#the fact that he was willing to wait that long too 🥺🥺💖💖

[lesbianlaura]

i can't stop yapping about it to my friends im so so excited to go on a date on wednesday, i feel like we really clicked and they're so so cute i hope they're as excited as i am about it waah

[warpedlegacywrites]

happy dadwc friday Duchess! How about a prompt for Cullen coping with addiction/recovery 🥺😭💖

❝ All the things that I ran from I now bring as close to me as I can. ❞

happy writing :3

Happy @dadrunkwriting! Thanks for this prompt. Here is some slightly circular narration about Cullen's withdrawal, with a focus on his early nightmares post-lyrium.

CW for torture, sleep deprivation, claustrophobia, psychological torture

Sleep isn’t a problem at first. In fact, for the first week or so, he barely notices a difference. His dreams remain blurred, unfocused. Filtered by the last filter he’d taken in Kirkwall. His last one ever, so he keeps reminding himself, though practiced hands still reach for the vial at his bedside when he wakes blearily with the dawn. Muscle memory. Habit. Conditioning.  Sleep isn’t a problem, even after the symptoms start setting in. When his reaching hands shake so hard they can barely grip the glass of water. The water he gulps greedily down, while wishing it were gleaming blue instead of clear. The water he can’t seem to keep down, retching it back up moments later. No, even when his insides are on fire and his whole body is racked with the searing pain, sleep isn’t a problem.  It’s not until the worst of the pains and the cravings subside, when the Song is little more than a half-remembered tune in the back of his skull, and his body can actually, truly rest. That is when sleep becomes a daunting, dreadful torture. 

Every night, when he lays his head down, he knows what’s coming. He’ll try to stay awake as long as possible, reflexively wincing away from the pain. But inevitably, his eyes will close, and he will open them again in the blood-stained halls of Kinloch Hold. Torchlight flickers over bodies, too many to count. 

The light is tinted by the magically manifested curtain of his cell. A slender column holding him captive. Too narrow to do anything but kneel or stand – he can’t even properly sit, let alone lie down. No matter how many hours, days, nights pass, no matter how his feet and legs and back ache. He remains standing until he can bear it no longer, and then he kneels in prayer. His knees are bruised and bleeding. He’s exhausted. More tired than he’s ever been. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he understands he’s still asleep, but the fatigue is just as he remembers it. He doesn’t recall how he ever managed to sleep, if he ever did. 

His cell is round, affording him a panorama view of the carnage. Every so often, a new body will race through in an attempt to reach the stairs to Cullen’s right. They’re always cut down before they clear the first handful of steps. Every time, Cullen tries to warn them. Every time, his voice doesn’t penetrate the perimeter of his cell. He hears its echo bounce back and forth over his head, driving him mad with his own voice. Every time, the demon emerges from the shadows it hides in. Razor claws rake across torsos, drawing forth gushing red. The room is infused with the smell of blood. Fresh and stale, the stone is saturated with it. Eventually, Cullen stops smelling it. But as tortured with guilt as he is over his failure to save even a single soul, watching them die is still the lesser evil. 

Because when the demon is bored waiting for new victims, it amuses itself with Cullen. It knew his desires almost the instant it captured him. All his training was for naught – Desire is a powerful demon, and it read him like an open book. It cackled, mocking his boyish infatuation. It delighted in taking her form and parading around in front of him in her skin. Calling to him in her voice, whispering in his ear, while standing well out of reach. Sometimes wanting, willing. Others, screaming in pain. Spitting vitriolic hatred at him. But always beyond his reach. 

He can beat his hands against the curtain of magic until they bleed, scream until his voice is raw and his throat is like cracked glass. But he will never break through it. 

Until he wakes, covered in sweat and hands aching from gripping the sheets so tightly, his throat sore. Surely, he must be screaming on this side of the Veil as well, but if anyone has ever heard it, they keep it to themselves. He will wash his face with cold, clean water, drink from the canteen he keeps full at his bedside, and dress for his day. 

And the next night, it will start all over again. He will try to stay awake, and then he will fail. He will try to warn his would-be rescuers, and fail. Try to escape, and fail. No matter how he tries to outrun his failures, they follow him, relentless and tireless. 

Until one night, when he looks down at the blood-soaked bodies at his feet… and there is no cell to separate them. He reaches a hand out, tentatively, and meets no resistance. He steps forward, and is not repelled back. A sob escapes him before he can stop it, though he clamps his hand over his mouth to prevent more sounds from betraying him. Yet no demon appears. It’s only him, and the corpses of his colleagues. 

He turns to the exit, and he’s halfway across the room before his steps slow. Stop. He turns. His eyes travel up the staircase, stopping at the door at their peak. There’s no way out of that room, he knows. He’s conducted Harrowings and Rites of Tranquility from inside that room. There is no escape but the way you’ve come. 

There is no escape. 

Step by step, his feet carry him to the base of the stairs. He watches himself climb them, as if observing from the outside. He screams at himself, pounding against the rounded wall of his cell, tries to tell him no. Turn around, run away. Escape. But it’s no use. 

He watches the demon emerge from the shadows, claws impossibly long and razor sharp. No matter how he screams and pounds and begs. There is nothing he can do to stop what’s about to come. Cullen watches his hand come to rest on the doorknob. Watches it turn. Watches the demon’s arm raise, and strike. He feels the burn of its claws in his flesh. 

And then he wakes up. 

He flexes his fingers, releases their death grip on the sheets. Rises with a struggle from the low cot given to him when he’d arrived at the base of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Drinks long and greedy from the canteen. Splashes his face with cold water. And pushes aside the flaps of his tent to start another day. 

Tonight, he’ll do it all again.

[early20sfailingplenty]

KAKDKKRKE IM EXCITED FOR THIS!

Okay okay okay. Here we go.

Coming back to Ambrose after years and seeing Bo again?

Lilyyyy ~ 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 omg I adore seeing you around on my dash and in my inbox hasdfghjkl ~ 🥰🥰🥰 this is only the second thing I've written for Bo is I apologise if it's not characterised well hasdfghjk 🥰💖There's also lots of Lester in here because I wanted to practice writing for him ~ thank you for requesting!!!👀

TW; smoking (Lester), anxiety/panic (in my experience, the two are really hard to tell apart and typically blend into each other, but your experience might be different!) caused by getting lost (yeah, I went that route with this piece😂), THERE IS CANON TYPICAL DARKNESS i.e. possessive language, a dark sense of foreboding etc.

I think I got all the warnings but if there's something I missed, please let me know!

I spent like 5 minutes scrolling for a GIF even though I knew what one I wanted to use just because he’s so pretty hasdfghjkl🥺🙏😭

‘You’ used, gender neutral reader, no coded language!!!!

Word count: 5, 128.

You were so lost that you weren't even on the old paper map anymore; you had followed the map to a point, but now blank blue grid squares were all you had to go on. You had completely gone off the trail with one too many wrong turns, and now you had no idea where you were. You didn't even know how to get back to a recognisable place or, indeed, how far off the trail you had driven. There was no signal for your phone to pick up on, there were no road signs that you could at least attempt to locate yourself through, and the only thing you could think of was just to pull over and wait.

What were you waiting for? You knew not, but you needed to calm down, first. Your heart was pounding in your head, your blood rushing in your veins as you realised the gravity of your situation. Lost. Alone. A car with half a tank of fuel in it, a map that couldn't carry you any further, and with no way of getting yourself back. The lane was too narrow to do a U-Turn on, but even if you could have done that, you wouldn't. You didn't know where you were. You didn't even know when you had taken the wrong turn. How long had you been lost on this route and not even known it? You would wager an hour, at least, though the stakes were too highly stacked against you. You were only aware of the fact that this very definitely was not the main road you were meant to be on by now, and that this journey had not at all gone to plan. Your breath shuddered as you realised one all important, rapidly consuming fact:

You didn't know what to do.

You gripped the steering wheel tightly in both hands and brought your head down to rest lightly in the centre, willing yourself to calm down. You didn't push the panic away; you let it sit. Emotions were visitors that came and went as they pleased. Ignoring them made their stay longer, more violent, and it was best to simply sit with them so that they could say what they wanted to before the next one came along. Okay, yes, I'm panicking. This is a normal response. I will be fine. I made a turn off a main road so at some point, someone will find me. They have to... right?

You didn't know how long you sat there in your car, watching... waiting. You were in over your head, and you didn't know what to do, and -

Wait.

Wait.

There was a quiet rumble of an engine making its way towards you, the sound accompanied by clanking and tyres crunching on stones. Dust was being tossed up on either side of the truck, which was faded patchwork of red and light blue. Relief flooded your body and you sagged against your steering wheel, breathing in deeply as though you hadn't been able to properly for as long as you had been sat there. Perhaps you hadn't. Thoughts of what you were going to do now were overwhelming you, and it took a concerted effort to stay in the moment. You had been lost, but now you were found. You had some money on you, some fuel, some food... you would be okay in thanking this stranger with more than just your words; they had never felt wholly adequate for you. You liked to back them up with actions where it was possible and you always did your best to make sure that the people who helped you out knew how much you appreciated even the smallest of gestures.

The truck pulled to a slow stop a few metres from you and immediately did a man get out, one hand curved to the half-smoked cigarette in his mouth. He approached your car easily, his mouth pulled down in an neutral expression. You opened the car door to greet him, and he stopped several metres from your car.

"Need a hand?"

"Yeah, I - I'm lost," You touched a palm to your forehead, pressing down as if to physically control your thoughts. Your face had always been your grounding body part, and you touched it more frequently than you were aware of. "I'm so far off the trail the map doesn't have any markings on it." You hadn't ever considered yourself the type to be so open with a stranger, but you really were in dire straits and you needed assistance. You were already really lost, so what was the harm of asking for help? Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

The man nodded easily and looked left and then right, a contemplative look on his face as he said, "what're ya' doin' round here?" He was keeping a distance from you, standing closer to his truck. You got the impression that he wasn't entirely sure how to interact with other people, or perhaps that he didn't want to interact, and he was just asking to be nice. You couldn't quite tell, hard to read was this stranger.

Either way, you had nothing much to lose, so you shrugged, "I was planning to go to Ambrose. There's... someone very special there who I knew many years ago and I was wondering if he was still there."

When you said the word 'Ambrose', the man's entire demeanour changed. It was like you had pressed a switch, and he came to life as a smile threatened to split his face in two. "Ambrose? Yeah, I know Ambrose! You're not far; just a few miles up t'road. I reckon I can get'cha there easy enough. Ya' got a name so I know who I'm talkin' to, darlin'?"

Something... something about the man before you was giving you pause. It was something to do with his voice, heavily accented and that smile, oh... you had seen echoes of it in years long passed, and he felt... familiar. Like you had met him before. If you were close to Ambrose (and, oh, how relieved you felt to know that you were closer than you had known, though it was putting a red flag in your mind that the map, no older than a decade, didn't display Ambrose on it in any kind of way) and this man knew how to get you there, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree, then...

No.

No, it couldn't be...

... Could it?

"Y/N. And you are...?"

"Name's Lester."

You gasped and got out of your car, slamming the door shut behind you. "Lester? Lester Sinclair? Oh, my - look at you!" You took him in properly for the first time. He was dirty; covered in grime, mud smeared on one cheek, streaks of the same on a dirty and yellow shirt, an orange shirt half buttoned and mostly untucked. He was messy, dirty, unkempt but very recognisable, especially when he smiled at you again.

You could see when recognition dawned on his face and he laughed, his face splitting once more into a very sweet, very genuine grin. "Y/N! S'bin a long time, darlin'. What'cha doin' gettin' yourself stuck down 'ere?" He came closer and closer to you, feeling more comfortable now that he knew who you were, and he, to put it kindly, smelled about as messy as he looked. He hadn't changed a bit in the years you had been away, and you couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. It was incredible that he was the one you ran into when you most needed someone to help you! Lester had always been a sweetheart, though you suspected that it was a force of will. The years, life, had not been kind to the Sinclair children.

"I came back to see your family, if you're still around. Missed you all." Especially Bo. Oh, how your poor heart had ached every now and then over the years. You had had to move away when you had gone away to high school, and not a day had gone by since then that you hadn't thought of the Sinclairs. You had always planned to come back, but it seemed as though the universe had aligned just so for this to be able to happen. "The map doesn't show anything so I just got really lost."

"Can I see th' map?"

You handed it to Lester, and he examined it greedily. He knew the area and you wondered just how often he travelled these roads. By the smell of him and the state of his truck, you guessed that he did some kind of roadside maintenance. One of his fingers jabbed at the last road you had made a turn on. "See 'ere," You moved to stand beside him, looking at where he was pointing and following where his finger moved so as to visualise what you should have done, "Tha's where you turn off, and then you gotta follow the road for 'bout ten miles before you get to Ambrose. S'not far from 'ere."

"How come the town's not on the map?"

Lester shrugged, "I ain't sure 'bout that," he chuckled but it sounded strained somehow. In the moment, you didn't think much on it. In the blissful yet dangerous days and weeks to come, it was a sentence which would reverberate inside your head as you began to tally up just how many warning signs and red flags had gone over your head. "Got fuel?"

"Yeah. Got half a tank. The car's fine, I just got lost and I didn't know what to do."

"No, you didn't," Lester beamed at you, "You're right where ya' s'posed to be, Y/N. S'not bin right since ya left us."

"I didn't want to. I've wanted to come back for a long time. Years. I didn't even know you were still here."

The frown on your face was so genuine and Lester could see that you had missed he and his brothers as much as they all had been missing you, especially Bo. He hadn't been right since you had left and Lester wondered how many nights the two of you had been thinking of each other at exactly the same time and not even known about it. This possibility, the look of sadness and yearning on your face, and the thoughts of making his brothers truly happy made Lester make a quick decision and he fumbled for words so he could make it happen. Now. "Lemme just make a quick call; gotta sort somethin' out before I take ya' to Ambrose."

"Oh, Lester, you don't have to drive me there. You already gave me directions!" You really didn't want to put him out, though he had offered. Still, you figured the cash you had on you would cover his fuel costs and maybe a bit extra as a proper thank you.

"No, I want to," Lester smiled again and you couldn't help but to respond with one of your own. "Ambrose was ya' home for so long, Y/N... maybe it'll be that way again now ya' here." Without letting you protest further, Lester trudged away into the thick of the trees, looking back at you before slowly turning around and raising a phone to his ear. You caught the words, "special delivery", "ya' don't gotta act this way," "can't hurt" and a much less strained, genuinely cheery "be righ' there" before Lester snapped the phone shut, threw what was left of his cigarette away, and stomped back around to the driver's side of your car, where you were stood waiting for him. "Sorry 'bout that, darlin'."

You shook your head to say that it was fine, but then it occurred to you that you didn't know how it would work to get your cars down the lane; it was too narrow for you to drive down together. If you asked Lester to drive you, it would be a squeeze to get passed yours. If you got into his truck, then your car would be left there on the side for a time. Would someone try to strip it for parts if you left it? Or maybe Lester could drive your car and you could drive his truck, so you could follow him... with high anxiety did you begin to overthink, but once again was Lester there to help you, whether he knew about it or not.

Lester must have caught the look on your face, sharp was he, for he said, "S'okay. Can leave your car here; I'll drop ya' off at Ambrose then come back to get 'er. No one comes down here; business has been a bit dead lately." He chuckled and you caught the sight of a dead... something in the truck bed, which made you smile through the grimace as you realised that his sense of humour was as dry as it had ever been.

"Lester," your gratitude was too much and you didn't know how to express it, "I got some cash I can give you for the drive, if that's okay? I don't know how else to thank you, I - "

He held up a hand, smiling like he didn't know how to do anything else. "You just did, darlin'. Don't think on it no more, all righ'? Jus' take care of m'brothers and we'll call it good."

"What about taking care of you? If I remember rightly, I was there for all three of you, just as you always were for me." You smiled fondly, memories flooding you as giddily did you realise that you'd done it. You'd found Ambrose (or, you'd found Lester, who clearly knew Ambrose) and therefore you'd found Bo.

"You did!" Lester nodded and made his way over to his truck. You followed his lead after grabbing your bags from your car, locking it up and making peace with the fact that it would be unattended for a while. As you approached his truck, you had to suppress a gag at the smell. Yep... Lester worked roadside, all right. "Sorry about the smell," You smiled but there was something wrong with it, made known to you by the way Lester leaned over and cranked open your window, "I forget it smells if y'ain't used to it." Lester navigated his truck to bypass your car by driving slightly off road and on a noticeable wonky angle before making his way back onto the track. It was risky driving, but Lester's face didn't show the various lumps, bumps and jolts which the truck put you through. He was used to it and you began to think on Bo and Vincent. What were they up to? They were clearly safe, well and still in Ambrose, but what about the finer details? What did they look like now? Had Bo gotten any taller? Was Vincent still just a bit taller than Bo, or had Bo grown taller? Were they the same height?

Easy silence accompanied you and Lester on the drive to Ambrose and you felt yourself relaxing into the worn upholstery. You were where you had wanted to be for years but you weren't home yet. Home wasn't a destination, but a person. Bo. Would he recognise you? Speaking of...

"Do they know you're bringing me home?"

Lester caught the implication of your question and smirked deviously, a gesture unseen by you, lost were you in your reverie. Even if his brothers didn't do what they usually did to visitors to the town (though he had warned Bo against it as best as he could without actually saying it while he had been on the phone with his eldest brother), it was clear that you wouldn't be going anywhere. You would find a way to stay... of that, Lester was certain.

"No. Told Bo I had a surprise for 'im an' I told him I would be there soon, but other than that, s'a 'prise for 'im!" Lester laughed and his happiness was infectious; despite the roaring in your head of anxiety, nerves and the sense that something was wrong, you found yourself smiling in response to his carefree joy. You had been so very close back then with Bo, to such an extent that where one of you was, people instinctively looked for the other one. It was always Bo n' Y/N, like your names were so synonymous that to say one was to say the other. It was never Bo and Y/N; though whole and separate people were you on your own.

Finally, Lester braked suddenly to a stop and you narrowly avoided slamming your head into the dashboard from the jarring impact by grabbing his shoulder. "Ambrose's jus' roun' that corner there, Y/N," Lester pointed to where he was referring to, for the path was hidden quite well by plants on either side. Ambrose was a town that didn't want to be found, unless its twisted but human residents decided otherwise.

"Thank you, Lester! Really, I - " You dug around in your bag, looking for where you stored your money, but Lester's hand atop yours stilled your movements.

"You don't gotta' pay me, YN. S'nice to see ya' again. Family don't pay family, right?"

"Is that what Bo tells you?" Your easy smile as you fell back into the banter with Lester made you feel like you had never even left Ambrose. Lester smiled widely, his laughter once again gracing your ears (and, oh, you had forgotten just how much you loved his laugh) and the two of you shared a quiet moment between you while you continued to dig around in your bag. "If you won't take money for your help, will you at least take - "

Lester cut you off, his eyes sharp, "I said no, YN. Family don't pay family. Jus' take care of m'brothers and that's already everythin'. Means a lot jus' havin' ya' here. Don't gotta pay me for my help when I wanted to."

You relented. Lester was being serious and you didn't want to disrespect him by pushing further. It would seem selfish of you, you figured, to make him take payment he had already refused twice; once politely, and then more firmly. It was something he had taught you when you were children; to stand up for yourself kindly once and then afterwards to assert yourself. It was lovely to know that in the most crucial of ways, Lester was still Lester. Still, there was some ulterior motive by way of paying him back for his kindness in the way you threw your arms around Lester's neck with a, "c'mere, you!" and enthusiastically did you squeeze him.

Lester chuckled with a shy, "hey, now," but he hugged you back just as tightly. He felt the same as he always had done when you were children, and you marveled at how much you remembered; it was all coming flooding back to you and it was like you hadn't left in the first place.

Would reuniting with Bo and Vincent feel the same way?

You hoped so.

You got out and thanked Lester again for all of his help. He only nodded at you, his smile slightly tight as he got out of the car too. "I'll bring ya' car back here, darlin', next to mine here. Jus' so's you know where to go! Now, go on roun' that bend. I know ya' itching to see Bo. Vincent's aroun' as well, don't forget to go say hi to 'im!"

And with that, Lester spun on his heel and went back the way you had both come. You felt guilty to realise that he was willingly walking ten some miles to get your car so that he could drive it back, but he had said it was all right and that he wanted to. You wondered why he was so adamant about it, but you shrugged it off. The Sinclairs had always been a little strange, and Lester was the one you had the most trouble reading. Still, you loved them, you did, and as warmth bloomed in your chest did you begin to turn the corner, once again alone, but no longer lost.

You had been found.

You walked through the town slowly, savouring the sights and the crunching of gravel beneath your feet. You wondered where Bo was. Lester hadn't told you, but if Bo was the one that you remembered and still loved, then he would probably be either in the garage or up at the house. You turned the corner again, coming off the hidden track and into the main part of town, and saw that there was a pet shop to your left. If memory served correctly, then the garage was just up to the right... You sped up, eager now to see Bo. Lester had told him that someone was coming to see him, but he hadn't said who and you so badly wanted to see Bo see you for the first time in many years! Oh, but how many years had you yearned to see Bo again? And now that it was happening, now that it was here, you were fighting to ground yourself in the reality of the moment. You were overwhelmed with love, joy, happiness, and -

You stopped dead in your tracks.

Someone was behind you.

You held your breath, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up on end and the hairs on your arms following suit. Someone's following me. You carried on walking after a second of hesitation - you didn't want them catching up to you. The town was silent, still... foreboding. Anxiety gripped your heart and threatened to choke you, but you continued on. There were no residents in the town that you could see. You couldn't hear anyone. All the shops were closed. There was no one around. You turned your head and saw someone dressed all in black, following you at a slow and leisurely pace. Their footsteps made very little sound, so carefully were they walking. They wore a black and white baseball cap.

Wait.

Black and white baseball cap...

It could have been anybody, but you were in Ambrose and you knew that there was only one person you had ever known to wear one of those. You spun around on your heel, your heart in your throat, and you caught Bo mid step. He put no effort into muffling his foot that time, and the loud crunch almost made you wince. Clearly, he hadn't expected you to turn around, but he had planned to make that noise by way of announcing himself. There was no way his reflexes were that sharp. Right?

Right?

The brim of his hat totally covered his eyes and hid them from your view, but you knew Bo. Or, at least, you knew who he used to be. You weren't so naive as to believe that he would be his high school self, when by now he was in his mid-thirties. He hadn't changed much in the last few decades. He'd gotten a bit taller, a bit leaner, but it was unmistakably Bo. Whether he remained your Bo to this day was another question entirely, but that would have to wait. You did your best to rein in your reaction until you knew that he knew who you were. You inhaled shakily and with a smile so wide that it hurt your cheeks, you said, "Bo?"

That gave him pause. Bo straightened up, pushed his shoulders back and brought himself up to his full height. You couldn't see his eyes, but you could see the muscles in his jaw ticking, and - yeah. Same old Bo, you realised with fondness and affection. His thumb was rubbing against the seam of his jacket. "Hey." His voice was deep, strong, and you shivered despite yourself. "Can I, uh, can I help you?" He rubbed his hand across the lower half of his face, and you smiled. There's another of his old habits. Are you just the same as you always were, my love? The endearment, which you hadn't consciously decided to use, made you smile wider still and you thought you could sense Bo squinting at you from underneath his cap.

"I mean," You shrugged with one shoulder, "Lester told you that I was comin' down today."

Another pause. Another squint that you sensed more than saw. You heard Bo inhale sharply even from the distance at which you stood, and then he removed his cap so that you could see each other. "... Y/N?"

"Surprise ~ "

Bo whistled lowly as he made his way over to you, a hand on his hip and the other arm being used as he gestured while he spoke. "Well, I'll be damned. Look at'chu, darlin'. You haven't changed at all." Bo circled you, taking you in for all that you were, all that you had used to be and all that you had become, with an appreciative gaze and awe in his voice. All of his feelings, long since dormant, slammed into him as you closed your eyes and tilted your face up towards the sun as you took in his scent, his voice, his very existence. It was good to be home.

Right back at'cha, Sinclair.

Bo thought that you looked like a sunflower in that moment, and he wondered if you were aware of the fact that you were turning with him. Why else would he turn in a circle, if not to see how many times you would follow him around? Though, it did give him a wonderful opportunity to check you out and he did so gladly. It would be his little secret. He marveled at the fact that, even with your eyes shut, you knew where he was. It warmed his heart, not that he would ever admit to such a thing, and absentmindedly did he rub at his chest. Down, boy. Bo stopped once he had made one full circle, standing where he had been stood previously. Oh, but he was going to have fun with you. He wondered if you still gave as good as you got. He hoped so.

"Well?" Bo looked at you expectantly, his tone demanding.

You frowned. "Well, what?" It always was Bo's way to just assume you knew what he wanted without his actually voicing anything, toxic could he be. You were still blissfully unaware of the true extent of that statement. It would come in time, as the truth must.

Bo scoffed and held his arms out, "Well, ain't'cha gonna come give ya' old friend a hug? I can smell Lester on you so I know he got t'ya 'for I did."

To anyone else, Bo was sneering. Demanding, rude, expecting things of an old friend he probably shouldn't feel so entitled to. But to you? You heard a real want to hug you, and a hint of jealousy in the way he spoke of Lester. It told you more about Bo than anything else he could have said in that moment, and you practically threw yourself at him. He knew who you were, he recognised you, he wanted you to hug him... perhaps that was out of character for Bo, but he had never been the stalking type, either, and you wondered when those proclivities had made themselves known. Yes, life had not been kind to the Sinclairs. "Oh, c'mere, you!"

You pulled Bo towards you, surprising the both of you with your strength as you threw your arms around your neck. Bo grunted as he shifted his weight to accommodate yours; it should have concerned you how quickly he managed to do so, but you were enjoying the moment and such potential red flags, many as you had already seen and discarded this day, didn't even occur to you. Bo had frozen when you had hugged him, so you waited to further your grip on him until you felt him relax, melting into your embrace some moments later. You pulled your legs up to lock them around his waist and one of Bo's hands strayed to your upper thigh, the other around your shoulders, to support you against him. If you were a koala, then he was a tree, and you found it fitting considering how tall he was and the strength with which you clung to him. "Oh, I missed you, I missed you, I missed you," you didn't even bother suppressing the urge to press a kiss to Bo's jaw, and his sharp inhale was accompanied with the tightening of his hands.

"I missed ya' too, darlin'." Bo's voice was quiet, as if he didn't want to be overheard by anyone other than you, even though no one else was around. It was just the two of you for as long as you wanted for it to be, though you didn't know that yet. He pressed a kiss into the side of your face and held you, as if he was afraid of letting you go. "S'real good to have ya' home with us. How long ya' stayin'?" His voice was casual in his questions, but you knew him well enough, even after all of this time, to pick up on the edge in his voice.

It made you hesitate.

"Uhh... I was only gonna stay for a day or so, but if you... if you want me to stay longer, I will."

You didn't understand yet why a part of you wanted to stay forever, while the larger part of you wanted to go.

You didn't understand yet that that option hadn't been available to you since you had gotten into Lester's truck.

You didn't understand yet that you were going nowhere.

But you would, sooner rather than later.

"I love the sound of that," Bo mumbled, kissing your face again. "Why don't'cha come with me back up to the house? I know Vincent's gonna wanna see ya'. Can't see one without seein' us all." He set you down and began walking, presumably in the direction of the house. Your entire body felt cold, empty, without Bo's solid warmth against you, and you missed him already. It was with a lump in your throat that you followed him, wondering why two separate voices in your mind were saying, run run run and stay stay stay, the words intermingling and moving together all at once in your mind on a constant loop, until you didn't know what your thoughts were trying to tell you. You felt sick, giddy, dizzy, confused, happy, lovesick... home.

If home was where the heart was, then you had never left Ambrose.

Bo would make it so that you never would.

[pinkfadespirit]

for DADWC! “You make me ache in ways I never felt possible.” from the soft prompts list, for Fenders? 🥺💖

Thank you for the prompt and sorry it's taken so long to answer it! I'm not sure if this is as finished as I want it to be but I'm tired and don't want to wait until next week to post it so it will have to do (standard for DADWC for me because I'm such a slow writer.) I hope you like it! I've been wanting to write something like this with lots of softness and yearning for a while 🥰

for @dadrunkwriting

Fenris stares at the clinic door, with the faint light peeking through from beneath telling him that even though the fire in the lantern above has been doused, the healer is still inside. But it isn’t healing Fenris has come for. It’s the middle of the night and he stands in front of the clinic door and doesn’t know what he’s doing here. He’d been alone in the mansion that might as well be his now with a feeling churning inside him that wouldn’t let him rest. And it was that same feeling that pulled him out into the cold streets of Kirkwall and the darkness of the undercity. 

He reaches out his hand and doesn’t manage to make it into a fist. He just presses his fingers to the wood of Anders’ door and half wills himself to knock half to walk away. He doesn’t understand the feeling that has brought him here, or how it can have been inspired by the man on the other side of this door. All he knows is that he can’t go on the way he has for months now; feeling things he doesn’t know what to do with and keeping them inside. Too afraid to even try to ask for what he thinks he might want.

He curls his fingers into his palm and knocks and his heart knocks against the inside of his chest, picking up speed as he waits. Then the door opens and Anders’ initial look of concern changes as his eyebrows lift with surprise. “Fenris… What are you doing here?”

“I…” The truth is he hadn’t thought of what he would say when he got here. None of the thoughts that have been turning in his mind feel like things he could possibly say out loud. But he has to say something so he goes with something honest, “I wanted to see you.”

Anders watches him. His face is in shadow, the glow of the brazier in his clinic behind him lighting his hair in a golden ring around his head. But Fenris barely needs the light when the eyes that peer at him through the dark have been nearly all he’s thought about for too many weeks. Longer, if honesty is something he’s committing to now.

“Come inside,” Anders says quietly, stepping back to allow Fenris to pass. He doesn’t go far. In fact, in the moment that Anders closes the door and turns back to him, and his face is lit by the small fire on the other side of the room, Fenris is struck by the feeling that he never wants to be far from Anders again. There’s a small, crooked smile on his face and it does nothing to slow the beat of Fenris’ heart. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“It’s late,” Fenris agrees. “But I couldn’t stay away. Not anymore.”

Anders’ expression changes in a way that lets Fenris know something of what he’s not managed to say aloud has been heard. He looks surprised but somehow hopeful and it’s enough that Fenris somehow manages a step forward. 

“I’m glad you came,” says Anders quietly, so quietly it feels strange after all the times Fenris has thought of him as too loud. But it’s been a long time since that truly bothered him. Now he thinks he’d be grateful if Anders would just keep talking if it would keep him from being the one to have to figure out what he needs to say to tell him how he feels.

But for once Anders is quiet, just watching him, seeming hopeful and perhaps a little afraid. Fenris realises he feels the same.

“I came down here because I knew I needed to speak to you. But now I am here, and I’m not sure what I should say. I’ve been thinking about you but none of these thoughts are things I can put into words. I… you… you make me ache in ways I never felt possible.”

Anders’ lips part but he doesn’t speak right away. Fenris hears the unsteady breath he lets out before his lips stretch into a smile. “You know, that’s a pretty good way of putting it, actually.”

“Is it?”

Anders nods. His eyes are bright in the firelight as he smiles down at Fenris. “And it so happens you’ve come to the right person. Aches and pains are sort of my speciality, being a healer and all.”

Fenris can hardly breathe but he forces out the words, “Then you think something can be done for it?”

Anders nods again. “There’s one thing I’d like to try, if you’d let me.”

From the way Anders is looking at him, Fenris doesn’t think he has to ask what that might be. He steps closer. Anders brings the tips of his fingers to brush against Fenris’ cheek, so gently. Fenris doesn’t know what to do with his own hands. They hang at his side while he’s afraid to move lest he ruin this. Anders touches him like he knows how to hold something precious in his hands but Fenris never has. It’s all so new. So beyond him. But Anders doesn’t seem to care. He lowers his head and presses his lips to Fenris’ upturned mouth. And then they’re kissing and it seems that Anders was both right and wrong at the same time because it doesn’t heal the ache but it does make it so much sweeter. He’s been living with this feeling so long and could gladly go on doing so if Anders would just keep kissing him like this.

Anders pulls away just enough to murmur, “Any better?” and Fenris finds he knows what to do with his arms now. He reaches up and pulls Anders back to him and kisses him again.