you’d both been relaxing by the fire, a game of chess between you.

“What, what is it?” Sebastian said, sitting straight back in his chair in surprise.

“I completely forgot to write an owl to my parents, they’re going to expect me home.” You were saying the words as you scrambled frantically through your trunk for spare parchment and a quill. You seized the spares you could find and began scrawling a letter to your parents on the kitchen table, informing them of your whereabouts.

You were deep in thought composing your letter until Sebastian said

“But Y/N, you don’t have an owl?”

You stopped writing mid sentence and looked up at him, the realisation dawning on both of you that neither of you had owls.

“I’ll nip over to the school owlry, it’ll be fine.” You uttered quickly after a second, and continued to write.

“Y/N, how? You can’t get into the school.”

“I have a broom Sebastian, I won’t get caught.”

You stood up straight, finishing your letter and producing an envelope from thin air to slot it in. You sealed it and scrawled your parents' address on it. Making your way towards the door, Sebastian called out after you.

“Y/N, it’s late. Do you want me to join you? Will you be okay?”

You turned to look at him briefly, and a small smile formed on your lips for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. Sebastian relaxed in his seat slightly when meeting your eye.

“You’re right, you’ll be fine. But, if there’s anything, anything at all, you come right back or send up flares, do you understand?” Sebastian ordered, and you nodded, still sporting a small smile as you headed outside for your broom.

The cool, evening summer air hit your face pleasantly as you soared through the night sky, heading back towards Hogwarts, silently cursing at yourself for forgetting to do this a week ago.

Still, you were somewhat grateful for this. It gave you an excuse to go out alone, a ride on your broom always cleared your head. There was an extraordinary feeling of peace being up in the sky at night. The quiet, the stars twinkling just above and the faint glow of fires and candles littering the ground below.

You managed to sneak into the school owlry without much of a problem. Alohomora easily broke the lock, and you sent a scrawny barn owl on its way with your letter. You hoped it wouldn’t be long before your parents received it, you knew they’d be worrying by now. Not hanging around, you kicked off the tower, soaring straight back into the air, heading back for Feldcroft.

The hamlet grew nearer, the tiny houses in the distance growing bigger as you flew closer to your temporary home. All of a sudden, your stomach began to twist violently. Anxiety flooded through your body and you stiffened on your broom, making a sharp dive to the right. You plummeted for the ground, needing your feet to be touching something solid this very second. You landed hard, stumbling a little as you tried to steady yourself. Taking a deep breath, you leant on your broom for support and attempted to breathe.

You didn’t know why the sight of Feldcroft had caused you to react like that, maybe it was the thought of being inside and cooped up that just filled you with dread? The thought of having to sleep again, only to experience harrowing nightmares? Your head spun and you collected yourself for a moment, before setting off slowly the opposite way from Feldcroft.

You walked, and walked. You weren’t even sure for how long or how far, you were just enjoying the serenity. The odd sound did startle you, but you gripped your wand tight and carried on down a dirt path. A lake emerged to your right, as the trees and bushes thinned. It looked beautiful you thought, as you were immediately drawn to the still water, glistening under the moonlight. You sat for a moment on the ground next to it, legs up at your chin, still gripping your wand. Your eyes glazed over the water absentmindedly, your mind running at a hundred miles an hour.

You kept thinking back to what Ominis had said earlier.

“In my eyes he is no better than my parents.”

The words made your insides twist and turn in a torturous manner. Ominis Gaunt, a boy that loathed his family, the same family that caused him immense trauma, choosing to live with them for the next two months rather than you and Sebastian. It spoke volumes. His best friend who he trusted implicitly, betrayed him in the most hurtful way. Disregarded his warning at every turn. On the other hand, you saw and understood why. Sebastian was desperate, desperate to help and do good. But it has left him with nothing. Only you.

Were you an idiot for staying by his side? Were you just as bad as him? Were you both bad people? It has been a question echoing around in your brain for the past few weeks now, Ominis had merely amplified it.

A tear trickled down your cheek, and you sniffed and wiped it away quickly, knowing you should be heading back.

You approached the edge of Feldcroft quicker than you’d expected, it appeared in the distance as nothing more than a dark opening. It was desolate now and pitch black, only the odd candle lit in a bedroom causing a faint warm glow to flicker from a window.

Your legs were aching from walking and lugging your broom back with you, you didn’t quite feel up to flying at that very moment. That or you were delaying the amount of time it would take you to get back. You weren’t sure if it was either or both.

Nothing had quietened your mind on the journey back either this time. The darkness and your own footsteps didn’t quite act as an adequate distraction from your thoughts. Your palms were sweaty from clutching your wand so tightly in your hand.

Trudging through a particularly uneven part of grass, you rejoined the dirt path that led straight into Feldcroft. Focusing on the path ahead and able to see the Sallow house, very suddenly, a dark shape darted rapidly out of the corner of your eye, causing you to gasp and spin towards the movement. Your eyes scanned around, heart thumping in your chest as you desperately strained to see in the dark. Your hands were almost shaking.

One of the Dark Wizard dummies had, for some reason, decided to re centre itself. You sighed, your shoulders visibly relaxing as you set your wand down.

Merlin, how could you be so stupid? Merely weeks ago you were fighting Ranrok in his deadliest form, and now you were being startled by a training dummy.

This seemed to flick a switch.

Without a second thought, you lunged towards the training dummy and began casting. Throwing as many casts of scarlet light as you could. You yelled Accio and the offending dummy came flying forward, and you continued to blast casts at it until it was shooting backwards again. Small splinters of wood were flying through the air, spraying to the ground but you didn’t stop. Flashes of Ranrok flit through your mind. Professor Fig, laying motionless on the ground. That booming voice echoing in your skull. Professor Garlick’s screams as she, amongst the other teachers, found you and Fig. You’d refused to let go of your beloved Professor. Blast after blast hit the dummy, and you weren’t even aware you were yelling curses at it until a pair of arms wrapped themselves around you.

“Get off of me!” You yelled, panic taking over your entire body and scrambling to get away, until you heard a familiar voice.

“It’s me, it’s me. It’s okay, you’re okay.” Sebastian shushed and held onto you tight. You collapsed into him, sinking to the floor as tears streamed down your face.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” He continued to shush you and reassure you, stroking your hair as you sobbed, your shoulders shaking from the force of your cries.

“Let’s get you inside.” Sebastian hushed, helping you to your feet. You followed him, still sobbing and shaking.

An elderly wizard dressed in silk pyjamas had popped his head out of his door to see what the noise was. Another witch wearing a striped magenta robe had done the same. Sebastian reassured them everything was fine as he hurried you back inside.

Once inside, Sebastian grabbed a thick knitted blanket and ordered you to sit on the bed. He wrapped it around your shoulders tightly.

“What happened? Are you okay? Who hurt you?” Sebastian fired questions at you, but you shook your head.

“No-No-one.” You cried through strangled sobs.

“Then what is it darling? What’s wrong?” Sebastian dropped to his knees in front of you, and placed his hands on yours. At first, you couldn’t speak. How could you form an answer? There were so many things you could say were ‘wrong’. Nothing felt right anymore. You decided that was your answer.

“Everything’s wrong.” You croaked through small sobs.

“I know, I know.” Sebastian whispered softly. “Is this to do with Professor Fig?”

You couldn’t meet his eye, your own eyes red and puffy. You nodded slowly, taking a deep breath to try and calm your sobs.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” Sebastian paused for a second as he traced circles on your palm with his thumb, attempting to calm your intense sobs. “Professor Fig was wonderful, and I know he was a great mentor to you. He would be so proud of you if he could see you today.” Sebastian continued, softly.

Your gaze flicked to his at his words, your cries subsiding slightly but you were still shaking.

“I just, I miss him. It wasn’t right and I feel like it was… it was all my fault.” You choked, the tears threatening to close your throat as quickly as you’d just tamed them.

“No, no. None of this is your fault. Please, don’t ever think that. You possess an extraordinary ability that is beyond your control. If anyone’s to blame, it’s Ranrok and his lot. But you stopped it, you stopped it all.”

Sebastian’s deep brown eyes stared into yours sincerely as he spoke, his hands were still interlocked with yours.

You took a hand away for a second, going to wipe away your tears but Sebastian quickly released his grip, and brought his hands up to cup your face gently, to wipe them away for you with his thumbs. You felt your cheeks flush underneath his palms as he wiped away your plentiful tears, his eyes never leaving yours. There was a moment of silence, a comfortable silence but it hung in the air almost like a pause. A tension lingered that you could almost taste.

Sebastian cleared his throat and removed his hands gently, before returning them to intertwine with your palms.

“How long have you been feeling like this?” He asked,

“Since it all happened, really. I haven't been sleeping.” You confessed quietly.

“Oh, Y/N, I wish you would’ve said something.”

“I know but you’ve got your own issues to deal with. I thought I’d be fine, truly. It just seems to have gotten the better of me tonight.”

“That’s understandable, especially if you’ve been bottling it up. Merlin, I feel so stupid that I didn’t notice before that it was something more serious.” Sebastian scowled at himself.

“Don’t be daft, I’m good at keeping things close without even meaning to sometimes.” You said, earnestly.

Sebastian got to his feet after being knelt in front of you, and gestured you to do the same. Once you were standing, blanket still draped over your shoulders, he pulled you into a tight embrace, your head buried into the crook of his neck and his hand resting on the back of your head.

You felt your entire body relax at his touch, and sighed as a tear trickled down your face but this time it was from relief. Relief of sharing even a part of your struggle, and from feeling Sebastian’s touch. You breathed in his scent and it made you dizzy, but equally it was entirely comforting.

He kissed the top of your head before releasing you from his hug, and you blushed scarlet.

“I was just about to get ready for bed but I was getting worried, I wasn’t going to sleep until I knew you were home safe.” Sebastian murmured.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve been back sooner.” You apologised quietly.

“No, no don’t apologise. I am rather tired now though. Would you like me to get you anything before I turn in for the evening?” Sebastian continued through stifled yawns. You shook your head and thanked him, you were still inches apart after hugging.

“Of course, if you can’t sleep or need anything please, please just wake me.”

“I will.” You lied, and with that, the Sallow boy crossed the room to his bed in the corner.

A comfortable silence fell, and you decided to shrug off your robes and follow suit. You may as well get comfortable, even if you knew peaceful sleep wasn’t in the picture.

As your robes dropped onto the bed, you turned about to kick your boots off and briefly saw Sebastian unbuttoning his shirt to expose his bare chest, causing you to look away quickly.

“No peeking.” He smirked, pulling the curtain that allowed for some privacy across his chest. You blushed scarlet again, and shook your head looking away.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” You muttered, a small smile forming on your lips as you turned away.

It didn’t take long for Sebastian to drop off to sleep. He bid you goodnight from behind his curtain and within a few minutes, gentle snores filled the room. You got as comfortable and as cosy as you could, and surprisingly, the low sound of Sebastian’s snores mixed with exhaustion from the day, allowed you to nod off within good time.

You jolted with a start, the covers flying to the side as you shot up out of bed, your neck and face clammy with cold sweat. Nightmares, once again. Breathing heavily, you swallowed thickly as it took you a moment to register that you weren’t waking in your dorm. Your brain caught up as you took in the surroundings of the dark Sallow house. The only light being emitted was that of faint moonlight, that cast a glowing slither of light through the middle of the room. Wiping your forehead gently, you tried to mull over what you’d been dreaming about. This one was slipping away fast however, and you were grateful for the fact. You guessed it would be the same as all the others, Ranrok. Fig. Screaming.

You adjusted the covers, settling and laying back down on your back. Staring up at the ceiling, you noticed something, there was a complete absence of sound. It felt eerie more than peaceful, Sebastian's snoring had been somewhat of a source of comfort. Clearing your throat gently, you hesitated before calling out into the darkness.

“Sebastian?” Your voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Mmm?” His voice hummed from the other side of the room, and he sounded wide awake.

“You’re awake?” You whispered.

“You’ve been talking in your sleep.” He said, softly. You closed your eyes in a mix of embarrassment and guilt, sighing rather deeply.

“Oh Merlin, I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t apologise. it’s fine. I was debating whether or not to come and wake you. You said you hadn’t been sleeping well so I didn’t want to disturb you but… you also sounded as if you were having a nightmare.” Sebastian said.

“I was.” You replied, quietly before adding, “What was I saying?”

“A lot of it was incomprehensible. Lots of muttering.” Sebastian replied, and you heard him shuffle in his bed.

There was a pause, and you didn’t know why, but you found yourself beginning to sob again, silently. Tears trickled down your cheeks and pooled onto the pillow supporting your head. Your chest hollowed as you tried to stifle your sobs.

“Sebastian?” You croaked, trying to sound as normal as possible.

“Hmm?” He hummed once again in response.

“Can you just… Can I join you?” You stammered, tears still streaming down your cheeks.

A gentle shuffling sound filled the room all of a sudden and Sebastian had swung out of bed, whipping the curtain back, his eyes finding you immediately.

“Oh sweetheart, of course.” Sebastian sighed, opening his arms as he sat on the side of his bed. You shuffled over, hugging yourself as the cool night air made your skin prickle.

You gladly almost fell into his arms, letting him pull you into a tight embrace. To your surprise, Sebastian pulled you back onto the bed, causing you to squeal a little in shock as he let out a low laugh.

“Sorry.” He said, with a grin that told you he wasn't in the slightest. His face lingered inches from yours as he’d laid down whilst pulling you towards him, meaning you were hovering over him as he lay.

Gradually, that wide grin faded, your smile faltering also, as the reality hit the pair of you that you were inches away from each other. You almost weren’t breathing as you gazed into his dark eyes, that flickered slightly in the moonlit room. A hand that was resting on your hip moved up your back, and rested on the back of your head softly, his fingers brushing through your hair. Your eyes threatened to close at the relaxing feeling of Sebastian's fingers in your hair. The same hand made its way round to cup your cheek. His palm was warm, comforting. You breathed in and all you could smell was him, and maybe that’s why you found yourself leaning forward and closing the small gap between you. Your lips connected and Sebastian immediately kissed you back. Your entire body felt as if it had been set alight, every nerve ending on fire and your cheeks flushing red as you kissed the boy you’d been longing for for so long.

He pulled away first, your faces still inches apart and his palm still cupping your face.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” He said, lowly. Your eyes flit between his.

“Me too.” You breathed, and your chest swelled with a bubbly warm feeling. It was the most at ease you’d felt in months. You shuffled slightly so that you were now at his side in the bed, squeezing into the corner and he chuckled as you fought with the covers. Settling, you nuzzled your head into his chest and he absentmindedly began running a hand through your hair again, before placing a kiss on top of it.

“Goodnight, Sebastian.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #one shot #oneshot #fan fic #fanfiction

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