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inkedinshadows · 20 days ago

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A Place Called Home

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Summary: Follow Azriel as he recalls all the places where he's lived but never belonged, until he finds the one where he finally does.

Warnings: a bit of Inner Circle slander, I guess? But not really tbh. Mentions of wing clipping

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: I don't know what I think of this one tbh. It's not exactly what I had in mind, but I've made my peace with it. @azrielappreciationweek

Azriel had never belonged in his father's mansion. He never once believed he did. But he didn't belong in Illyria, either.

Though he was Illyrian, he always disapproved of their backward traditions, especially regarding females.

He had seen how his mother was treated; he knew what had happened to Cassian’s, and too many times during his training in Windhaven, he had to witness brutal clippings without being able to stop them.

How could he belong in such a place? A place where females were treated as little more than objects and breeding mares, where children were taught to fight as soon as they could walk and left to care for themselves in the mud and cold?

He had done horrible things—most of which to protect his family and court—and they still haunted him in his sleep at times. But he liked to think that he was at least better than the Illyrian brutes he had grown up among. That there were certain lines even he wouldn't cross.

Illyria was a beautiful land, with its snow-capped mountains and frozen lakes. It could be merciless and harsh, but that was nature. Its inhabitants, however, chose to be that way, and Azriel had long since lost faith in any change.

~~~~~~

He didn't belong in Rosehall, either.

He was always welcome there and visited as often as he could, but that was his mother’s house. He had bought it for her as soon as he had enough money.

It was her safe place, her haven, where she didn't have to worry about anything and where she wasn't anyone's servant. Azriel remembered the tears shining in her eyes the first time he brought her there, when the house was still empty and cold.

It had taken him a long time to convince her that she didn't need to worry about money. He worked directly for the High Lord now, and he was paid well enough for her to furnish the house however she liked.

She had still tried not to spend too much, but she had chosen each piece of furniture and decoration with attentive care. It was the first time she had a place she could call her own after centuries of living, and Azriel liked what she had done with it. The place was simple yet elegant, with cream-colored walls and wooden furniture. Colorful flowers bloomed on the windowsills, and paintings hung in the hallway and the living room. She had even made sure to have a bedroom for him, so he could stay as long as he wished.

But Azriel's favorite part of Rosehall was probably the delicious smell of food wafting through the rooms. Now that she no longer had to cook for domineering males, she had rediscovered her passion for cooking. Whether it was spices, freshly baked bread, or roasted meat, the smell never failed to make his mouth water.

Yes, Azriel enjoyed his time in Rosehall and tried to visit as often as he could, but it was still his mother’s house—not his.

~~~~~~

He belonged in the Inner Circle, he guessed. Though sometimes he felt like he didn't.

Azriel cared about Amren; after all, he had known her for centuries. But it was still Amren. How many times had it been just the two of them, spending time like normal friends? Once, maybe twice, and even then, their conversations had mostly revolved around Court matters. Sometimes he wondered if they would have ever approached each other at all if it hadn't been for Rhys bringing them together.

And then there was Mor. He had spent centuries quietly loving her, longing for something he could never have. He had long since stopped believing that her concerned glances and gentle touches meant anything beyond deep affection—sisterly affection. Yet he'd held on to those feelings even when they started to fade, because he had never known anything different. It was a twisted form of both protection and punishment: if he still loved her, then he wouldn't risk his heart being broken by another rejection. Yet knowing Mor would never feel the same, that she had her own lovers and relationships, was like being stabbed in the chest. He wasn't sure when it started to hurt a little less each time he thought about it.

With that pain easing, the resentment he'd carried buried deep down for most of his life began to fade as well. He never once held it against Cassian. He knew it wasn't his fault Mor had chosen him. Who would have chosen Azriel anyway? He wished things were different, but he didn't blame either of them. It still chafed, though. It was something he couldn't shake, like a shadow lingered on the edges of his heart, and it resurfaced whenever he saw Mor and Cassian together.

And his brother… Azriel loved him deeply, and he was grateful to have him in his life. But there was no denying how different they were, and sometimes it felt as if Cassian didn't really understand him. There was a rage inside Azriel, rarely rising to the surface but it was there, born the moment he'd seen his mother's fear in the presence of his father. That rage never left. It grew until Azriel had to learn how to contain it, to live with it, for the sake of the people around him and his own.

Cassian never really understood it. Rhys did, though. Azriel knew that if he pushed, Rhysand would match him. Yet his brother still tried to thaw and tame that icy rage he had grown so accustomed to, which was probably an honorable aim—if Azriel hadn't lived with it so long that he wasn't sure who he would be without it.

He loved his family deeply, and he knew they loved him back. But they didn't always understand him, and he often felt out of place among them.

~~~~~~

Velaris was his home, and he'd do anything to protect it. He tortured and killed for that very reason many times. But at the end of the day, the City of Starlight was just that—a city. No matter how beautiful or welcoming, it was too vast a place to call home.

He had never bothered buying an apartment or a town house for himself. Maybe he should have. But the House of Wind had always been enough, with its views and endless rooms. It was practical living there—there was the training ring, the hall where Rhys held court, and the library for when he wanted some quiet.

But the House of Wind belonged to Rhys. Now that he had given it as a mating present to Nesta and Cassian, it was theirs. They assured him he could still live there, that his room would always be his, but Azriel had preferred to move out. He had no interest in living there during their mating frenzy.

The townhouse and the river house belonged, once again, to Rhys and Feyre. They never made him feel like he owed them anything for staying there—Elain lived there too, after all—but Azriel longed for a place he could call his own. Yet the idea of buying an apartment had still felt too definitive. He had tried, but none of the places he'd seen made him want to own them.

He had almost given up hope of finding a place he could call home, but then he met you. And he realized, after five hundred years, that maybe home wasn't a place at all.

“Az?”

Your voice cut through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present, to the feel of you in his arms and your big eyes staring up at him.

“Baby, are you listening to me?”

Azriel blinked, slightly shaking his head to chase away the remnants of his past. He looked down at you, and his heart fluttered at the love shining in your eyes.

“Hi,” you said with a soft smile. Your hand came up to cup his face, the touch warm and familiar. “I lost you. Where did you go?”

“Sorry,” he breathed. “I was just thinking.”

You waited patiently, giving him the freedom to continue or return to your conversion. Embarrassment flooded Azriel as he realized he couldn't remember what you were talking about.

He held you imperceptibly tighter, trying to find the right words to convey what he felt.

“I never felt like I fit in anywhere,” he said eventually. His voice was quiet even in the silence of the room, and he struggled to keep his eyes open when all he wanted to do was lean into your touch. “I've been looking for where I belong for centuries.”

It came easy to voice those thoughts to you. You never judged. You listened, and then you gave your opinion or simply shared your own thoughts. You saw all of him, and you didn't run from it. You accepted him. You loved him.

Sometimes, Azriel still wondered if it was all a dream or if you were really a part of his life.

“And have you found it?” you murmured, your thumb brushing his cheek just below his eye.

Azriel nodded. “I found it.” He took your hand, gently removing it from his face to bring it closer to his mouth. He pressed a tender kiss to your palm, his lips lingering on your skin before he repeated the gesture with your fingertips. Your smile was soft as he murmured, “I found you.”

Your eyes, which had been following the movements of his lips, shot up to meet his. Even after a year together, he was still mesmerized by how you always wore your heart on your sleeve. It was so easy to read you, and right now, blended with your unconditional love, he could see curiosity and amusement playing on your features.

“Me?” you repeated, your voice a murmur.

Azriel nodded once more, letting go of your hand only to bring his own up to your cheek. “Yes, you, my love.” He rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he breathed in your scent. “It doesn’t matter where we are. You’re where I belong. You’re my home.”

Wherever you went, he would follow. If you woke up one day and told him you wanted to move to the Spring Court, or even to Vallahan far east on the continent, he would go with you. He would go with you to the end of the world if you asked.

He could feel your heart beating faster in your chest, and a playful smile appeared on your lips as you pulled back to look into his eyes. “So… is this the right moment to tell you that I wanted to ask you to move in?”

Azriel stared at you, eyes wide, a huge grin slowly spreading across his face. His arms tightened around you, and then you squealed in surprise as his hands found your backside and he picked you up. The sound was quickly swallowed by his lips crashing against yours, and you could do nothing but kiss him back and wrap your legs around his waist, careful not to brush against his wings.

You were both breathing slightly faster when Azriel pulled back, but he didn’t let you go. If anything, he held you tighter, as if worried you might disappear.

“I’ll take it that’s a yes?” you chuckled. Your fingers brushed the hair on the back of his neck, his wings rustling quietly at the sensation.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Of course it’s a yes, love.”

He didn’t care if your apartment wasn’t suited for an Illyrian, if he had to carefully maneuver his wings to avoid knocking things over. He had already spent so much time at your place that he was used to it by now. The thought of staying there permanently—of waking up with you in his arms every morning, of coming back after a long day knowing you’d be there too—filled him with so much joy that his heart could burst.

You beamed, and all Azriel wanted to do was to spin you around and never let you go. And so, he did, because nothing was stopping him. He was going to share a home with his love, and nothing had ever made him this happy before.

As he spun you around, you threw your head back and laughed joyfully, the sound echoing off the walls. Azriel’s laughter joined yours when he stilled, and then you were kissing him again.

After more than five hundred years, he finally knew where he belonged. And it wasn’t a place.

It was with you.

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch

Azriel Week: @fourthwing4ever

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familyvideostevie · 8 months ago

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time you will not spend alone

joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni romance at the end of the world is this: flowers, lazy nights in bed after long days, and savoring every moment | or, joel makes you something. jackson!joel au, fem!reader, fluff, maybe a bit cheesy but idgaf, ellie cameo cause i can't do a damn thing without her, tommy gets some page time here too, smut (riding, unprotected p in v sex, some finger sucking lol), tenderness, gift giving | 5.7k a/n: i think this is the last part of the just and just as series for the foreseeable future. thank you for reading about this little au and these two lovebirds! i adore them. thank you @frannyzooey and @macfrog for your eyes and support on this. and thank you everyone else for being patient. <3

Spring sweeps into the valley seemingly overnight. The peaks remain snow-capped but the bare branches of trees between the evergreens begin to bud. Chilly mornings lose their bite and frost turns to dew and every day there is more light.

You've always thought Jackson looks its best in winter, but it's a damn sight to see as life and color return. And the latter is your favorite part -- the rolling hills outside the walls and the forest patrol paths are dotted and then overflowing with flowers.

It makes you feel more alive. Patrol isn't a freezing ordeal anymore -- it's an opportunity to see the remaining beauty in the world.

Today's shift is short and easy but you find yourself lingering, running your hands through pine needles and turning your face to the sun. Your horse is happy to munch on a patch of grass in a clearing just off the main trail, but your patrol partner is less than impressed.

"Are you serious?" Ellie moans. "You're stopping again? What the fuuuuuuuuck."

She sags in the saddle. The pout on her lips makes her look like a kid sent to bed without supper rather than an almost-twenty-year-old forced to spend some extra minutes in the fresh air. Shimmer has no problem chewing on some weeds despite her rider's moaning.

"Let me enjoy the sun," you say. "When you get older you'll appreciate the little things, too."

You hop off your horse and Ellie sighs loudly.

"Jesus, you're not that old," she mutters. "Seriously, what are you doing?"

You sweep your arms around you, gesturing at the meadow. "These flowers are nice," you tell her, pointedly. She adjusts the rifle slung over her shoulder. "I think I'm going to pick some and bring them home."

She snorts. "Oh, is Joel suddenly into flowers?"

You ignore her bait and crouch, gaze sweeping over the array of colors in front of you. You tried to learn the names of flowers years ago when you found a book on them in an old bookstore but they never stuck. Purples, pinks, and yellows, large petals and small ones, delicate yet hardy to survive the world past its end.

Joel isn't a fussy man. Young fathers don't get to be, and anyone alive these days sheds that impulse just as quickly. He's happy to wake up every day with you by his side, his kid in the garage out back and walls around everything he loves, keeping it all safe.

It makes it both easy and hard to please him -- you want to give him everything but he seems to want nothing. A perfect paradox, a puzzle to solve.

God, you love him. You love spring, you love Joel. Everything feels good.

So, you start to gather stems, snapping them at their bases, humming as you work.

"How do you choose which ones to pick?"

"Fuck," you gasp, careening forward onto one palm and looking over your shoulder. Ellie is off her horse and much closer than before, standing directly behind you. "Jesus, you're stealthy."

She shrugs, her smirk a pleased slash across her face. "You're oblivious as fuck."

You roll your eyes at her.

"Seriously," Ellie says, crossing her arms. She jerks her chin at the small bouquet you've got in one hand. "How do you make it look so nice?"

"Oh, so we've moved on from the making-fun-of-me part of this?"

She crouches next to you, elbows on her knees.

"I, uh -- " Her cheeks go pink, freckles standing out against her blush. "Dina likes flowers."

You bump her shoulder with yours. "I'm going to be so nice and not tease you."

"Fuck off," she scoffs, tucking her smile into her shoulder.

It's quick work. Ellie follows your lead, balances out the blooms she picks with some leafy weeds. She ties them together with one of the minimum four spare hairbands she has on her person at all times -- bits of cloth, occasionally a rare unused elastic from before if she's found some on patrol.

"Isn't it kinda shitty?" she muses, nimble fingers turning her bouquet this way and that to admire it. "We're killing them. The flowers, I mean."

"Little late to have a conscience about killing," you say lightly. The two rabbits she pulled from Jackson snares hang from her saddle. You've seen her in action, too -- gun raised, hands steady, blood splattered across her cheek. It's not an accusation, far from it. Violence is a language you both speak, one she's known for most of her still-short life.

She rolls her eyes, every bit a teenager. "Whatever."

You sigh. "You're right, though," you say. "There were whole shops dedicated to this before. Selling flowers, making bouquets and centerpieces and all that shit."

She probably knows this, but she lets you describe it. Ellie soaks up bits of the old world like it will materialize before her if she listens hard enough. Joel says it was much worse when she was younger, right after they settled into Jackson. She wanted details about everything and watched every movie she could get her hands on. You think she was satisfying her curiosity, sure, but also that she was trying to understand him better -- but didn't know how to say so.

"Weird," she mutters. "And you just...bought them for other people?"

"Or yourself." You pat her shoulder and stand. Your horse tries to nibble on your flowers before you haul yourself back in the saddle. "It was just a nice thing to do, I guess."

"Killing something to make someone else happy," Ellie says with a dry laugh. She tucks her bouquet in the crook of her arm once she's back in the saddle. "I guess everyone does that these days."

It's absurd when she puts it that way, but it's true. You've all got blood on your hands. You would kill for this girl, for Joel, for pretty much anyone in Jackson. And you have.

The flowers are for Joel, they're for your house, they're for you. Something beautiful to bring home alongside your dirt stains and scarred hands, your haunted eyes and nightmares. No one is spared those.

It's only mid-morning by the time you get back to the wall. You and Ellie left at dawn, short sticks drawn for the early shift. She leaves you in the stables with a mock salute and a shout of thanks, practically jogging to Dina's to give her the flowers.

You're untacking your horse when you hear familiar laughter, a deep chuckle and Ellie's faint indignant protest.

"Mornin'," Joel says from behind you. "Was hopin' to catch you at the gate."

"Can you hold these?"

You blindly extend the hand with the flowers. His fingers carefully extract the bouquet and you return to brushing out your horse.

"Does this have somethin' to do with Ellie runnin' out of her with flowers of her own?"

"Never let anyone say you're unobservant, Joel Miller."

He snickers. You leave your horse with a final pat on the neck and thanks for a job well done.

When you face Joel, he looks tired -- he's been pulling extra long days replacing windows and roof tiles after the winter's damage. God knows that man never seems fully rested, but it's a little worse when the seasons change.

He's told you time and time again that standing two stories off the ground is a hell of a lot safer than fighting some Infected on patrol, but you still worry. Just like you know he worries about you beyond the walls, how he's a little tenser whenever you're not in sight, whenever he hasn't seen Ellie for a few days ‘cause they're both busy. It's just how he loves. It's how you both love.

You make no move to take the flowers from him, instead brushing some sawdust from his shoulder.

"Did you have a job already?" you ask.

"Small one. Fixin' a crooked over mailbox." He looks pointedly at his full fist. "You gonna explain now?"

"They're for you."

Joel blinks once, twice, brows furrowing like you're speaking a different language. Maybe a few years ago you'd start to feel self-conscious, unsure of your romantic gesture and insecure in his reaction. But now, as fully in love and connected to this man as you are, you lean in.

"If you're too manly to carry flowers through town --"

You make to take them from him but he snaps out of his daze and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you to his chest in a smooth motion.

He also holds the bouquet in the air and out of reach.

"Hey, now," he says. "Hands off. These ain't your flowers."

"I picked 'em," you remind him, poking him in the ribs for good measure.

He flinches just a little but doesn't move. His embrace is warm and familiar and you sink into it. "Gettin' romantic," he mutters and brings the flowers back down to eye level to examine them.

"I'm just trying to catch up to you," you say into his jacket. He huffs and his palm rubs a slow line up and down your arm.

You wiggle out of his embrace to shoulder your pack.

"I am pretty romantic," he muses.

It's true. Even if he's joking and even if no one but you gets to see it, Joel has always made sure you feel loved. Courtship and romance look different these days, but it still comes naturally to him -- loving. Dinner dates, jewelry, and trips to the airport have become a battered paperback, a sharpened knife, and bloody knuckles, but it rings just as true. He loves you and he loves his family the best way he knows how – by keeping you all safe.

And you do your best to convey the same thing. You tell him, of course, but you also mend his shirts and chop wood when his back is acting up, and you look after his kid like she's your own.

Joel deserves to know that he can receive all that he gives, too – the protection, the tenderness, the beauty. Moments of softness and rest where he knows he’s taken care of, thought of, that he matters beyond the things he can do for everyone else.

So, you also do things like bring him flowers.

Sometimes you feel like it will never be enough. You will never have enough time to show him how much he means to you, how he's saved you, how important and cherished and loved he is. How good he is.

Joel reaches for your face with his free hand. He traces the line of your cheekbone with his thumb and smirks when you inhale sharply. Another patrol returns and the stables are suddenly louder and more crowded than before. If you're both free for the rest of the day, you want to drag him up to your bedroom and spend the hours there. You want to show him, for the millionth time, how much you love him.

"Okay, Mr. Pretty Romantic," you say, grabbing his hand and tangling your fingers together. "Let's go home."

___

Joel is hiding something from you.

The flowers last for a week and you watch him eye them and smile every time he enters the kitchen.

But after they droop and go in the compost pile, something shifts. Something subtle, sure, but you spend most of your waking hours looking for or at Joel, so you notice.

He starts keeping his workshop door closed. Normally you'll sit and watch him work, or he'll teach you a few chords here and there on the guitars he's making, but your lessons move to the porch and the upstairs hallway loses the scent of wood glue and stain.

In fact, he actively steers you away from the room altogether. He's all just needs a deep clean and it's messy, is all. It's not rocket science -- he's making something for you, clearly. But giving him a hard time is too fun to pass up.

One night, you and Ellie wait at the bottom of the stairs. There's a dinner and movie night in the old church and you're taking the opportunity to make it a family outing.

"You coming?" you holler up the stairs. You hear the door creak open.

"Gimme a second," he calls back down.

"Jesus," you mutter. You tap the side of Ellie’s sneaker with your boot. "You know anything about that?"

Honesty is important between all of you, but you know Joel and Ellie need to have their secrets. There is too much tangled history between them for you to understand it all. It's important to you that they have a relationship all their own, even if it means they scheme.

Ellie is examining her switchblade with intense focus. "I might," she says with a smirk. "He's a lovesick loser, I'll tell you that."

You lean on the banister and raise your eyebrows. "Do you remember when you asked me how to embroider so you could put Dina's name on her jacket?"

The knife swings closed with a snick and she rolls her eyes at you, cheeks pink.

"Shit, dude," she says. "Why do I tell you anything?"

"She liked the flowers, though, didn't she?"

Ellie crosses her arms and smiles at whatever memory she's seeing in her mind. "Yeah," she says. "She did. Jesse gave me so much shit, though --"

The door upstairs closes and Joel's heavy footfalls cut her off.

"Finally," you grumble. He trods down the stairs, arms half in his jacket when he catches sight of the two of you. "Are you hiding state secrets in there?"

"What the fuck does that mean?" Ellie asks.

"Might be," is all he says. He's got that twinkle in his eye that means mischief but he looks proud of himself. You can let him have this, whatever this is. You trust him and you'll find out eventually.

"Alright," you say, pushing off the banister and heading for the door. "You're going to breathe toxic fumes with the door closed."

"No, seriously," Ellie says. "What kind of secrets would a state be keeping?"

"Ain't nothin' toxic in there," he says lightly. He bumps Ellie's shoulder with his. "C'mon."

She throws her hands up in the air. "You know, it's shitty when you ignore me."

"Did you hear somethin'?" Joel says to you.

You shake your head, swallowing your laughter. "No," you say. "Nothing."

"Assholes." She pushes past you and down the steps onto the street. "I'm going to make sure there are no mashed potatoes left when you get there."

You don't mind letting Joel do whatever he's up to in all of his spare moments. It does mean you have more time to yourself, so you pick up some extra wall shifts.

And when one of those shifts is with Tommy? Well, you can't help but needle him a little bit about it all.

"Do you know what your brother is up to?" you ask him.

The wind today carries some lingering winter bite, so you've got the collar of your coat pulled up around your ears. Tommy’s hair whips around his face when he raises his eyebrows at you.

"Gonna have to be more specific," he says. "My brother is always up to some shit."

"I think he'd say the same thing about you."

Tommy laughs. He's got the reputation for being the more easy-going of the Millers, but you know he's more a match for Joel than most think. Out in the world, they work as one, silent and deadly, always in step when it counts. They still speak a language all their own with just a look and you see so much of them in each other when you pay attention.

"Well, I learned it all from him," he says. He adjusts his grip on the rifle and sighs. "I happen to know what you're talkin' 'bout, though."

"Is he just telling everyone but me?"

"Nah," Tommy scoffs. "Asked me and Ellie for help, s'all. And you know he tells that girl everythin'."

You both smile for a moment at your fondness for them.

Tommy clears his throat. "Does it bother you? Him keepin' a secret?"

You know Tommy won't let your answer get back to Joel. He's asking as your friend, as your kind-of brother. He's asking because he cares.

A patrol crests the hill, green flag waving in the air. They whistle and shout for the gate to be opened.

You step closer to Tommy so he can hear you. "No," you say. "I just like to gossip."

"Don't I know it," he chuckles. "You two are the eyes and ears of this damn town. Knowin' everything."

"Except what happens in my own home," you tease.

He shrugs. "You'll like it, if that helps," he adds.

"I know I will."

You look out at the world beyond the wall and smile to yourself.

Joel has made you a few things over the years. He works wonders with his hands all the time: Beautiful, intricate carvings for the house, for Ellie, for new babies in town. The wall of guitars, not to mention the ones he's made for kids to learn on in school. You're better at sewing than he is, but he's pretty damn good – fixing up pillowcases and blankets and clothes of all kinds. Joel is a craftsman.

Hands that hold you can also pull a trigger, punch until there's nothing left, and craft a work of art.

And he knows you. He pays attention -- there is a reason behind everything he does. If he's making you something, you know you'll love it.

"Strange, ain’t it?" Tommy says. You turn to him, a question on your face. "World ended and here we all are, happy. Makin' shit for each other. Gosspin'."

You sigh. “Took a lot to get here.”

“Damn right,” he says with a long whistle. “Lotta shit behind us.”

“Do you ever regret it?” you ask.

Tommy considers your words. You two talk plenty, but you’ve never really spoken about the past. Joel tells you whatever you want to hear about the years before you knew him, so you’ve got a pretty good picture of their lives after the outbreak.

"Can I tell you somethin’?” Tommy asks. You nod. "Alright. I – I never thought I'd see my brother this happy again. And I wish every damn day that Sarah was here to see it. To know him this way, to meet Maria. To know you and Ellie."

Joel has said the same thing before and it’s an honor greater than you can ever explain.

"When I saw him and that girl a few years ago, I thought --" Tommy clears his throat. "I thought maybe he’d made it through all the shit we did. And I was right. She brought him through it. And now he’s here, doin’ stable life shit we dreamed about before."

"Ellie is a force," you say, a little surprised to find your voice watery. The love between Ellie and Joel is fierce and powerful, evident to anyone who witnesses it. They would do anything for each other, even though they're mending.

"She is," he says. "And so are you.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Shit, I don’t know where I’m goin’ with this. Point is – seein' him love you, too, shows me he’s through it. He's alive again, you know? And I’d do all the shit we did over again just to get us all here. So, no. I don’t regret it."

It’s nothing you haven’t thought before, but the words work their way into your heart and sit there, heavy and warm.

“Damn,” you say. You swallow and give him a wide smile. "If you keep going, Tommy Miller, I will start crying and that would embarrass us both."

He laughs and blinks a few times. You join in, wiping your eyes.

"Alright, I won't," he says. "Jesus, all you did was ask what he's doin' in that workshop."

You clap him on the shoulder. "I won't tell anyone you started blubbering on duty."

He snorts. "Ain't that generous of you.”

Days pass. A week. You almost forget about Joel's project because he spends less and less time in the workshop and more on tasks around town as the days get longer. You're both busy -- chopping wood, planting bulbs for the fall, helping de-shed the horses. There's always work to be done.

After a particularly long day on your feet, you come out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel to find he's gotten home while you were in the shower.

"Hey, stranger," you say. You're mostly dry but some water drips down your back and you shiver. Joel is leaning against the headboard on top of the sheets without his shirt, reading whatever book he's onto now.

"Didn't hear me come in?" he asks. He sets his volume aside and pulls off his glasses.

"I was too busy coming back to life under some hot water." He probably heard you singing off-key to some long-lost song stuck in your head for the millionth time. "And you're quiet as hell, Joel."

He shrugs.

You just look at each other, the intimate gaze of two people who know every inch of each other and never tire of it.

The sleep pants he wears to bed this time of year are lightweight, thin enough that you can see the outline of him from here. His stomach is soft where he's bent at the waist and the trail of hair above his waistband is dark, darker than the rest of what's on his chest.

The golden expanse of his skin just begs to be touched, so you make your way over to him in your towel. He makes room for you to perch on the edge of the bed, the bare skin of your thigh pressing into his pants. His palm rests on your knee.

"I haven't seen much of you lately," you say softly. "’Cause of that damn thing you're working on."

His fingers press into your skin.

"Ain't patience a virtue, or something like that?"

"Whatever magic you're working better be worth waiting for," you tease.

Joel's hand resumes its path up your leg and he smirks.

"I can work some magic right now," he says.

You laugh, throwing your head back as his fingertips edge under the towel.

"That was awful," you say. "I should get dressed in all of my layers right now and go sleep on the couch."

You pull away from his touch so you can straddle him, your towel only held on by one hand at your breasts.

Joel snickers. "But then I wouldn't be able to do this."

Nimble fingers find your cunt between your spread legs and you gasp a laugh, one hand on his shoulder to balance you in his lap.

"Smooth," you manage. His other hand tugs on the towel and you release it, your slightly damp skin breaking out into goosebumps in the air of the bedroom.

Joel drags his lips between your breasts and you feel his smile.

"Christ," he says. "You comin' outta there in just a towel and you expect me to go to sleep?"

He pulls his fingers from you and frames your face with both hands to drag it down to his in a lazy, thorough kiss, like he's savoring each moment.

His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you let him in readily, arms wrapping around his shoulders as you grind down on the hardness you can feel through his pants.

"I've missed you," you say, dragging your tongue along down his jaw. His fingertips press into your bare hips hard enough to bruise, but it's a grounding touch rather than an urgent one. You want to take your time because you have missed him, and you think he feels the same way.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Joel groans, dragging your lips back to his. "It'll be worth it."

You pull back to look him in the eyes. The hazel-grey is almost totally taken over by his pupil, but his gaze softens when you cup his cheek and smile.

"I know," you say, and mean it. Naked in his lap in your bedroom, you mean it. You always mean it. You always trust him.

Joel kisses you once, twice, and you pull on his lower lip with your teeth when he pulls away. His nostrils flare and before you can tug his cock from his pants, he holds two fingers out to you.

You laugh, circling his wrist and bringing the digits past your lips. You swirl your tongue around them and really take your time with it, laving at his knuckles before releasing them with a pop.

His cock twitches beneath you and he huffs.

"You're an easy man to please, Joel Miller," you tell him, tugging down his pants and letting his shaft spring free. You stroke him root to tip and he hisses.

"Nah," he manages. "It's ‘cause it's you."

He follows his words with a circle of your clit from his spit-slick fingers.

"See?" you gasp. "Romantic."

It's a bit crowded, his hand rubbing your clit and yours slowly jerking him, but neither of you rush it. You pant together, dotting lazy kisses on any piece of bare skin you can reach. You breathe him in, the combination of sweat and gun oil and fresh detergent that's just Joel. A rush of tenderness hits you so suddenly your nose stings.

"Joel," you say, a bit ragged. "Joel, can you --"

A gentle hand on your face brings your foreheads together, his eyes on yours.

"Whatever you want," he groans. "Whatever you want, it's yours."

You can't help it -- you laugh. Brightly and happily, almost in disbelief that this man is yours. Real and solid under you right now, beside you every night. Yours to love and cherish and all the rest.

"You laughin' at me?" he grumbles, though you can tell he's fighting a smile.

"I just love you, is all," you say. You probably don't say it enough. You and Joel show each other every day, so much so that you can't imagine he doesn't know. As it is, you feel loved by him with every move he makes, every time he looks in your direction, every time he says your name.

"And I want you to fuck me," you add.

It's Joel's turn to laugh.

"Now who's the romantic one?" he says.

You rise from his lap and settle onto your back on the other side of the bed, stretching with your hands above your head.

His eyes follow the line of your bare body, fondness and hunger recognizable in his gaze.

"Always so damn pretty," he grumbles. "Prettiest thing I've ever seen."

"Flirt," you tease.

He rises to his knees and pumps his cock a few times with his fist. You spread your legs for him, knees bent up against your chest.

He settles between your knees and you lock them around his hips. Joel honest-to-god winks at you before dragging two fingers through your folds to make sure you're slick enough.

"Ready?"

You nod. He enters you in one practiced move and you groan in unison as you adjust. It takes some shuffling but he finds a position he can hold, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

Joel fucks you slow and deep. Each drag of his cock against your walls curls your toes and drags whines from both of your throats. He keeps up his usual babel -- doin' so good, feel like a dream, so damn tight, cunt's a fuckin' miracle -- and you press your hands into his bare back like he's a life raft.

Sweat beats on your brow, your chest, everywhere, and you suck bruises into his neck as his thrusts get a little frantic. Your own orgasm sneaks up on you, the pressure building and building and building until it snaps without warning.

"Joel -- Joel, fuck, I --"

You clench around him and he chants your name, that's it, baby, come on my cock, and buries himself to the hilt to finish inside you.

He hovers above you on trembling arms long enough to press a sweet kiss to your lips before rolling off of you.

"Now I'm ready for bed," you say, panting.

You fling a hand out lazily and it lands on his chest. He intertwines your fingers and his gaze finds yours. You smile as you get your breathing under control.

Joel smooths your brow with a thumb. "Don't forget to --"

"I know, I know," you say. "C'mon, you know this isn't my first rodeo." You get up from the bed and head to the bathroom.

"You sayin' I'm a bull?" Joel calls after you.

"Save a horse, ride a cowboy!" you holler back, cleaning yourself up. "Didn't people used to say that?"

Joel doesn't answer you but you laugh at your own joke. You make your way back to the bed in old pyjamas and find him back in his sweatpants, feet flat on the floor like he's about to get up and go somewhere.

"Joel?"

He sighs, his shoulders moving up and down like he's bracing himself.

"It's done," he says. "Your surprise."

The confession stops you in your tracks.

"Oh?"

You know Joel better than mosty, but sometimes he's still a puzzle. The hesitation, the slight air of anxiety about him as he says it confuses you. Because Joel is good at taking care of people, and he has to know it -- those years he and Ellie didn't speak you know he left her things, know that he took care of her from afar as much as she would let him. It's just what he does, he uses his hands to beat and shoot and bloody – but also to carve and hold and love.

They're the same thing, really.

And he's made you something – one of countless gifts he's given you, tangible and not, throughout your relationship.

But he's nervous. As if you wouldn't love anything he made, anything he does. As if you're not gone over every part of him.

"Hm," he says. "Yeah. Let me --"

Joel gets up from the bed and pads over to the dresser to rummage around in a drawer. You meet him back on the bed and he's holding a square-ish parcel wrapped in cloth.

You gingerly take it from him.

"This is what you've been working on?" you ask softly. He nods.

You unwrap the cloth and find yourself holding leather-bound journal. The hide is smooth under your fingertips, scraped clean by hand and tanned a dark chestnut.The spine is about an inch wide, the whole thing swen together with neat stitches of what can only be catgut. A thinner strip of leather is wrapped around the cover and tucked into itself carefully. It must have taken him ages to make.

"Joel," you gasp. "It's...god, it's beautiful."

He tells you how he found it on patrol a few weeks ago. The cover was fucked but the paper was somehow fine, so he dried out the pages and rebound it with a hide he tanned himself. You run your hands over it again almost like you can feel his fingerprints all over it, the hours he poured into the pages.

The inside cover falls open easily when you undo the tie and you see letters in the bottom left corner of it. Your eyes sting.

Joel has carefully burned your name into the leather, each letter perfectly lined up with the next. You haven't had something with your name on it in years.

He clears his throat. "Ellie said she'd give you some of her pens. Show you how to refill 'em."

You look up from your gift and find so much love on his face you can hardly stand it. He was inside you not that long ago and somehow this is more intimate. You surge forward into his space and wrap an arm around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck.

"I don't know what to say," you confess. "Just -- thank you."

He runs his hand along your spine.

"S'nothin'," he says. "Just saw it and thought of you, is all."

You release him and shake your head in disbelief. This man.

"What should I write in it?"

Joel's cheeks darken a little. Of course he's thought of everything.

"Figured you could write about...all this." He waves a hand in the air like that explains anything.

"All what?"

He shrugs one bare shoulder.

"Life," he says. "Jackson. Folks here. Might be nice, havin' the memories."

You scoot closer to him so you're almost in his lap again.

"You want me to write down the gossip?" You mean it as a joke but Joel nods.

"You pay attention," he explains. "Someone's gotta."

You're not much of a writer anymore, haven't had cause to be in twenty years. But you do like to tell stories. You both do.

The pages are soft under your fingertips as you flip through them again. You're going to fill them with stories -- about this town, about Joel and Ellie and Tommy and the people you love. The people you've lost, too. The memories that hurt like bruises, like fresh wounds. But the good stuff, too. The gossip, the love stories, the plants in the yard and the flowers on the trails.

Joel has given you the ability to record your lives.

You reach over him to set the journal on the nightstand before you frame his face with both of your hands.

"I'm going to write pages and pages about you, Joel Miller," you whisper.

He huffs, cheeks warm under your palms. "That's borin'."

You shake your head and lean in until your lips brush and your eyes flutter shut.

"That's the story," you say. "That's my life. This is my life. You are."

“I love you,” he breathes. “So damn much. Y’know that?”

How could you not? You say so and kiss him firmly but without hurry. You’ve got lots of time. You’ve got forever.

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

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peppermintquartz · 4 months ago

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canon divergence if Tommy didn't show at the bachelor party or the hospital in time because the fire was still raging and by the time he could go, it was late and Buck was just about to leave the hospital. Tommy still gets kissed, goes to offer his congratulations, and Buck drives him back to his station to get cleaned up and drives him home after, because Tommy's been fighting a fire for way too long and is barely vertical

So in this scenario only Eddie, Maddie and Chimney know for sure, and Chimney's still recuperating so he's not at the station.

"Flowers for a Mr Buckley," the delivery man calls out into the firehouse.

Several people look up. Many look curious. The delivery man waits. After a minute, Buck hurtles down from the kitchen and signs for the bouquet. It's not a ridiculously big bouquet but it's full of oranges and yellows and reds, geraniums and chrysanthemums and roses, even, wrapped in pale pink and snow white paper. There's a card that he sticks into his pocket but there's no hiding the smile on his face. He practically floats upstairs again with the bouquet, no doubt to put it in water.

Ravi nudges Eddie with his elbow. "What's with the flowers?"

Eddie raises his eyebrows. "How would I know? I didn't send him those." But there's a smug look on his face that says that he does know.

"No? But aren't you-" Ravi begins to say, when the alarm goes off, and everyone runs to do what they're supposed to.

By the time they're done extricating a handful of people from two buses that crashed into each other, Ravi forgets all about the bouquet.

The next shift has a delivery of chocolate muffins and a dozen donuts, and again it's for Buck. Except this time, instead of glowing happily, Buck rolls his eyes and his cheeks turn pink.

Ravi sidles up to Hen. "Do you know who this is from?"

"No clue." Hen snaps her fingers at Buck, who's engrossed with typing a message on his phone. "Buck, who are these from? They're safe to eat?"

"Yeah, yes they are," says Buck, distracted, as he snags a jelly and walks away.

Ravi isn't above baked deliciousness. The muffins are awesome.

Buck shows up for a shift after a 72 with a slight limp. No one says anything about it. Chimney's back and everyone is happy to see him around, and while there are a few gaps in his memory, he's pretty much back to normal.

And Cap gave them news about receiving medals for their daring rescue. Ravi is so proud of them, even though he knows he would never have the guts to do that based on a hunch. Probably not.

Buck winces as he sits like he's pulled a muscle, but he has been limping for most of the day anyway - not that Ravi stares a lot at Buck, they just had several tasks to do together today - and Ravi doesn't like to see his people feeling poorly.

Discreetly, Ravi hands him an ice pack when no one else is looking. "For your aches and pains," Ravi says, a little embarrassed. He's not part of them, he knows. He's gonna find his own people, eventually. But that doesn't mean he can't show care for someone who's one of his mentors.

Buck looks... touched? Shy? He smiles at Ravi and thanks him, then slides the ice pack over the base of his spine.

Ah, that explains a lot. Maybe he slid off some steps and hurt his tail bone.

Ravi doesn't expect to meet the Tommy at the firehouse a week before the medal ceremony. He's heard from Buck and Eddie and Chimney and Hen how cool Tommy is, and of course he remembers hearing Tommy fly Eddie out to Vegas to watch a fight.

What he really doesn't expect to see is Buck jogging out of the station, throwing his arms around Tommy, and kissing him. With tongue.

Ravi's eyes grow big and round. He's not the only one staring - Hen and Cap are both gawping. Chimney and Eddie are grinning and elbowing each other.

Captain clears his throat. Buck reluctantly pulls away from Tommy and says, in the dopiest tone Ravi has ever heard from him, "Hey."

"Hey," says Tommy, not letting Buck go. Then he smiles, big and bright, at the rest of the 118. "Hi guys. Mind if I steal him away five minutes before the end of shift?"

That smile, though. Ravi gets it now. Heck, he'd ask Tommy out if he were single.

Captain grins. "Only if you promise to bring him back."

Tommy releases Buck and slaps his ass. "Go get your stuff. If we hustle, we can have a leisurely dinner before karaoke trivia."

#bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #ravi panikkar #tevan #kinley

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lacyscabinet · 3 months ago

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Okay but now imagine reader didn't die through sickness, imagine they committed suicide. That they gave up hope completely and left a message for the other girls to use you and to make sure Natalie did too? That they hated life but loved her and even if they didn't make it, they wanted to help her survive. I'm not well about this.

Death cap

A/N: I'm not well about this either anon you are so seen. Hello my dear anon ik that you probably thought I wouldn't write your request at this point but here I am 😭 life absolutely SUCKS lately so what do I do? Go to therapy? Adopt a carnivorous plant? NO! A WRITING COMEBACK! It's pretty short but enjoy and stay safe 🤍🤍

!!!for those who don't know the anon is referring to my fic "the wilderness dance", here it is. You can totally read this without reading the other one as well:)

Absolutely not proofread! :) BUT beta read by my brotha @pinkmoonzzz 🤍🤍 and the ex gf reminder™ @littlelqtte

NAVIGATION

TW: suicide via mushrooms (tlou stans rise), CANNIBALISM!!!!! It's only implied but still, reader is DEAD!!!!!!, pain and suffering. Please please please do not read if any of these topics disturb you in any way!!!

Autumn had slowly died right before your eyes. You could tell. In the mornings, the cold, stinging air blew onto your face, while in the evenings, it was almost impossible to stay outside the cabin without a crackling fire warming you up. Hence why, when Jackie stepped outside the door that fateful night, you knew you weren't going to see your team's captain ever again.

Predictably, the situation aggravated even more after that day. And there's only so much a teenager can take. Surviving was a privilege at this point, and if being privileged meant eating your dead friends, you weren't sure if you wanted to be there at all.

Natalie was away most of the time, and it's not like there was much to do inside the cabin. The days went by, and slowly your brain started to fog: memories of life before the crash appearing blurry and messy. All your hopes of watching flowers bloom again soon vanished in the dark attic where you spent most of your sorrowed days. Soon enough only death and hunger were left in you.

So one particularly cold night, after slipping out of Nat's arms and placing a small peck on her forehead, you went up the unstable ladder leading to the attic. In the dim light of an old candle, you rummaged through a small, hidden box where you kept all your things, or at least the things you didn't want the others to know about.

You took your diary, scribbled down what you needed to say, and then rummaged in the box a little more. And right there before your eyes, you saw it.

Amanita phalloides.

Or more commonly known as Dead cap. You had found it weeks ago, picked it up, dried it, and then stored it in a jar, always making sure that no one could find it. It was deadly poisonous after all. But you still kept it. Just in case.

"Natalie?"

Nat heard a quiet voice coming from the cabin's porch. Snow crunched under her boots as she kneeled in the snow, hand holding onto something colder than the hauntingly freezing weather.

"Go away, Misty," she didn't hesitate to say, not moving an inch. Still facing away from the blonde-haired girl, hiding her tears from anyone who wasn't the lifeless frame of the girl she loved.

"Nat" Misty called out for her again "We found something that you might want to see," she then suddenly announced, finally catching Natalie's attention. Wiping her damp and cold cheeks with the back of her old jacket, she finally turned around, meeting Misty's eyes.

"I told you not to touch her things," she instantly spat in Misty's face, noticing her holding your beat-up diary in her hands.

"We were trying to find something to light up the fire. We ran out of wood. We wanted to use some empty pages, but as I said, I think there's something you might want to see..." she looked down at the object, holding it out for Natalie "....Something you might want to read."

Confused, Nat took one last look at your now blue, pale, and stiff body before getting up, immediately snatching the diary from Misty's claws, holding it to her chest while walking back inside.

When she entered the living room, everyone looked up at her from their spots on the floor. They had all gathered around the fire, all snuggled in raggedy blankets. She could recognize the blanket she wrapped you up in just days before you passed: it was now keeping Mari warm as she stirred something in a big pot, probably some sort of watery soup. It was all they had left after all.

She didn't sit down with them though. She needed to be alone, because no one around her was you, and that killed her every day since you had left.

So she walked straight to the kitchen, sitting down on a chair at the table, feeling the leather on the cover of your diary under the pads of her freezing fingers.

Her hands trembled as she opened the diary, the weight of your final words pressing down on her. She skimmed through the pages, each line made her feel uneasy, gut-wrenching revelations of your despair and resignation were the only things that could be found on the paper. The pain you felt, your ultimate choice, and, one last plea for Natalie to survive, even if it meant feeding off of you, literally. It was all laid bare right before her eyes.

Natalie’s eyes welled with ,tears as she read your desperate farewell. The stark realization that you had been so hopeless and alone was almost too much to bear. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, suppressing it just like she had grown used to suppress the almost constant rumbling in her stomach.

But the sobs came uncontrollably and the hunger couldn't be disguised.

The diary fell from her hands. She clutched her chest, trying to keep her cries silent, but the anguish was too great.

Then suddenly, a noise from outside pierced through her grief: the sharp, rhythmic sound of someone sharpening a knife. Her breath hitched as her eyes widened in horror.

The cabin was awfully quiet.

Your body was still out in the snow.

Natalie’s mind raced. She stumbled out of the kitchen, her feet slipping on the icy floor as she rushed to the door. The cold air hit her like a slap as she forced herself outside, the snow crunching under her weight once again. She followed the sound, her heart pounding in her chest, each step a struggle against the biting cold and her own rising panic.

As she neared the edge of the clearing where your body lay, she stopped in her tracks after noticing everyone already huddled up around you, flashbacks of Jackie appearing before her.

And maybe, Natalie would've tried to stop them from reducing you to a bunch of bones she would have to throw away in the site of the plane crash when the morning came.

But, they had already started.

A/n: skibidi, skibidi toilet. I love you pls don't die.

my ask button is now active again so go crazy:) send some happy requests please 😭😭

shiver me timbers

#I'M BAAAAAACKKKKKK #yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio #nat scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets x reader #nat scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets x you #natalie scatorccio x y/n #lottienat

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painted-flag · 26 days ago

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OF FLOWERS AND DEATH - aemond targaryen

Chapter 14: The Saphire

☾⋆⁺₊✧ dark elf!Aemond Targaryen x f!human!reader series. ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series masterlist. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ word count: 3.4k ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series warnings: 18+ depictions of violence/gore, eventual smut, warfare, sickness/disease, some moments of misogyny, and mentions of alcohol consumption. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ Under a canopy of stars, you forge a bridge of companionship with the elf king.

The soft light of the rising sun illuminated the tops of the rocky snow-capped mountains. The sun had not risen enough to shine on the meadow you were camped in, but the subtle light of the sky brushed the ground. Dew settled on the grass that moved with the breeze. The guards had woken up and made food. You broke your fast with them and enjoyed the calm small talk they provided. During that time, your eyes would occasionally glance over to Aemond’s tent, but he had yet to emerge.

After eating, you had begun a general sweep of the area. You had no idea what you were looking for, as your father’s notes were vague. All he mentioned was that the properties of Lake Rosemagne were rumoured for its healing capabilities. Whether or not those rumours were true, that had yet to be discovered. When you passed by a fallen and hollow log, you noticed some ground beetles scurrying about.

You had thought back to the promise you made with Helaena and crouched down. You pulled a small wooden box with holes from your bag and opened the lid. Your hands delicately picked two up and put them in the box. You closed the lid and slid the metal lock to secure it.

“I did not know beetles were used in healing,” Aemond’s voice, abrupt as it was, startled you. The box almost dropped from your hands. You placed it in your bag and stood up while brushing the skirt of your dress.

“No, your grace, they are not used in anything.” You clarified, “I promised Princess Helaena that I would catch anything that she may like. She mentioned these beetles many days ago during one of our lunches together.” You crossed your arms. Aemond looked at you, his eye filled with something soft and indecipherable.

“I was told we would be leaving on the morrow because you have duties to get back to. Forgive me, your grace, but why would you come along when you are so busy?” You questioned.

Aemond tilted his head slightly, “Well since you so easily snuck out of my castle, I thought it best that I come to make sure you don’t do it again. If you’ve slipped past my guard once, you could do it again.” You took in his words for a moment. The idea of sneaking into the woods was ridiculous, but it did leave a bit of satisfaction that it had managed to get under Aemond’s skin.

“Oh, so you do care if I stay?” You teased. You could have sworn you saw his eye roll, but you had begun to look down at your fidgeting hands. The conversation you had with Aemond the evening prior had played in your head countless times as you had tried to go to sleep. It was another instance of a conversation with him turning sour. That seemed to be a common habit, whatever words the two of you exchanged had an equal chance of becoming venomous or ending well.

“Only for you to fulfill your end of the deal. A year of looking for a cure and then you can go.” Aemond said. You nodded and then moved to watch the water.

“Do not worry, you won’t have to tolerate me for much longer with how well things are going. I’ll be out of your way soon.” You reassured him. It was true. If things went as swiftly as they were going, with your access to the elf’s resources and their wisdom and help, a cure seemed tangible in the near future. You may even be looking at a window of time shorter than the year you were granted. When you had originally taken the offer, you thought a year was not nearly enough time, but now that had changed.

“I suppose you will.” Aemond’s tone had dropped and he took on a contemplative face. He then straightened his back and spoke, “I’ll leave you to it then.”

Aemond had gone back to his tent. You had waited for a moment, wondering if he was going to stay there for the day. His explanation as to why he came with you did not add up. If he was worried you would sneak away, why was he avoiding you so much?

There was no point in trying to understand him. Even if you somehow lived as long as elves, you doubted you could ever come to understand him in that time. No amount of conversation could unwrap the enigma, so you decided to go about your day.

It had been hours spent, collecting an array of samples. Everything from blades of grass to the twigs of branches from trees that lined the meadow were collected. Since you were only there for a day, you knew you had to get as much as you could.

Just as the sun had begun to wane, you kneeled in front of the water with some empty vials. You filled six of them and corked the tops. You held one up to the light and watched the swirling of a bunch of minerals in the water. They shimmered in the light. You then put them securely in a bag and got up. You made the walk back to camp which was only a short while from the lake. Some of the guards were sitting around the fire and eating.

You stopped by the cart and placed your samples in one of the bigger chests. Once that was all done, you approached one of the logs by the fire. Four logs formed a square-like formation. Elias scooted over to let you sit and you joined him. He handed you a bowl of stew that you took gratefully.

The sun went down over a few hours. The elves swapped stories as you watched on with rapt attention. There was always underlying wisdom within their tales, no matter how ridiculous or even downright raunchy they became.

One by one the guards each retreated into their shared tent to rest. Once it was down to you and Elias, he shuffled to the side to give you more space.

You had been watching the fire when he spoke up, “Do you think a cure can be made?” His question caught you off guard and you looked to him. The stars had come out and the fire and moon provided the only light. You could see the reflection of the flames dancing across his face.

“Of course I do.” You answered.

“I… my wife is expecting. I don’t want my kids to be born into a world that is dying.” Elias admitted. He fidgeted with his hands, pulling on his fingers.

You adjusted in your seat, “That won’t happen.” You were firm in your words. There was a way out, there had to be a way out. For multiple millennia, there had been things thrown at the world. Terrible events that none thought would be overcome. Yet, here the world remained. Continuing on and on, with no end in sight. Those previous perils were defeated, why should this be any different?

“I hope so.” Elias patted his thighs and sighed. He stood up and faced you, “That does it for the day. Don’t stay up too late.” He nodded to you and then approached the guard's tent.

You continued to sit on the log and watch the fire. Crickets chirped and it was mixed with the sound of croaking frogs. You listened to the noise, taking in the sight around you. Everything was calm and you again pulled out Lyra’s doll. You were stuck looking at it and processing her passing. Those days you had spent locked in your room were not healing, nor did it aid in your grief. It had been nothing but nonexistence – trailing from one hour to the next.

Here, away from the kingdom and other obligations, you could finally breathe.

The abrupt passing of Lyra had you reflecting on your own life. Back to your humble life with your father in the capital. That when he disappeared, you had to learn to take care of yourself. He had left you enough money to cover food and other needs, but only for a short period. You had come to know what hunger was really like. It was by some miracle you had managed to make it to a village on the outskirts and settle. Even then, you were not as stable as one would like.

While you were looking at the doll, Aemond emerged from his tent and sat down on the log adjacent to yours. You could see his blue eye observe the depths of the flames. For a moment, it was silent.

“When you found my sister, injured on the borders, you helped her despite the great possibility of death,” Aemond spoke softly, “Why?” There was quiet contemplation across his face. He seemed to be going through some moment of clarity. The foundations of whatever he previously thought of you were shaking, yet you could not understand why.

You wanted to tell him everything, you wanted him to tell you everything. Damn the distance, damn all preconceived notions you had of one another. You wanted nothing but a complete reset, a possibility to connect.

“My whole life, I have struggled to find a purpose. If there is anything I can do right, that is healing. She needed help… and I could give it to her. Why should I not?” You spoke. Aemond moved his gaze from the fire to you, but you had already looked back down at the doll in your hands. You could not look at him, you were scared of what you would say if you did.

He did not speak, so you continued, “I did not think it would lead to me coming to your kingdom. It was scary, at first. But your people have given me something I have not had for a while. A home. I just did not expect to lose someone…”

Out of the corner of your field of vision, Aemond was looking at you. It was obvious, from your hold on the doll, that you were still in that uncomfortable state of mourning where all a person was filled with was regret. In the distance, an owl called out as the crickets rose in volume.

“I promised to take her on an adventure. I don’t know why… as a healer I should know not to do that. But she was so innocent and broken.” Perhaps, in her fragile state, you had seen yourself reflected in the glassy orbs of her eyes. Lyra was a reflection of you, or more accurately, a reflection of you before the disappearance of your father. A time when all you had was your innocence.

“You care.” Aemond seemed to have had an epiphany at that moment, his mouth slightly agape, “You care about my kind…” Anger flared in you at his comment. Had he not seen, the whole time you had been there, that caring was all you did? Your work with the cure, with the patients, connecting with other elves including his family. It was all because you did care, more than you have ever in your life.

“I care?” Your grip on the doll tightened as you finally looked at him. You met his soft gaze with hostility, “Do you still think so little of me after all this time? Have I not proven myself?”

Silence settled between you two. That seemed to be a habit lately, though the silence was not uncomfortable. There was a connection there that you two shared. Isolation of sound gave way to a deeper understanding. You had observed him in that moment. Your eyes traced the curve of his jaw, and the pursing of his lips, and moved along the scar to settle on the thick leather patch that covered whatever was underneath.

You quickly turned away, suddenly ashamed at staring so unabashedly at it. You had managed not to do that your entire stay there, largely out of fear that he may lash out at you for it. You gazed back into the fire.

“It’s a sapphire.” Aemond suddenly spoke.

You put your attention back on him, “What?”

“The eye that I lost. I replaced it with a sapphire,” The roles had reversed and Aemond had a difficult time looking at you, so he turned his gaze back onto to fire, “You were looking.”

You tilted your head slightly but made no move to comment. How many people had been privy to this knowledge? From your time in the kingdom, he had never taken it off. When you had first met Aegon, the topic of Aemond’s eye had come up, but he had brushed it away with underlying hostility. If it was such a sensitive topic, why had Aemond revealed it to you?

“You want to know how it happened.” It was not a question, but a flat sentence that seemed hesitant to come out from his lips. You continued to watch him, scanning his lithe form as it sat on a log. He was not dressed up in his finery but simply wore boots, pants, and a thin white shirt. The top half of his hair was not collected into a tie at the back, but fell loosely over his shoulders and down his back. The strands looked soft and caught the orange haze of the fire.

You swallowed some saliva that had gathered in your mouth, “I would be a liar if I said I was not curious and I will not lie to you.”

Aemond looked up for a moment, “It was before the Great War.” He lowered his head again as if it would shelter him from the memories that likely pushed to the forefront of his mind.

“You need not tell me this.” His growing discomfort had begun to rub off on you. You did not know if he had been drinking, that this instance might be a lapse of judgement in his muddled perception of reality as the alcohol took hold. However, there was no indication that he had.

“You want to know,” Aemond said plainly.

“Not at your expense.” You whispered. It was barely heard above the sound of the environment and the fire, but Aemond whipped his head in your direction as if you had yelled it. Your words were a quiet revelation to him that you indeed did not carry complete hate towards him like you had led him to believe.

“It was a human that did it.” His words felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over you. It was like those moments between sleep and awake when the world was hazy and made no sense until the final wave of energy hit you and everything sharpened into focus. The coming of the dawn, the rising of the birds, it all made sense to you.

His perception of you made sense; the one that he had voiced to you the morning after your first party in the library.

All humans are a threat.

For him, you were just another version of the person who dealt him irreparable damage and unquestionable violence.

“He was a prince from your kingdom,” The way he had said it was almost accusatory, “Our people had been allies. I thought of the Prince Lucerys as a friend, perhaps a brother…” The way he spoke the man’s name sent a shiver down your spine. It was an intense portrayal of animosity, a loathing monster lurking in a forest of broken trust.

“I had just become king, but still so young. My people were still weakened from my father’s death and it was treated as an opportunity by your kind.” His grip on his thighs tightened and you could almost see the memories themselves through the glossy film of his eye. “I had woken up that night to him above me, dagger in hand. I… I tried to fight him but,” His words fell short. You watched him ball his hands into fists, shaking ever so slightly. Either from fear or anger, that much was unclear.

“Why are you telling me this?” You whispered. You had leaned over in your seat during his recounting of events, attention rapt with both horror and curiosity. Aemond then faced you for the first time since his confession and you could not help but look at the scar on his face. A symbol of betrayal and violence, what should be a mark of a monster, was truly just a blow dealt to a scared child.

It was not elf King Aemond Targaryen who sat by you, but a scared little boy broken in countless ways.

“If you think to betray me or my people, get it over with so we can avoid the pain.” You understood that what he truly meant was that he could avoid the pain. What you did not account for was the possibility that, perhaps, he is still just as prone to unwavering naive trust as he was as a child. It was clear that he had some form of a degree of trust and even camaraderie with you. That the thought of you committing such an act against him would be another scar upon himself.

He had been waiting for you to hover above him, dagger in hand, and prepared to even the score.

“You are not what people say you are.” Your voice acted like a balm for him and you could see Aemond visibly relax. “You are not a monster.” You knew he could sense the double meaning of your words. That his actions were not monstrous, but most importantly, that he did not look like one. You did not doubt that the scar had led him to feel deficient in many parts of his life. Which, in your whole honesty, was a complete lie. To think that someone could glance at that face and shrink away was nearly insane.

Aemond’s shoulders sagged and you could have melted under the intensity of his gaze. The softness, the sheer dedication of reverence. There was a thick gloss that reflected in his eye and even now you could see that he was holding back. It was all too much.

“And you are not like the other humans… you care.”

You wanted to move over and get closer to him. To feel if he was warmer than the fire; if the swirling ocean in his eye was worth it to sail. You cursed the distance between you two. Now, when you were speaking and had gotten closer than ever before, he still felt far. With each time you two connected it was always the opposite. When you were arguing, you were always physically close and could feel his heat, but when you two were getting along, he seemed so impossibly far.

It was an odd form of cruelty that you each imposed upon one another.

“Do you think,” You began but hesitated, “Do you think we can be friends?” Your heart thumped against your ribcage. That you had even asked such a question had your mind racing. Would this attempt be successful? Or, if anything, will he see this as a threat for getting too close?

Aemond appeared almost shocked and his back straightened. His eye squinted, full of uncertainty. “You want to be friends… with me?”

“Yes.” You decided to take the risk and moved to sit by him. Everything felt slow like your senses were pushing to delay this moment; to lock it in your memory and keep it forever. You raised your hand, which elicited an almost imperceptible flinch from him. You slowed your movement and rested your hand on one of his that had been balled up tightly on his thigh.

It was like a damn broke and his hand opened up to receive yours. You could feel the heat of his skin and the callouses that littered the pads from endless training. There were a few scars that littered it, each line spread out like randomized patches of flowers in a field. They were beautiful to you. He was beautiful to you.

You did not care that you were in too deep anymore. If you could know him, really know him, if just for under a year – you could carry that with you for life. Your fingers slotted between his and he squeezed your hand.

Aemond had looked back to the fire, now slowly dying out, and spoke just barely, “Friends.”

It was there, fingers intertwined, that both your souls rested together as you bathed in the light of once-unspoken words.

Chapter 15: Know Your Enemies Preview

A hand waved in front of your vision. You had not even acknowledged how your vision had gotten blurry in your moment of thinking. Aegon was crouched down, a crinkle prominent between his eyebrows as his face was morphed with worry.

“Come back down to the ground here. Shit, did I break you?” Aegon shook your shoulders gently and his voice dropped to a near incomprehensible whisper, “Gods, Aemond will kill me.”

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nonsensenook · 1 month ago

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Chapter 3 | Powdered Snow, Warm Hands

Synopsis: The New West offered plenty of alone time, new meetings, and an unforeseen pause in travel plans. A continuation of this unapologetic take on you, the reader, accompanying the Destined One on his journey.

Word Count: 3,692

Warnings: None

Author's Note: Thank you very much for the continued support and kindness for my writing. I gratefully read every comment repeatedly. They're really encouraging! I hope you enjoy!

Ch. 1 - Ch. 2 - 3.5 (Optional) - Ch. 4

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The sand strewn desolate valley became snow capped mountains as you entered into the New West. The Destined One had worked hard conquering Yaoguais, acquiring his second relic, and making you a garment insulated enough for the harsh winter weather. At your suggestion, the Destined One had traveled through the shrines again, transferring his soul from one plucked offering to another in order to gain every hidden item he needed. As your head soon became a halo of snow, you wondered if your contributions held any unforeseen consequences. Or were your actions in line with this so-called Destiny? There were too many questions to hold onto and no one to spare you the burden.

You were recovering from hitching a ride on the Destined One after the Keeper turned him into a bat and you into a little flea. It wasn’t fun being a flea and the vertigo you felt when you turned back was still affecting you. You had reassured your companion you just needed a moment to settle yourself. He promptly sat you down and made you use his shoulder as a warm cushion. It was too nice of an offer for you to reject. You let him pamper you for just a moment.

You were meant to relax, but the same worries always seem to creep over you time and time again. You closed your eyes, hoping the semi-darkness would hush your mind. The Destined One offered you a piece of celestial pear which you felt gently press against your lips. You bit into the fruit from his hand without opening your eyes. You giggled when you felt he’d pressed another piece to your lips the moment the first was gone. You ate the second piece the same way then said, “I hope I’m not the only one eating.” You then hear a small crunch as he bites into the pear. You stayed like this for a little while longer, letting him switch between feeding you and himself as the gentle snow stopped falling.

You opened up your eyes, doing your best to readjust to the bright surroundings. The dizziness had subsided. You shooed him away gently, telling him to continue on as you waited for him at the lone shrine. Satisfied that you were at least well enough to eat, the Destined One stepped away to give you more time to recover as he went around the area clearing out enemies and collecting materials. You instructed him to leave the temple on the lake for last.

You stretched and began setting up camp near the shrine. When he returned from his meditation you invited him to sit down for a small break. Arguably, it was an unnecessary one for him. Truthfully, it was an excuse to spend just a little bit more time together. The small fire you prepared was heating up water steeped in flowers and herbal leaves. You passed him a cup and some food, encouraging him to eat some more. When he sat down his tail wrapped around you protectively. You took a sip of the hot tea, letting the warmth fill you.

“Whatever happens after you go to that temple,” you said, picking a loose twig off his leg, “know that I’ll be here safe and sound. So, take your time and explore at your own pace.” You then listed off some things he should look out for and what advice you could spare from your memories. Soon enough, sooner than you had liked, he had finished off his meal. You joined him in walking to the frozen lake. You stayed at the very edge of it as you watched him approach New Thunderclap Temple.

You’ve been alone for three days. You spent that time stretching, repairing equipment, and giving the simple staff he’d left you for a spin. You would then switch to making snow angels, singing to no one, and building snowmen big and small. When the night came you would set up your little resting area to keep the snow from falling on you as you slept. The time without the Destined One was long and seemed to drag on. You hoped the Pagoda wasn’t too difficult to traverse for him. You wondered if you could have warned him a bit more about it.

You had too much time for yourself. You decided to give meditation a try as you sat on the very spot the Destined One had before he left. You closed your eyes, breathing deeply in through your nose. As you tried to empty your mind, those same thoughts found the opportunity to barrage you again. You’ve been in this world for months now. The Destined One has been proceeding as he should through the journey even with your presence thrown into the mix. You wondered to yourself, would you truly return back to your world once he reaches the end? Is returning to your world what you really wanted? Was it ever what you wanted? You frowned, groaning as you held your fingertips to your temple. You were sure you were doing the very opposite of what meditation was meant to be.

You opened your eyes in frustration and found a monkey crouched down with his chin in his palm staring at you. You blinked. It was your monkey. You tilted your head, brow furrowed in confusion. You looked behind him. The New Thunderclap Temple was still gone from the lake. The hole from the last battle was slowly freezing over. He had returned before gaining the relic. You looked back at the Destined One who seemed amused at your response as his tail flicked behind him.

“What are you doing back so soon?” You asked. All other questions were gone from your mind as you noticed a fresh cut on his cheek still dripping with blood. You immediately pulled out a spare cloth to press against the wound. The Destined One watched with a wistful look on his face as you dabbed at his cheek. He smiled a little when you began frowning at him. He then followed you as you stood up with your arms crossed.

“You seem content for someone still bleeding. What-” You were interrupted by him pulling you into a hug. You felt his tail wrap around your leg as he gently nuzzled your head. Your worried frown became a thin line then faltered into a smile. You returned the hug, wrapping your arms around him as you lost yourself in his warmth. He pulled back to lift you up and spin you once as you squealed in delighted surprise. He lifted you further until you were sitting on his shoulder. With one hand on you to help keep balance, he walked back to your little camp. He admired your snow angels, snowmen, and little sculptures as he passed by them. He stopped briefly to look closely at one sculpture with a stick leaning on its back that seemed to resemble a certain monkey. You urged him onward to spare you further embarrassment.

He set you down gently before stepping back and pulling out his staff. With one end of the staff he drew a perfect circle which ignited into flames. The Ring of Fire. You hovered your hand over the flames feeling no scorching heat, only warmth.

The Young Sage watched as you marveled at the ring. You let him take your hand to lead you to its center. As you stepped through the ring you felt as if you were wrapped snug in a heated comforter. You looked at your companion, the smile on your face full of wonder. His gaze was tender as he watched your expressions. For a brief moment you both stood there hand in hand. He closed his eyes as he pressed his forehead against yours. You took down each detail you could: his smell, the way his fur tickled your face, his breathing, his coarse hands gently holding your own. It was just the two of you, together in your little circle of warmth amidst the cold white snow. For just a moment, there wasn’t a destiny to fulfill or a lost soul to return. For just a moment, the world itself seemed to have stopped its endless toil. For just a moment, you let yourself hold on for a little longer.

When the moment passed, you let go. The Destined One stepped back from you, bidding you goodbye with a warm hand cupping your cheek. His hand lingered there after his body had begun to move away. He stepped out of the circle and towards the shrine. You watched as he vanished in a flash of golden light. The Ring of Fire he created remained long after he was gone. In the protective circle, you wrapped your arms around yourself against the sudden cold.

Day slipped into night once again as you made an inventory check on supplies. You drank some warmed tea then tucked in for the night with the staff he left you by your side. As you slipped into sleep you watched the flames dance in the Ring of Fire.

You woke up suddenly from the sound of lightning striking. Disoriented, you felt for your staff as you tried to get your bearings. In the bright morning light the snow was blinding. Your eyes adjusted to the scene on Mirrormere Lake. New Thunderclap Temple has returned to its center. A small group was watching the giant He-Luo fish circle above before it dove into the Destined One. He had gained his third relic. With the sense of danger passed, you left the staff to meet them at the edge of the lake.

You saw the monk exchange a few small words with them before disappearing in a puff of smoke leaving only The Destined One and a smaller figure you recognized immediately. Both of them walked back to land where you were waiting. The Destined One lagged a little behind as he looked at his hands, no doubt feeling what he’d gained from this new relic. You suddenly felt nervous as your palms began to perspire. Zhu Bajie approached you, the tip of his ears not reaching past your chin. He looked you over, then gave a huff.

“So this is the little interloper that old monkey told me about. You-” he cocked his head to one side, “What’s that grin for?”

Excitement coursed through you. You couldn’t hide your smile even as he called you out for it. You were finally meeting Zhu Bajie, the companion you had already come to adore in another lifetime. You couldn’t control your elation. He was even more charming in person.

“I’ve always wanted to meet you, Zhu Bajie,” you said with hands nervously clasped together. Bajie turned up his nose, trying but failing to hide a rather satisfied smirk.

“I see my reputation precedes me,” he said, giving a small chuckle. Then he sputtered, waving you off with a hoofed hand, “Flattery will get you nowhere. I am not here to babysit two kids-I barely signed up for the one.” The kid in question was behind him, still a bit off in his own world.

Bajie circled you, propping his rake over his shoulder. “Well, it hardly matters how and why you’re here. Our goal is the same and so long as you don’t get in the way or slow us down or-” Bajie paused. His snout sniffed the air around you. He looked at you, then at the Destined One.

“-or distract us,” he added with mirth, “Then all should fall into place.”

You felt your cheeks warm as you read inbetween the lines of Bajie’s comment. Bajie chuckled to himself, shaking his head, then began making his way to your little camp. The Destined One was at your side, promptly returned from wherever his mind briefly traveled to. You looked up at your companion whose head was slightly tilted in inquiry. “Welcome back,” you said.

You heard Bajie call out loudly from the camp. He was pointing to one of your snow sculptures.

“Hey, kid! This one looks just like you!”

You were covered in sweat. An inordinate amount of both blankets and clothing weighed you down. The Ring of Fire surrounding you had been burning for hours and still you couldn’t stop shivering.

“It’s not looking good, kid,” Bajie had said hours before. Or had that just happened? You weren’t sure anymore.

The fever had struck you suddenly while venturing through the snowy terrain. Days had passed since Bajie had joined. You thought you were just light headed when you suddenly fainted. The Destined One had caught you, then carried you to a long abandoned home where you currently rested. You had a fever that kept rising along with a terrible cough that rattled you to the core. You thought you saw Bajie start to say something, but a harsh bout of coughing from you made him stop. Soon enough, you could no longer keep awake.

When you woke up, Bajie was tending to a fire beside you. Half dazed, you kept apologizing to him as he warmed up some tea. “Oh, shut it,” he grumbled softly, “Focus that energy on resting, why don’t you?” He then sat you up to have you drink. Every so often when you were awake he would continue to have you sit up to drink or eat what little you could. You realized you hadn’t seen the Destined One for some time. Bajie noticed you looking around and answered your question before you could ask.

“The kid’s gone off to get ingredients for a pill. Xu dog’s getting something prepared for you,” he said, then threw the covers over you again before you could ask anything else.

You kept phasing in and out of consciousness. You no longer had a grasp on time. The constant blizzard outside did not help you either. Each time you opened your eyes you would see Bajie in a different spot doing a different action. He would be resting in the corner with his rake propped against his shoulder, in another moment you saw him help himself to some of The Destined One’s drink, then you saw him pacing as he talked to himself, and sometimes he was just quietly staring out into the storm. Each time he noticed you were awake he’d tend to you. You weren’t sure how long this went on for.

When you woke up again Bajie was beside you eating and heating up more tea. You slowly propped yourself up by your elbows. Each movement seemed to drain you of energy the moment you thought of exerting yourself. You sat up just as Bajie handed you a drink. Both the cup and your arms were unbearably heavy. You took a small sip before resting the cup on your lap. Bajie himself took a swig of wine. The wind howled outside the house, shaking the walls and boarded windows. You hoped the Destined One’s fur was keeping him warm enough in this weather. You looked at Bajie who was wiping his mouth with his wrist.

“You must get this request often…” you began tentatively, voice raw from your coughing fits.

“Knowing that won’t stop your own request, hmm?” he replied, scratching at his ear.

You smiled, blowing gently over your cup of tea, “I’d love to hear about The Journey from you, Bajie.” You ducked into your elbow as another bout of coughing came and went. Bajie waited for the fit to pass then hummed. “Which story shall I choose from?”

“How about the one where you arrived at the Western Empire of Women?” You suggested innocently.

“Absolutely not that one.” Baiji shot down, bristling at the memory. With your throat so sore your laughter was constrained mimicking that of a snickering snake or, in your world’s terms, a spray bottle. You remembered the story well. At that particular moment in the Journey to the West, Bajie and their Master had unwittingly drunk from the River of Child-Bearing. Sun Wukong was tasked with finding the solution to their sudden affliction while the women took care of both pregnant Master and Pig. The look of mortification on Bajie’s face was well worth the risk of his scolding.

“Enjoying yourself are you?” Bajie sneered as you wiped a stray tear from your eye. You vehemently denied this between scattered giggles before you managed to calm yourself down. “Please,” you said, “any story would do.”

Bajie closed his eyes and did a long, dramatic, drawn out sigh. He opened one eye to peek at you. You put your hands together in appeasement. Bajie threw his arms up, “Alright, alright, quit pulling my hoof. Uncle Bajie will tell you a story.” You suppressed another laugh. Placing your cup aside, you settle into your covers as Bajie takes another swig of drink.

Bajie cleared his throat, “It was another day on the road. The Journey had already been long and treacherous enough, but that didn’t stop me from being on high alert. Brother Wukong gave me the job of scouting ahead…”

A natural storyteller, Bajie captivated you with his retelling of the epic Journey. He was a one-man show and crew. He would speak with his hands, thumping the floor for emphasis and even standing up at points to act out different characters in the story from the tone of their voice to their slight mannerisms. Moments of suspense had you gripped in anticipation while others had you tearful with laughter. You didn’t speak up to question Bajie when he seemed to stretch and reshape the original story where he saw fit. You were enjoying yourself too much to dawdle on the details. You weren’t sure when you’d fallen asleep again. The last thing you remembered was hearing Bajie’s voice turn somber as he recounted a moment with his brother, Sun Wukong.

You woke up to the feeling of someone gently moving strands of hair from your face. The same gentle hand held your cheek in their palm. You reached up to cover their hand with your own. Through your heavy eyes you looked up at the Destined One. He seemed relieved to see you able to sit up as he helped you. A light layer of snow covered him which slowly melted in the Ring of Fire.

You were glad to see he was uninjured, though you noticed how he seemed quite worn. He produced a small bag which he placed into your hands. You placed the bag on the floor next to you and opened it fully till its contents were laid out. There were tea leaves, an assortment of grown foods, a small blade in its sheath, a thickly braided red cord, and a single small pill.

Bajie appeared with his arm casually hanging on the Destined One’s shoulder. “Look at this assortment! Aren’t you a lucky one to be gifted with such blessings by the Zodiac Deities?”

You didn’t just feel lucky. You were overwhelmed with gratitude.

“I don’t-I don’t know what to say,” you whispered quietly. Your vision blurred as you brushed over their gifts with trembling hands.

“Nothing that they don’t already know,” said Bajie.

“Even so,” you said, turning to the Destined One, “please show them my sincere appreciation for their kindness.”

You took the pill with some warm tea. Your symptoms did not automatically disappear, but you felt yourself breathe just a little bit easier. You shared the bounty of the deities amongst your companions. The tea was fragrant and the fruits delectably sweet. The Destined One used your little mountain of covers as a backrest, taking a well deserved moment of reprieve. You looked at the braided cord and saw a note attached to it.

“Tear at the first sign of danger,” it read. You looked closely at the red cord. It was beautiful and seemed ordinary enough, but in between the red you could see strands of gold shine in the fire light. Bajie picked up the blade, studying it closely.

“A fine blade crafted by the Yin Tiger himself,” he said, unsheathing it. You watched him examine what you assumed was the mark of the Yin Tiger, then he flipped it over to read more characters on the other side. Bajie burst into hearty laughter.

“Mighty Fang!” He read out loud, “quite the fitting name.” Bajie returned it to its sheath and handed the blade to you. “Now you're that much closer to matching us Yaoguai.” Bajie tilted his head to the side, showing off his protruding tusks. You pulled the blade out to look at the inscription, tracing it with your fingertips. You smiled to yourself. With this small fang of your own, you were beginning to feel like you belonged.

The Destined One didn’t leave your side after he’d returned. He took up Bajie’s post at tending to you, making sure you were still fed and cared for. When it was time for him to rest you would sometimes wake to find him asleep right next to you. In those moments you would simply watch him sleep until Bajie reminded you of his presence and had you continue to eat and drink.

Two days later, you rose from your slumber with a clear mind and clearer sinuses. The pain you felt whenever you swallowed was gone. A new revitalizing energy coursed through you. You sat up easily, stretching out unused muscles. Your companions were still sound asleep. You took this opportunity to get up and peek outside. The blizzard had passed, a cloudless dawn greeted you as you stepped into the morning cold. Every surface was covered in pure, white snow. You breathed in through your nose and out through your mouth, watching your breath collect in the air. It truly was a beautiful morning.

Your companions woke up to a readied meal, items folded away, and you up and about shining with health. The red cord swayed around your waist, somewhere on your person was the hidden Mighty Fang. You handed both your companions steaming cups of tea. Outside, the sunlight began shining over the horizon.

#black myth wukong #the destined one #bmw #destined one #destined one x reader #the destined one x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #journey to the west #sun wukong x reader #black myth wukong fanfic #sun wukong #zhu bajie #I love uncle Bajie #the items you gain were fun to imagine

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