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floralettered · 2 days ago

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dressed in sunlight / warmed the cold that lived inside me ꒰ ﾟ ׅ caleb ♡ ﾟ ꒱

summary. “anything,” he says, and that’s everything, isn’t it? you set the tin on the table behind you. wipe the hair from his eyes and trace a path to his jaw. caleb shudders, canting to follow your touch. “god,” he murmurs, “anything."

tags. mc!reader, my belated interpretation of no-return night bday sex, mc's grief over losing caleb is very much present and so is his trauma so there's some minor angst, first times, fingering, oral (f receiving), piv, fluff, love confessions, praise, overuse of "baby", dacryphilia kinda, unsafe sex acknowledged without much care from either party, they want the cookie too bad, sorry for the repost there were some errors the first time! this is my first post so support is super appreciated :3

word count. 6.1k

The last minutes of the day stretch midnight blue across the walls, and somehow it feels like if it doesn’t change now it never will. You’ve tiptoed around it a lifetime. You’ve wrapped yourself in him, warm at his hearth, cool at his headstone. You’ve mourned him, watched him slip away and then return to you, not with a moment of his absence where you were anything less than half of him — How many people can say that? How many people can weep in the arms of someone they once weeped over the grave of?

You turn in what should be sleep but can’t be. There’s too much of him and too little, things you thought once not to want for but what is one impossible wish granted above getting him back? It’s hard not to be greedy. The sheets smell like him, and he smells like you: fresh laundry and the shampoo he’s been buying you since high school, stolen back-and-forth in a played out excuse to visit and steal it again. Once-empty shelves are now lined with photos, books, hard-won plushies and badges encased, model planes you built at his table. So little belongs to him anymore, and he’s filled all of it with you.

Still something is missing. It doesn’t feel like absence in the way losing him did, the numb waking and sleeping and seeking answers to make sense of existing without him — and you don’t think you ever would have. This is anticipatory. It’s one of those things, you guess, like your stolen shampoo; you’ll dance around what you both know so that there’s always a reason to come back.

That’s the game. It’s good sportsmanship to lie here and let it play out.

But then is it losing to make the choice in a second, breathless at your own daring, your overwhelming need to grab the tin beside you and march to the door? You hope not. It’s seven minutes to midnight; if you think about it any longer you’ll stop yourself, and it’ll pass with the day. Maybe this is winning, then.

Or maybe he’s waiting for you like he knew you’d come, your necklace dangling in his hand, his fingers twitching over something that isn’t you — and for Caleb, everything else is, foremost, defined by its lack of you. Because he doesn’t stop, shocked, arrested by the sight of you at the foot of the stairs, candy tin dumbly in hand like either of you still believe that’s why you’re here. His lips curl in a way someone else might not notice. Your necklace falls against his chest. It rises with his steady breath, buttons on his blazer undone. That’s the game: you notice everything, and he knows.

“Hey,” you say, voice small, tired. You’re still in your dress. It’s clear you got no more sleep than he did. “I thought you might still be up.”

“Yeah.” And his smile stretches to something full, sunshine in the dark.

“Not ready for the day to end, huh?”

“Mm, not yet. You did good, Pips. Don’t want it to go to waste.”

“Good?” You mimic offense.

“Amazing,” he rectifies teasingly, “Perfect, brilliant, the best—”

“Yeah, yeah. Suck-up.”

“For you.”

He wears it like a badge of honour. Not like his Fleet awards, Colonel cap and insignia, sports trophies and a thousand other achievements (because he is perfect, brilliant, the best). It’s like you said. They’re things defined by their lack of you. There’s nothing he’s prouder of being than yours.

“Want your final gift?” you ask, waving the tin at him.

“Come here,” he says, quietly, and it’s an answer to something else.

You do. Of course you do. In the steps it takes to reach him, you feel weightless, like the sensation of his Evol softly suspending you, pulling you hazily toward him. His power has never made more sense than this moment. He is the gravitational force you orbit — yours no more than you are devastatingly, wholly, infinitely his.

You stand before him, not quite between his legs but too little is in the way of you now not to know you’ll get there. Your fingers, slightly shaky, ring against the tin as you twist it open. He steadies your hand with his, and you know he’s looking at you but your eyes stay fixed on the array of colours, not quite ready for what you’ll find when you meet his. A second. That’s all you need. You pretend to consider the flavours. He’s patient with you, brushes the skin of your fingers and waits.

Caleb is good at waiting for you. Would wait for you forever, take whatever you gave him, follow you anywhere.

You fish a yellow candy from the corner, smile mischievously when you press forward and hold it to his mouth. He opens for you. The look in his eyes is exactly what you thought it would be, and it’s hard to keep your smile as much as it’s hard to stay upright when you press the candy to his tongue and feel it graze your finger.

He winces somewhat, then laughs, slides the lozenge to his cheek to talk. “Lemon flavour? You always give me the sourest ones.”

“You said they’re your favourite like a hundred times!”

“Uh-huh, but you test me by going sourer each time, don’t you? Findin’ excuses to torture me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You let me, you masochist.”

“And now you’re being mean to me on my birthday.”

“Hardly.” You glance at the clock, shudder on a breath you hide in a cough. “Only two minutes left, so it doesn’t count.”

“Yeah? You gonna go back to being mean to me tomorrow?”

“No,” you say without much thought. There’s something about his voice when he gets like this, unfair of him to call you mean when he says it in that tone. He’s mean. Dizzying. “Maybe,” you add quickly, “if you deserve it.”

He hums, glancing over when the clock ticks. “You’ve got a minute to decide. Maybe you can be nice to me in the meantime. Make up your mind at midnight.”

“And what could I do in a minute to know?” you ask, but it’s half a sigh. You’re inching between his legs now, spread open, anticipating the moment you fully fill the space. Carefully, you oblige him. His knees bracket your hips but don’t touch. You could be held another way if you wanted, how you imagine it sometimes — too often and for longer than you’d like to admit.

Slowly but surely, a knee brushes your hip. When you only skip a breath but stay, his eyes slip down, and he takes the chance, brushes against the other until you’re snug between his thighs.

“Anything,” he says, and that’s everything, isn’t it?

You set the tin on the table behind you. Wipe the hair from his eyes and trace a path to his jaw. Caleb shudders, canting to follow your touch.

“God,” he murmurs, “anything.”

So you climb into his lap like coming home.

It feels like it: soft and warm and sturdy, his arms coming up to hold you without a second’s pause, and you love him. You kiss him. He welcomes you in.

If midnight strikes, you’re beyond caring the moment his lips are on yours. The days could blur like this, a thousand birthdays in a week, all the years you spent wanting this made up in the time you swear you will have it. Caleb, fortunately, seems to be of a similar mind. One hand lingers at your back as he cradles you closer, the other twining up your waist to the nape of your neck, your jaw, big palm swallowing your cheek with the brush of his thumb. He holds you there. Only lets you squirm if it’s to push forward, and you have no intention of going anywhere else. And he’s loud. God, don’t you know he is; you’ve tried following his workouts before, the one-handed pushups, the military precision, sweat trickling down the neckline of his tank top to territory untreaded. But to feel his sounds against your mouth when you’re only kissing — and fine, sure, your hips are rolling somewhat on instinct — is so intensely foreign that you’d stumble if he wasn’t holding you so tight.

You pull away to breathe. It stings. Pathetically, you literally ache to part from him. But you’d frame the image of him dazedly chasing your lips if you could, and that alone is worth it.

Caleb slumps back against the couch with a half-lidded gaze and cheeks already flushed, shaking his head like he’s not sure you’re real. “Wanted you — needed you like this for —”

“How long?” you whisper, mouth dry.

He laughs. It sounds verged on a sob. “All my life.”

“Oh.” You still, and you hope he knows it’s because your mind has gone too fuzzy to come up with anything better. “Okay, you — you can have me. As long as… Can I have you?”

His head falls back with a broken sigh. “Can you have — You kiddin’ me? Baby, you do. Please.”

You nod, kissing him again, guiding his hand to your shoulder while you copy the way he said baby over again in your head. He traces the ribbon there and pulls back when you loop his fingers through it to tug it free.

“God. Are you sure?”

“Mhm,” you say, and scatter your confirmation in kisses up his neck. He curses, free hand cupping your thigh now, squeezing as if to steady himself. “Want you.”

And then the ribbon is as undone as he is, cascading down your dress with all of its jewels, cool air prickling the skin of your chest when he follows suit on the other side. It’s gone as quickly as it comes, engulfed in an instant by Caleb’s warmth. His mouth traces the new skin available to him. He moans when your hands grip his hair. Spurred on, he kisses lower, as reverent as he is curious, as loving as he is hungry. You can’t help but tug when his tongue grazes your nipple, and he hums in satisfaction, drags you by the hand under your thigh so that you’re straddling him properly, as if you weren’t before. His hard length presses perfectly between your legs.

You grind against him and he stops, keeps you still. “Fuck — not yet. Gotta wait for me, baby.”

“But you’re —”

“I know, I know, no fair. Too much I wanna do with you first, though.”

“Caleb…”

His mouth traces lower as he hoists you up, Evol pressing in now, the pressure colder, but familiar, part of him like everything else, and you want everything. “Let me be greedy? Wanna be good to you. Please.”

You suppose that’s it — everything — offered to you plainly. What are you going to do but take it?

You nod. Small, first, reeling somewhat from the fact that this is happening, then earnest when his eyes tell you it isn’t enough.

“Thank you,” he says. Sighs it into a kiss at your navel as his fingers work their way to the insides of your thighs and dig like he knows to expect your shudder. You wrap your arms around his shoulders. He presses closer, feather-light, just the tips of his fingers now, relenting his grip to his Evol in favour of testing the grounds of your skin, how the goosebumps raise on the round, soft shape of your bare thighs. You’d considered wearing stockings that morning. Dreamed of this moment but not dared believe in it, and abandoned them regardless in the same eager hope you always have for him. Thank god.

“Caleb,” you breathe again, the word dry, sticky when your mouth tries to shape it right. “Let me down — I want — need to feel you.”

He groans, shakes his head with your hands on his cheeks, tilting his face so that your sweetest eyes might make him give in like he always does, but even then he denies you. He has to grit his teeth through it. Can’t linger on your gaze too long before pulling you down just enough to bury his face in your neck but not to feel him firm between your legs again.

His fingers find their way there instead, and you’re jolting over his lap when they graze the juncture of your thigh just as his teeth come down softly on your collar, soothing the sting with his tongue. But even Caleb’s patience wanes. He’s got his spare hand pushing your dress up around your waist, trailing the lace band of your underwear with restraint you’re not sure he would’ve had if you’d done this years ago, when you probably should have. It’s something to think about, rocking as far as you can against the weight of his Evol — Caleb in his college years, with you, swallowed by the size of him in a little dorm bed as he pants above you, his fingers —

His fingers pushing aside the fabric of your panties and finding the wetness there, moaning into your neck at the feeling, the sound you make with him. You gasp, blink open eyes that were blissfully, painfully shut, dream discarded. The reality is better. You claw at his shoulders.

“Caleb, please —”

“Fuck, okay, so pretty like this. Knew you would be.”

It’s too good. He’s too good. All at once, half-suspended, his mouth kissing a necklace on your throat while his fingers curve upward to find your clit. You don’t know where it comes from. Thoughts of him in college? Your Caleb, tall and pretty and ever-so-wanted? You can’t help it.

“How are you… Have you — ah — done this before?” you ask, but it’s strangled, caught in his hair, stuck to your open mouth.

He stops. It’s not even a fair question. What would you tell him if he asked you the same? That despite his best efforts, you’d kissed and been kissed, fumbled around to touch, been touched before retreating, too uncertain even with kind hands on tall pretty bodies, terrified to feel them and think only of him?

“I told you,” he says, and his voice is so breathy now, rasped like it gets on your favourite mornings, “Wanted you all my life. Why would I?”

You nod, feeling dizzy. “Just — just good at it. Guess I could’ve said that better.”

A surprised, satisfied little laugh escapes him. Scowling at his self-congratulation, you shut him up with your lips. So he’s yours, good, conversation over, thank you. But Caleb is smiling so proudly against your silencing kiss, fingers right back to work, and the first delicate circle he draws over your clit has you keening, stuttering into him.

“Too much, honey?”

“Fuck, Caleb —”

“That’s okay. You can do it.” He sounds so sincere. Sugar-spun. Your sweet Caleb, looking up at you with dewy eyes and pink lips. “God, you’re wet. Gotta let me in.”

“Uh-huh,” you exhale, nodding limply into his neck.

“I can?”

“Please.”

“Oh, you’re —” His thumb keeps its place but two fingers trail down, curl at your entrance and you lurch helplessly against his Evol to meet them — “Too good to me, baby.”

His ring finger presses in first. There’s some symbolism lost on you you’ll smile sleepily about later. Not now. Now he slides into you, enveloped without resistance, and you curse. You’d be writhing if you had the movement, squirming to push him deeper. Caleb is muttering something, both of you at the beating pulse of the other’s throat, and it feels like a mantra he’s etching to your skin. It sounds like the sort of patterned speech someone repeats to themselves to wake up from a dream.

“More,” you plead, and with anyone else you’d be embarrassed at the desperation in your voice, but you don’t think it could be anyone else. You don’t think anyone else could be made so broken just by pleasing you.

“More?’ he rasps in awe, like he isn’t obliging you already, finger sliding in to the knuckle. A warm pressure builds steadily inside you. He coils so nicely against it, the friction blinding. Your vision dances.

It’s something beyond instinct to bite down on him harder than he did you. It starts with grazing teeth, and then you’ve never been content just having some of him, have you? So you latch around the skin, summer-gold, fresh from the shower. You can’t help it. You need to.

“Fuck —” His spare hand scrambles from thigh to hip, grabbing tight, twitching at the shallow indent of your teeth in his neck. His Evol loosens enough for your shoulders to slump, cocooned around his torso. You pant, kiss, almost as wet and messy on his Adam’s apple as you are on his fingers, and he sounds like he’s struggling to hold on.

Good, you think. In the heat haze of your pleasure and his faltering control, your trembling hand reaches down and wraps around his clothed length.

Caleb’s Evol slips completely, second finger barely tipping into you when you sink down on his lap and ease it to the hilt.

It’s something about the evidence of his desire and the way he grips you harder. Something about the sight of his hand buried between your legs, fingers vanished to the knuckles in the warmth of your cunt. The added friction of his thighs under yours, grinding frantically against him while he’s still blinking over some fired circuit in his brain. If it’s all too much for him you don’t notice in any way that matters. The rope grows taut and snaps, and only when you come do your teeth finally unlatch from him, crying into his flushed ear instead.

You’re shaking so hard it’s difficult to process the moment he returns to you. This. Here. Your body spilled over him, panties to the side and thighs spasming over his clenched wrist. But he does. Oh, he does — the focus comes back to your eyes in time to catch his darkening, burning, sweeping down to the mess you’ve made of his lap. It’s hard not to relish the look in his eyes and the twitch of his cock, imagine how good this is for him, memorize the bead of sweat trickling down his cheek.

Caleb doesn’t want you thinking about how it feels for him. Caleb doesn’t want you thinking at all.

Wordlessly, he flips you over. Tugs your dress up by the ribbons and lays you on the couch all while you’re still panting. It’s you who can’t quite cling to reality enough to play even, keep the control you so narrowly won when you’re still coming down from his fingers. And then the absence of them is suddenly so overwhelming that you’re pushing up on wobbly elbows to catch the moment he’ll surely curl them into you again.

That’s not what you find him doing.

Instead, he’s sliding your panties down legs he wrests open despite their jerking, kissing his way back up from your ankles until his breath is warm against your cunt.

“Said you’d let me be good to you,” he breathes, bitter but without any bite.

“You —” He kisses the inside of your thigh, licks a stripe up the residue of your orgasm — “Oh, you are good to me.”

“Uh-uh, baby. I told you I wanna do more and you’re bein’ greedy. You don’t even know how much I wanna do. Don’t have a damn clue, do you? Can’t make me come yet or I won’t get to do it all.”

You’re swallowing instead of talking, mouth dry, head progressively lighter but apparently not light enough for him because you’re still mustering the urge to argue.

“You’d come from that? Me on your lap?”

You don’t pose the question to embarrass him, and he isn’t.

“I can’t believe I have you,” is what he says, so raw, so suddenly unabashed in the wake of all the shame he carries that you don’t know what to do with it but hold your breath. “Just you is enough. Don’t think you’d have to touch me at all.”

“Oh.” Stupid. You’re stuck on the syllable again.

“But,” he goes on, “You told me you’d be nice.”

And he presses his lips to your clit as if to test your word, a little whine in his throat when you gasp and buck your hips. He forces them back down. No Evol. Just his hands now. Maybe to prove he can.

“That was — ah — think it’s tomorrow now, Caleb.”

“Today, baby. Your head’s all dizzy, huh?”

You nod feebly.

“Poor thing. Gotta let me take care of you then.”

Again. Your head copies the motion without thinking, hips struggling against his hold, his mouth inches from where you need him.

“Ah,” he tuts, “Tell me, please? Tell me I can take care of you.”

You fall back onto a pillow, unsure when he placed it there, but warmth spreads in the place you feel his absence at the knowledge that he did. He’s already taking care of you. Always has.

“You can take care of me, Caleb — baby, please.”

Maybe the word does to him what it does to you, because he hitches your thighs over his shoulders with a low groan and does. He takes care, tongue laving against you and then in, fingers right back on your clit in case his mouth gets too busy lapping at whatever you’ll give him. And you’re remiss to hold back. As if you had a choice, your body wound in the throes of his touch. He’s making more of a mess of you than he’s cleaning up the last. His moans reverberate against you. At a point, startled from your steady, shallow panting when he slides two fingers back in and presses your clit from both sides, you realize he’s as lost as you are. Consuming you and consumed. You thrash helplessly as the feeling rises again, hands weaving through his hair as you peer down from your heaving chest.

He’s moving. Not just his mouth and the quick joints of his wrist with every curl of his fingers — Caleb is moving somewhere lower, hips desperately grinding against the couch as he eats you out. You fucking mewl. High and wanting, face immediately turning over to bite the pillow he set for you.

He stops with a jolt. Stiffly, pulls away, a scratchy sound at the back of his throat, movement suspended as your necklace swings beautifully across his chest. You squirm in pathetic display for his mouth to latch onto you again, his name spilling tenfold from your lips. The pillow is damp where it drools out of you.

“Fuck. Stop, stop.”

You try, less effort on your part than his, grip tight on your thighs as his eyes wrench shut.

“W-Why?”

“Almost came. Fuck. Give me a second.”

He did say just you were enough.

Still, it’s a devastating thing to know. Maybe you could come from just him too — hands on your thighs, yes, but nothing of him anywhere else but the inches he’s retreated away from you, mouth glistening, hair mussed from your desperate fingers.

“You can,” you say, babbling somewhat, your voice entirely shot. “Want you to. Come back.”

“Jesus, baby, don’t do that.”

But with his hands on your thighs, yours are free to push through his hair again, stroke the messy strands from his face and brush your trembling thumb over his wet lip. He curses, lets you graze his teeth with glossy eyes before slapping the palm down and away like it’s enough to unravel him. When he pins your hand to the cushions, a new freedom is offered to buck your hips, and the last of his resolve vanishes with the provocation. It’s not on purpose. It’s his fucking fault, really, he’s completely possessed you. That doesn’t seem to matter much to him.

Caleb burrows into your cunt with something too ruined to be anger but animalistic all the same, Evol seizing you, and you come a second time, fixed against his mouth without an inch for escape.

His ministrations are unfaltering. He isn’t wasteful and he isn’t forgiving — tongue fucking into you even when you stutter in the comedown. You think you’re speaking, begging, aware enough to try to muffle your moans with a bite to the pillow but his Evol takes that from you too. He doesn’t stop. Must have conjured some impossible determination because you make the same noise that almost destroyed him before but it does nothing to cease his pace now.

“Can't,” you whine, “Too much — ah, Cal-uh-uhb —”

His mouth departs from you only for the time it takes to deny you. “Can, honey. So good for me.”

“Need to hold… something…”

So generous, your Caleb, he relents control of one of your hands. It immediately winds its way back to his hair and pulls. Your chest is still heaving, body twitching with all the movement it has available as his mouth finally salves its assault, licking at the soaked skin of your inner thighs instead. But it gives you a moment. A breath.

He looks up at you, staring in some sacred way while you struggle to keep your eyes open. Even when the pleasure begins to fade to a calm, steady buzz, legs slumped under the caress of his hands, you moan softly at his fingers pulling free. Time seems to still to just this. You lock your heavy-lidded gaze on his, find him, keep him there with sudden urgency. You’ve had him as long as you can remember and yet you’ve spent your whole life looking for him.

“Promise me you’re real,” he breathes, like he’s done nothing but look for you too.

Your eyes go hot. Blurring at the corners until nothing is clear but him. “I thought I lost you.”

“No,” Caleb says quickly, Evol gone again, inching up your torso to wipe your tears before they fall. “No, it’s you and me, Pips — I couldn’t… I would’ve found a way back to you.”

“I looked for you everywhere.”

He presses his lips to your forehead. “I know.”

“I never would’ve stopped.”

Your cheek. Hand on the other. “I know.”

“You’re really here?”

“I’m here.” He kisses you. “I love you.”

You nod, smiling, crying, laughing maybe. “I love you too.”

His breath catches in his throat, blinking rapidly. The cool quiet of his apartment is warm in a way it’s never been before. “I dreamed about you. I’d wake up… reachin’ for you. If I didn’t have you like this, it’d be enough; you know that, right?”

It’s your turn, pulling him down, kissing his forehead. “I know.” You wrap your arms around him. “But I’m glad it’s like this.”

He sighs contentedly, squished against you, hands trailing reverently down your waist. And you know he’d sleep like this, still fully dressed, still hard — clean you up a little before you doze off — and that would be more than he’d once allowed himself to want. It’s long past midnight now. You owe him nothing and never have. There’s no transaction here. You just love him. You just want him in all the ways he can be had.

“Can you…” It’s ridiculous to be shy now. You grumble into his neck nonetheless, still putty from the hips down. “I don’t wanna sleep yet, Caleb.”

“You—?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck. Are you s—”

“I’m sure, dummy.”

He twitches at your thigh. “How are you so mean to me when you’re bein’ so nice?”

“That doesn’t make any — ah —” His hand wedges between your legs again — “Sense.”

“Mm, you know exactly what I mean.”

“Shut up.”

“Like I said.”

You get to work on his buttons.

“You love me,” you say as you descend to his navel, skin revealed by the inch.

He isn’t shy to repeat himself. “I love you. More than anything.”

“Forever?”

“Forever. Longer. However long you’ll have me.”

His shirt is shrugged off his shoulders, flexing on instinct at your touch, the muscles tanned and corded. You squeeze and pull him closer. Don’t want anything separating you. Want him to be part of you.

“I love you,” you murmur between kisses, low as he’ll let you go before his abdomen clenches and he’s pushing you back up the cushions and unbuckling his belt.

“I can’t — Need to be inside, baby.”

Point proven: his cock slips free from his briefs, painfully hard, flushed for you. You reach for it, mouth watering. Caleb grabs your wrist and groans in a hoarse, fragmented way when you part your legs instead. His head falls to the crook of your neck.

“Fuck. I don’t have… I didn’t want to assume…”

Oh. Right. Protection. You’ve only been warned a thousand times. “I don’t care.”

You don’t care? Point proven, in a terribly honest way: you cant your hips up and slide filthily slick against him. It would be so easy to guide him where you want him. You shudder under his glorious weight, digging your fingers into his biceps while his clutch white-knuckled at the cushions on either side of your head. There goes that mantra again, more like a prayer now, like begging for you and mercy as if they’re one in the same. But he’s not holding you down anymore and that has to mean something.

You’re grinding up, a bit hard on your sensitive thighs but you’re no quitter. You’re inviting him in, warm and welcome, and you’ve been home to him too long to stay waiting at the door.

“Okay, okay,” Caleb gasps. He shifts to squeeze your waist and lift your hips nice and snug around his. His other hand wraps around his length, weeping from the tip, wet enough at the apex of your thighs to rub through and lubricate. You keen at the feeling. “I’ll be slow, baby. You okay?”

“Uh-huh. Please.”

“So good,” he praises, not sinking in yet but lined up just right. “Can you — ahh, keep bein’ good so I can get one more from you, honey, please? All I want.”

“Y-yeah.”

He eases the tip in. “Yeah?”

“God, I can’t —”

“Can’t? — Oh, fuck — I know, I know, but y’can’t clench around me like that, baby. Said you could do it so I need you to keep your word.”

“M’trying. Need more.”

“Gimme a… give me one second, pretty. God, you’re so…”

Warm. Warm, you want to finish. Blistering at how perfectly he sinks in, forehead sticking to yours as you inhale each other’s hot gasps. You want to wrench your eyes shut at the pressure as much as you need to immediately wrest them open again. You can’t look away from him. Then you don’t know which part of him to look at; his eyes are volcanic, more pink than violet in the sunset hue of the lights you strung for him, fluttering as he presses deeper, but — then there’s the point of contact where he does it, lapsing from sight like his fingers did, burrowed steadily inside you.

There’s the initial sting but he’s so sweet, your Caleb, patiently murmuring praises into your mouth: so good, like I dreamed it, please and please and please. It’s more overwhelming than anything else, the need to be as familiar with this part of him as you are the rest, shuddering around the foreign stretch as he slowly pushes to the hilt. Your hands scrabble at his shoulders for purchase and his head falls. Soft, dark hair curtains your vision. It’s less sweet, less patient when he teeths your jaw and mutters, “Mine.”

For a moment you stay like that, testing the air, the feeling of skin, marks of old scars and new, all senses to prove it’s real. You asked him already. He promised he was. And you don’t think you could conjure this — never dreamed him quite right when you did.

Then he moves. Your nails carve moons in his skin you’ll kiss better later.

“You’re — ha —”

“Please,” you sob, reduced to the word, unsure of exactly what you’re even asking.

Caleb’s cock twitches inside you. “You cryin’, baby? It’s okay.”

Are you? You don’t think you care. His thumb is at your cheek to wipe the tears, your old bite mark faded between the fingers, and you whine a soft, “More.”

“Yeah? You want me to keep going?” It’s a strained question, a needy thing, like he’s always tried not to be for you. It’s hard for him to imagine parting now — and you know that because you grab on tighter at the thought — but he would without blinking. Clean you up and carry you to bed, talk it through in the morning, love you no matter how you have him.

But how many more ways can you tell him you want him? Grind into his hips, flutter around him so his teeth clench on a moan? You are his mirror, comprised of his best and worst parts, and he’s never turned away. You never will either.

“Stay,” you plead, taking his hand.

With the lights shadowed by the veil of his hair, his eyes are the same soft purple you look for in every sunrise. Tears pearl in them, a gaze that doesn’t shine like this for anything else, and he’s cradling you by the hips, loving you — the best thing his hands have ever done — whispering it in a jagged, barely-there voice as he pulls back and thrusts in again.

“I love you,” at the column of your throat.

“I love you,” between kisses that slope to your chest.

“I love you,” in your open mouth, tasting him, too gone to say it back but he knows.

Caleb holds your trembling thighs open around his waist every time your body tries to squeeze them shut, manoeuvres you to fit him deeper, praises never ceasing even when you can’t muster the energy to rock to meet him anymore. He’ll do the work for you, tell you how good you are, how sweet, his perfect girl. Leave it to him, he says, so eager to please you. And the pressure builds again. Your head is too fuzzy to know what words are spilling from your mouth but his name.

“You’re gonna give me one more, baby?” he groans, awed like he didn’t swear to bring you there.

You attempt to agree.

“Yeah, you are — fuck, I can feel it. Please.”

And he’s babbling on as the feeling rises to something almost unbearable, the blurry edge of all your senses tangled, fizzling wires all coiled together. The weight of him on you and in you. You’ve never known where you end and Caleb begins, but this is something else. You gasp for comprehension, nowhere to turn, nothing in the world but the shape of him.

The wire snaps. He doesn’t last through it.

His back must be bleeding with the toll your fingers have taken on his skin, squeezing him dry in more ways than one. He spills into your cunt, pulsing, pace quickening like it isn’t enough. You’re blindingly hot underneath him, spasming through it. Your thighs are drenched. You are crying, you must be. The pleasure is undoing, the kindest way you’ve ever been unraveled, thoughts gone to him how he wanted. Your shared release pools between you as his thrusts finally slow. The sound is lewd. Impossibly, you want more. You’d tell him to stay again if you could form the word.

He knows. He’s yours.

“You did so good, honey,” he sighs in your neck, still stuttering gently into you. “Thank you.”

“I know, I know. Don’t…” You swallow. Your mouth is painfully dry. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Caleb laughs breathlessly as he engulfs you in his arms. He presses a kiss to your temple. “Think you need some water, Pips."

You grumble wordlessly against his chest.

“So you are bein' mean again? That’s the official decision?"

“Mhm."

“Huh," he hums with another kiss, grinning at the little shudder you give as his lips trail down your jaw, “How about I get up — yeah, yeah, I know, baby, don’t look at me like that. How about I get you some water and then come back inside?"

"Caleb." You blink, gasping when his tongue sweeps over your breast. “Again?”

“…Pretty please?”

With a glance over his broad shoulders, you debate whether the seconds it’ll take him to get to the kitchen and back are worth it when you’ve already got him nice and warm and wrapped around you. But his eyes gleam luringly with promise, sweaty and messy and pink in the face.

God, you love him.

“Hurry up.”

He’s never moved faster in his life.

#౨ৎ #love and deepspace #caleb x mc #caleb x reader #caleb x y/n #caleb x you #caleb xia #lads caleb #lnds caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb smut #lnds #lads #caleb

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aventurineswife · 2 days ago

Note

Hi Rinnie! You can consider this the second part of Reader!Cheshire Cat's request, or maybe not!

It's about the characters (Aventurine, Dr. Ratio, Moze, and Childe) arriving home exhausted from work, their minds tired, and they see Reader!Cheshire Cat watching TV while eating ice cream. They then head over, sitting on the couch and then lying on Reader!Cheshire Cat's lap. This doesn't really surprise them, as I expected that to happen at some point. Instead of joking around, they start telling a little story about Red Alice while stroking her hair. It's one of the rare moments where Reader!Cheshire Cat is calm and not his usual chaotic and conniving self.

I should mention that the story of Red Alice isn't technically a story about Reader!Cheshire Cat, but it takes advantage of the fact that there's no information about his "planet."

—–· ☀️🌻 ⟩ Anon.

“The Lap of a Liar, The Truth in a Touch”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Moze x Reader, Childe x Reader, Cheshire Cat (from Alice in the Wonderland) based Reader, Comfort/Fluff, Established Relationships, Soft Moments, Post-Mission Exhaustion, Emotional Intimacy, Lap Pillows, Hair Stroking, Storytelling as Comfort, Quiet Domesticity, Hidden Vulnerabilities, Mild Angst with Comfort.

Warnings: Emotional Fatigue/Mental Exhaustion, References to Past Trauma (Implied), Mild Survivor’s Guilt / PTSD Themes (?), Touch-Aversion Briefly Touched Upon (?).

The door clicks open with a sharp turn, the sound of Aventurine’s distinct footsteps echoing against the marble. His overcoat flutters slightly as he removes it with a practiced flourish. He’s smiling—of course he is—but there’s a heaviness in his eyes, a drag in his step.

You don’t say anything. You’re sprawled on the couch, spooning ice cream into your mouth, a colorful show playing softly in the background. He pauses, as if debating how to keep up his flamboyant mask.

Then you pat your lap without a word.

“I was wondering when this would happen,” he murmurs with a smirk, tossing his hat onto the nearby chair. He lounges next to you first, then slowly lowers himself across your lap with a dramatic sigh.

Fingertips thread through his tousled hair. You begin to speak, voice low and uncharacteristically steady. “Red Alice once stood at the edge of her world, where the sand turned to glass. She didn’t look back, because she knew her past wasn’t behind her—it lived in her shadow.”

His eyes close.

There’s a flicker in his lashes, a twitch in the hand he thought he had hidden behind his back. Your hand brushes his cheek. No smirks, no cons. Just warmth. He lets it happen.

Ratio enters with the precision of someone who has calculated how many steps it takes from the front door to the couch. His shoulders are squared, but only out of habit. His mind is heavy, logic tangled in fatigue.

He doesn’t announce himself. He sees you: relaxed, TV humming, a spoon clinking in a bowl. Your ears twitch slightly, acknowledging his presence.

Without looking, you pat your lap.

“Statistically speaking,” he murmurs, “you were going to suggest that.”

“Not a suggestion,” you purr softly. “An inevitability.”

He sits beside you, then stretches across your lap like a question waiting for its answer.

You card your fingers through his hair as you begin. “Red Alice learned too late that logic couldn’t map her world. It curved at the edges, folding into dreams. But she walked it anyway, barefoot and brilliant.”

His breath slows. For once, he doesn’t need to speak. He just listens.

The door opens without a sound. Moze steps in, meticulous as always. Blood wiped from his gloves, hood already down, eyes tired but sharp.

He scans the room. You’re there. Ice cream. TV. A calm sort of chaos. You’re quiet—not your usual grinning riddle, not tonight.

You glance up. “Tough night?”

He doesn’t answer. Just steps closer.

You pat your lap.

He hesitates—longer than the others. But then he kneels silently beside the couch, then shifts his weight until he lies across your lap, tension trembling just beneath his skin.

You stroke his hair. Slowly. Gently. His lashes flutter but stay closed.

“Red Alice once buried her name in the snow,” you begin, “because she didn’t want to be found—not by gods, not by ghosts. But the snow melted. It always does.”

You feel the way his breathing changes. Subtle. But there.

He says nothing. But he doesn’t move.

The door bursts open—not harshly, but with that familiar Childe energy, now dulled. He walks in, throws his coat over a chair, and slumps his way in. His eyes meet yours.

You’re watching TV. Still eating ice cream.

He grins—crooked, tired. “You knew I’d come straight here, didn’t you?”

You pat your lap.

“Course you did,” he laughs, and plops down beside you. “Not gonna lie, I was hoping you'd say that.”

He rests his head on your lap. His hair is damp with snow, his cheek cold. You don’t mind.

You run your fingers through the ginger strands and begin to speak.

“Red Alice once danced with shadows at the bottom of a well. She wasn’t trapped. She was learning the dark. She said it taught her to see without light.”

Childe doesn’t interrupt. For once, he’s quiet. He stays still.

“You really are something,” he mumbles at last. “But I think... I needed this.”

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vmddrawing · 2 days ago

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RESummer: Melting Ice Cream

ft. Ada and Luis

prompt from @shymoob 🍦⛱️🌅

Luis insisted it was his treat — something about nostalgia, summer, and making the most of borrowed time.

He was just excited to sit down with the same Señorita he met in Spain a year ago.

The ice cream melted faster than either of them noticed. She wasn’t really there for the dessert anyway.

She stayed for the company.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself stay a little longer than she needed to.

After Ada Posted

Leon didn’t comment. He didn’t like. But after being tagged one too many times, he updated his status with something vague:

"needed some air."

Then he turned his phone off.

Not silent. Off.

Meanwhile...

If you scroll through the RE cast's stories, you'll see Clare's story.

Claire was walking pass the shooting range at HQ and saw Leon shooting rounds.

💬 Replies to Claire's Story

@ jill.v

@ ada.w

@ leon.s.kennedy

He checks his phone later that night, after getting home—probably stopped by that quiet bar downtown first. Notifications piled up. Mentions. Messages. He scrolls past most of them. Then he sees Claire’s story.

Pauses.

Claire didn't even say anything when she saw him at the shooting range earlier that afternoon at HQ. Now it's on her story—with that dumb little caption.

He huffs a quiet breath through his nose.

It's funny.

But it also wasn't.

She saw him and left him be.

Of course she did.

Leon taps the screen and goes to Claire's DMs. Types something...

Backspace.

Types again...

"you didn't have to post that"

Backspace.

"Funny"

Backspace.

Finally he sends:

Uncropped drawing below ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

I wish they could have had more time together...

Cheers to Luis. i hope he enjoyed this Señorita's company ༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽

#resident evil #resident evil 4 #ada wong #luis serra #leon kennedy #moira burton #helena harper #jack krauser #resident evil au #vmddrawingre #bittersweet #resummerevent

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not-so-innocent-bi-sander · 22 hours ago

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Okay so.. here’s a thought I’m dealing with I guess.

I saw Thomas posted a video today about being part of people’s nostalgia, I haven’t really ever watched his videos on YouTube besides Sides stuff and his short little psuedo-vines.

But I kinda wanted to know what he had to say about it.

***TLDR- I got thinking about how I made so many friends via this fandom and the lack of content has really pushed everyone to move on, which is totally chill and just how being a fan works, but it also kinda bums me out?***

Anyway gonna ramble I guess

So I watched it to see if he’d mention Sides stuff at all, which he didn’t really. It was mostly about Vine. But i decided to see on his channel if he’s really mentioned Sides stuff any time recently.

I’m pretty sure the length of time between the most recent full episode and now is longer than the time between me joining the fandom and that most recent episode.

And he has some little stuff, songs and funny little skits or whatever. The incorrect quotes and the hear me out cakes, the YouTube Shorts.. I watched a couple of the incorrect quote videos and I genuinely laughed. I miss all that.

Basically all my closest friends that I have I met because of this fandom. And it just kinda bums me out that it all sorta fizzled out the way it did. I think like.. if a new episode dropped tomorrow, a lot of us would all watch it. But several people I know have probably moved on entirely, which I have no judgment about. It’s just kinda a fact of things. I don’t know where I’m going with this I just like.. it feels weird that I’m sorta on the other side of something that was such a huge part of my life and still affects my life to this day.

I still have writings and fics I want to finish, just because I want to finish them. I love writing these characters, and I don’t know if it’s because they’re just good frameworks or if it was just because it was my first fandom as an adult and I felt like I was better at writing than I had been before… or maybe it’s because I feel like my writing greatly improved because of how much I wrote them.

I know I’m not losing my friends just because we have different interests now, even though I think that was a concern for a long time. But I just don’t know what to do with this feeling.

I haven’t tried to write anything in so long even though I like doing it, and I don’t know if it’s because I feel like everyones moved on - and if I post something the only responses I’ll get are “I’m not into this anymore don’t tag me in it” even though not needing responses and just doing things I like because I like it has long been something I’ve wanted to be better at - or if some part of me doesn’t want to? I think it’s mental health and general exhaustion, but I don’t know. I think I’m gonna try.. maybe tomorrow I’ll try and just do a little something. See what happens. I don’t know

I still read my old fics sometimes, it’s been so long since I wrote themthat I forgot a lot of the details and it’s kinda like I found a fic written just for me. It’s not really about the source material anymore, I just like all these little guys I’ve been making up stories about for years and years.

It’s nearly midnight and I’m in bed just trying to get all this out on my phone. If you read all this, thank you. Sorry it didn’t go anywhere?? I don’t know I just.. that’s the stuff I’m trying to think on right now.

#sanders sides #Jordan said a thing

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edawgz · 3 days ago

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ᝰ.ᐟ HANDWARMERS

𖦹ׂ ₊˚⊹⋆ PART 2. You’ve been forced to document the team’s season for a campus sports feature. Geto hates being filmed, but you’re not exactly a fan of jocks either.

❚ ❙ ❘ innuendos. toxic ex passively mentioned. videographer media intern reader. begrudging reader x lowkey yearner geto. idk what to tag this. slow burn. fluff. comfort.

lacrosse captain!geto who starts asking you quiet questions between drills, like he’s easing you into a conversation instead of cornering you into one. “You always this quiet, or just when you’ve got a camera between us?” he asks once, not even looking at you when he says it, just casually flipping his stick in one hand, watching the team run drills while you try to remember how to keep your hands steady.

lacrosse captain!geto who starts looking directly into your lens during games — not in a cocky, performative way, but like he’s challenging you to look back. like he knows you're watching him, and he’s waiting for you to admit it.

lacrosse captain!geto who never minds when you film him during warmups, even though he usually hates it. who adjusts his jersey when he sees you in the corner of the field, who pauses longer than necessary when he drinks water — just long enough for you to get the shot.

lacrosse captain!geto who walks past you during a scrimmage, sweat damp in the hollows of his collarbones, and murmurs, “Hope you’re getting my good side.” like it’s a joke, but it lands somewhere low in your stomach anyway.

lacrosse captain!geto who’s not obvious about it, but who always makes sure no one else gives you shit. who doesn’t say anything when one of the other guys tries to flirt with you, just levels him with a quiet look across the locker room that makes it clear you’re off-limits.

lacrosse captain!geto who catches you on the sidelines one rainy afternoon, your hoodie soaked through, fingers cramping from holding the camera too long. he doesn’t say anything — just shrugs off his practice jacket and drapes it around your shoulders like it’s nothing. “Don’t drop my name in your little feature,” he says as he walks away. “Wouldn’t want people thinking I’m soft.” but when you peek into the pockets, there’s a protein bar and a handwarmer.

lacrosse captain!geto who never flirts outright, never pushes — but you start noticing the way he watches you during post-practice interviews. how he stands a little closer than he needs to. how he holds eye contact when he answers your questions like he’s talking to you, not the camera.

lacrosse captain!geto who lets the others tease him — "media’s got a crush on you, cap" — but never teases you. not once. because he knows how hard you work, how serious you are, and he respects it. maybe too much. maybe that’s why you can’t stop thinking about him.

#dawgpound #edawgz #fanfic #ao3 #writer #wattpad #x reader #imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #jjk geto #geto x reader #jujutsu geto

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sagegreenyaps · 2 days ago

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Update to this hyperlinked post:

So, @/isuggestforcefem did actually block me after her reply-- a reply which simultaneously reads like she was surprised to see me, and... also looking for clarification? Very ironic considering I've been blocked.

I'm no longer hesitant to show who the "popular transandrophobe" is because many transmasc allies already seem to know that @/isuggestforcefem is a gender separatist, and besides, how would she find out I'm talking about her (like she did about me)? Again, she's got me blocked, lol.

Please though, I ask that you not send the scarabs after @/isuggestforcefem. Just block her if you haven't already.

I am a teeeeny tiny bit sad @/isuggestforcefem didn't respond to my question in a separate comment I had made-- regarding their tags-- on what she thinks a more substantial response to a foaming-at-the-mouth bigot would be though, moreso than the response I had given. A true shame; I feel I have been denied one of the great secrets of the universe 💔 (/sarcasm.)

.....Moral take... the fuck does that even mean?

#discourse #transandrophobia #examples of transandrophobia #anti transmasculinity #androqueerphobia #trans #transgender #transfeminism #intersectional feminism #feminism #lgbtq+#anti-radfem #anti-terf #anti-tirf #anti-trf #queer discourse #op speaks

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enduringsurviving · 19 hours ago

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ADAPTATION | e.w.

SYNOPSIS: Ellie wakes up one morning to find that she is showing symptoms of infection but her sanity remains in tact. While navigating the cruel and dangerous wilderness outside of Jackson, she must learn to adapt to the changes that are rapidly affecting her, and the sense of newfound isolation that comes with them.

WORD COUNT: 13,061

TAGS/WARNINGS: minor, canon-typical violence, minor injuries, post-canon, open/ambiguous ending, inspired by fanart, body horror, swearing, suicidal ideation (extremely brief), angst, character study, ellie-centric, original character

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello everyone! Firstly, a HUGE thank you to the artist who's fanart inspired me to write this all the way back in 2022! They are @/teamashina on Twitter, and here is the link to the amazing work of art that gave me this idea. Ellie showing signs of infection but remaining sane is their idea! They have so much fanart relating to this concept and it is all so cool so please check it out. Also, this isn't an x reader fic, and I apologize for tagging it as such. I'm saying this now because the last thing I want is for anyone to feel mislead! But I wanted this fic to get as much exposure as possible, so I hope everyone can understand ❤️ Lastly, of course, I hope everyone enjoys!

(dividers by @/sister-lucifer on tumblr!)

(this fic is a reupload! old account was @/sundownpromises-inactive)

After Ellie had visited the farmhouse one last time, she was then completely on her own.

Ellie craved stability. In the middle of nowhere, where danger loomed around every corner, she missed having a roof over her head. Shelter was often hard to come by and Ellie found herself sleeping in less than ideal places – an abandoned car that was dirty, cramped, and cluttered, or if she was lucky, maybe she’d come across a small, nearly picked-over convenience store.

She was exhausted, walking with heavy steps due to frequent tossing and turning and being woken up by the slightest of noises, most of them imagined. Sometimes, whenever she closed her eyes, she dreamt of her small room back in Jackson; she imagined the feeling of her soft mattress and thick blanket, the warm glow of her fairy lights, her comic books scattered across the table. It was almost as if she was really there, and everyone that she loved was still in her life, and she got to see them everyday. But when the sun peeked over the horizon, and Ellie was stirred awake, the mirage once again faded into the darkness, just out of reach.

Ellie found herself residing in a travel van stuck on a lonely highway after walking on sore feet for several hours in a randomly chosen direction, hoping to stumble upon something, anything worthwhile. Most days were uneventful and never caught Ellie by surprise. Food wasn’t readily available, but Ellie’s hunting skills had been honed and sharpened by that point and wasn’t much of a challenge for her. On the more exciting days, infected wandered a bit too close to the van, leaving Ellie to take care of them swiftly and quietly. Often it was one or two, but sometimes they came in larger numbers. Ellie still had her beloved switchblade with her that she cleaned and took care of to the best of her ability that became her best friend when a group of runners decided to pay her a visit.

Ellie's run-ins with infected didn't always end with her leaving unscathed, though. The bite on Ellie's arm, partially hidden by her tattoo and the chemical burn, was now accompanied by a plethora of other bites, including one on her shoulder and a couple on her other arm; But they were nothing but mild annoyances.

Ellie would say she was doing fairly well, even if it didn’t look like it. Her hair was on the longer side and fell into her eyes a lot. She had lost a significant amount of weight, as her food supply wasn’t as steady as it once was and some days she would be unlucky on her hunting trips. She adjusted to only having eight fingers far more quickly than she initially thought she would. She could still hold her weapons just fine and her accuracy didn’t change too drastically. She was still alive and breathing; even if she felt and looked like shit, that’s what was most important.

There wasn’t much at all that could be done for entertainment. She still wrote and drew things in her journal, almost having filled up every page. She had to start using the backs of pages now.

Her journal entries were usually fairly short. There was nothing very interesting to document in her life, after all. She had been writing more poems, though. They were also short, many of them unfinished. But sometimes she was able to better communicate her feelings through a few words and single sentences.

Her drawings, though, were more frequent. It was mostly random objects or something that caught her attention while hunting or simply walking outside for fresh air. Maybe it was a carcass being picked at by a flock of birds, or random, lost objects that once belonged to a person, now forever buried with overgrowth. Other times she drew her memories. Dina and JJ. Joel. Jesse. These people were all gone but she felt they had to be immortalized in some way.

Although Ellie knew she might have been better off than others, she could never stop thinking about the place she once called home. The people of Jackson weren’t trigger happy like the Wolfs or a fucked-up, sheltered cult like the Seraphites. They were accepting, willing to take anyone in with open arms. Surely they would welcome Ellie back, right?

She felt that she had waited long enough, and there was only one way to find out.

When Ellie woke up one morning, ready to pack and head out for Jackson, she made a discovery that stopped her in her tracks.

She sat up in the small space of her bed, staring at her arm in shock, confusion, and fear.

Her arm was partially covered in a hard fungal growth, and it had effectively torn through the fabric of her brown flannel. It was only a small section of her arm, and it just barely covered part of her fern tattoo. She touched it, wincing in advance as she anticipated pain, but she felt nothing. Frantically, she felt her face and her legs, feeling for the same growth, but it seemed to only be her arm. Ellie wasn’t sure how to process the slight changes that her body had undergone overnight. Was her luck finally running out? Was her immunity only temporary? These were all questions that polluted her mind like oil to water.

There wasn’t much Ellie could do other than brush it off – even though turning into a clicker was not something one could necessarily forget about as if it was a minor inconvenience.

The whole day, Ellie kept stealing glances at her arm to see if the growth would spread, but it remained in that one area. When she had sat down to eat dinner, she pulled out her journal, flipping through countless pages before eventually opening it up to a blank page, pencil in hand as she chewed on two-day old rabbit.

What’s happening to me?

I woke up this morning and saw something had happened to my arm. There was fungal growth. It scared the fuck outta me.

What does this mean?

My immunity couldn’t have just disappeared yesterday. If that was the case, I would’ve woken up a runner. It seems like my body has just completely skipped the earlier stages of infection. It takes… a fuck-ton of time to turn into a clicker. Why am I turning into one in only 24 hours? I don’t know what to do and I’m terrified. I tried breaking it off. But it’s so damn hard. Harder than it looks. It’s sturdy. Being covered in this might feel as if you’re wearing a fucking suit of armor.

We’ll see what tomorrow brings.

And tomorrow brought, well, even more surprises. Unpleasant ones.

When Ellie had awoken, the growth had spread to more areas of her body rapidly. Small sections of both of her legs were now covered in the same growth, as well as her other arm. Much to Ellie's horror, when she had felt her face, she was terrified to know that the growth had finally reached her face, too. It was protruding from her cheek in a way that may have looked like it should have hurt, but once again, she felt nothing. From her discoveries yesterday she knew that she wouldn't be able to remove them and yet she tried anyway, bending and twisting and manipulating the tough fungal plates using all the strength she could muster. But to no avail.

Ellie spent the day much like how she spent yesterday, only significantly more perplexed. She had hoped that yesterday was just an awful dream, and that when she woke up the next day her arm would be clear and only her tattoo would remain.

Ellie tried to make sense of this, but couldn't, no matter how long she sat and thought about it. She wasn't twitching erratically or moving in any way an actual infected person would, which she thought was a good sign. But something she did notice was how her senses had seemingly increased in strength.

She first noticed these changes when she was sitting at the table, scribbling away in her journal like she usually did. But the sentence she was currently writing was cut short when suddenly her stomach began cramping in unbelievable pain.

It was so terrible that she had fallen out of her seat, clutching her stomach tightly, tears welling up in her eyes. She was convulsing, nausea overcoming her, the room spinning. She genuinely felt as if she would die right there on the floor if she didn't devour something, and quickly.

The leftover rabbit meat that she had stored away in a cabinet somewhere had become extremely potent; what usually had no smell began producing a scent that was like nothing Ellie had ever smelled. It smelled so good, almost too good, and Ellie tried her damnedest to get up so she could retrieve it. It was a struggle, as she could barely stand on her feet and every time she tried she just ended up back where she started. But through enough persistence she succeeded. She ran to where she stored the rabbit meat, keeping it wrapped up in a clean cloth. Her eyes widened as she saw that she only had a single strip of meat left. She ate it, so fast that she could've choked and she nearly bit off her fingers. But it wasn't enough, and she knew it wouldn't be enough. The pain within her stomach continued, so she stumbled over to the bed, bumping into the edges of things on the short trip there. She collapsed onto the bed, the sharp, unwavering pain rendering her motionless.

Ellie weeped and sobbed, thinking to herself that death would be preferable in this moment. Right as she began contemplating it, her gun just out of reach in her bag, she passed out before she could do anything.

Ellie's eyes had fluttered open for the second time that day. When she had woken up, the sunset was filtering in through the windows of the van. She had been out for a while.

Fortunately, the pain was gone. Ellie needed to hunt; she was completely out of rabbit meat now. But she was far too weak and felt exhausted from what she had experienced earlier. Her throat was dry, but she had no water either.

She had just enough energy to get up and grab her journal before returning to the warmth and comfort of her bed. She decided to just stay curled up in bed for the rest of day, having been pushed to her limits just a few hours ago.

She opened up her journal to where she remembered writing a new entry. She read it curiously, wondering where she left off.

The fungal growth has spread. It's all over me now. It fucking sucks, to put it lightly.

It feels kind of itchy. Not enough to be awful, but just enough to be slightly annoying. Still no pain, though. I tried breaking it off again this morning knowing that I would get the same results.

I can't see what I look like. There's no mirror in this damn van. But I imagine I look hideous.

I don't understand why this is happening to me. All of this has got to be some fucking nightm

The spelling of the last word was left unfinished, and Ellie was immediately reminded of the pain that had overwhelmed her in that moment. She slammed the journal shut.

Ellie thought about writing another entry, but instead, she laid back down, closing her eyes. All she wanted was sleep. The fungal growth made some sleeping positions uncomfortable, so she opted for simply lying on her back, letting out a tired sigh.

Sleep never actually caught up to her, though, as she heard the sound of voices from outside.

The voices were loud and clear, not coming from outside the van but from a distance. Ellie was startled at the fact that she could hear them so clearly from seemingly so far away and could even differentiate the tone of each voice – a woman and a man. She remained still, wondering if they were just wanderers.

It was impossible to try to sleep then, because all she could hear was their conversation. She picked up every word.

"We've been walking for ages and haven't found anything."

"I'm sure we'll find somewhere to hole up eventually. We gotta keep searchi-"

"Hey! Look up ahead! Is that a van?"

"Holy shit. Let's get closer and check it out."

Ellie had immediately raised up in bed, grabbing her bag that was right next to her and unzipping it with great haste. She reached in and grabbed her pistol, reloading it swiftly. She stayed where she was, keeping the weapon firmly grasped within her hand. She listened closely to the people's footsteps, continuing to listen to the words exchanged between them (not that she had much of a choice because their voices were so goddamn loud– her hearing had drastically improved).

"You think there's anyone in there?"

"One way to find out."

"We should knock."

"Or we could just-"

"Let's knock, Travis. If someone is in there we could get shot on sight."

"Fine."

After several minutes, Ellie could tell that they were right outside the entrance to the van. She kept her finger gently resting on the trigger, completely still, like a snake silently waiting to attack its prey. She could hear every thump of her heartbeat in her ears.

Then, she heard another sound. The sound of knocking. It was heavy and loud, the person making their presence known. The deeper voice of the man had asked a question from outside the door.

"Is anyone in there?"

Ellie didn't respond; not right away, anyway. She slowly got out of bed, coming just slightly closer to the door, keeping her gun trained in that direction. Fatigue was still coursing through her, but she used what little strength she had to keep her arms steady and her gaze focused. After clearing her throat, Ellie replied.

"What do you want?" She asked, her voice calm but firm.

There was silence on the other end for a few minutes before the woman responded.

"We don't want any trouble. We've been walking for a while and we need someplace to rest. I'm Kathy, and the voice you heard before is my husband, Travis."

Ellie remained silent. Travis spoke up again.

"Please. My wife is pregnant." He said, his voice wavering.

Ellie sighed, lowering the gun, but keeping it within her grasp. She weighed her options, feeling conflicted with the choices presented to her. Ellie wanted to invite them in, The van was a small space, and it would certainly begin to feel claustrophobic with the addition of two people, but she was vehemently against the idea of sending them walking again. Ellie had so much blood on her hands from taking away so many lives on her journey for vengeance, but now, with her violent history behind her, the least she could do was help people when they needed helping. But Ellie was also fully aware of what she looked like at the moment; these people probably wouldn’t want to be around her for very long. They may even shoot her on sight once she opens the door. She walks like a human, and talks like a human, but her body took on a drastic transformation, one that would definitely cause people to look at her differently. People were going to fear her and Ellie was going to be even more isolated than she already was.

She had only been living out of the van for a few weeks; it was only just now starting to feel like home. But she knew the choice she had to make. The choice she wanted to make.

Ellie must've been silent for too long, prompting Kathy to speak again.

"Please." Was all she said, her tone hopeful. Ellie took small steps toward the door, unlocking it, before backing up again. Her finger was still just barely brushing against the trigger of the gun as spoke, her voice just barely loud enough for them to hear, “come in.”

They didn't come in immediately. Ellie imagined that they both must've been taken aback by being invited in and expected to be shooed away. But, after only a couple of minutes, the door was opened, the hinges emitting a loud, telltale creak.

Kathy and Travis had stepped inside the van tentatively. When their eyes landed on Ellie standing across from them, Travis wasted no time in slinging his rifle off of his shoulder and pointing it directly at her.

“What the hell – you’re – you’re infected–” He stammered, eyes wide, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

Kathy had defensively pulled out a pistol from a holster that was attached to her thigh, but she wasn’t aiming it. Instead, she merely looked at Ellie, eyebrows drawn together in bewilderment. Travis had stepped in front of her protectively, but Kathy immediately stepped aside him again, placing a hand on Travis’s rifle and gently lowering it. Travis’s eyes snapped to his wife, and he raised an eyebrow at her, as if silently questioning her.

“It’s okay, Travis. Relax.” Kathy said in a soft-spoken yet firm voice. Travis couldn’t seem to take her advice, shoulders still visibly tense, his fingers gripping his rifle tightly as if the weapon would grow wings and fly away. Nonetheless, he didn’t try to retaliate, and he let his wife try to take control of the situation. But he kept his eyes trained on Ellie carefully, prepared to strike if the situation ever called for it.

Kathy continued to speak. “I’ve never seen someone like you before. You look like a clicker… but you’re not… y’know, batshit crazy.” She said.

“I don’t know what happened. I can’t– I couldn’t explain it to you. But I promise I’m not… a threat.” Ellie responded.

Travis scoffed. It seemed like he gave all his might to stay silent but eventually caved in and spoke anyway, much to his wife’s distaste. “Bullshit. Just because you may be walking and talking like us doesn’t mean anything. You could still just suddenly snap for all we know.” He replied. Kathy placed a gentle hand on Travis’s shoulder, but the glare she had sent him was anything but gentle. Travis could only laugh in response, as if what he said was something completely absurd and not within the realm of possibility.

“Why are you looking at me like that, honey? Do you seriously feel safe around her? We need to go somewhere else.”

Kathy immediately shook her head. “No. We’ve been walking around for hours. I’m fucking exhausted, Travis! I’m not going back out there. I’m not.”

Travis gave Ellie a quick up and down, disgust written all over his face. “I’m not sharing this van with her. She is a danger to us all. You’re pregnant, and I can’t risk anything.”

“And you’re gonna make a pregnant woman walk some more?”

“Goddamn it, Kathy, we don’t know what we’re working with here!”

Kathy crossed her arms in growing frustration, her jaw clenched as she tried to remain level-headed. Ellie had gotten enough of their bickering and moved to the bed to retrieve her backpack. Travis’s eyes had quickly bounced to Ellie the second he saw her movement out of the corner of his eye. Kathy turned her head to observe Ellie as well, and they both fell silent. Ellie could feel their eyes boring into the back of her skull as she holstered her gun and put her journal inside her backpack, zipping it closed. She felt her back pocket briefly, just to make certain that her switchblade was there. Lastly, she grabbed Joel’s tan leather jacket from where it had been haphazardly thrown on the bed, hastily putting it on. When she had everything she needed, she turned around, yet again meeting eyes with the married couple who watched her every move. It was almost as if they were waiting for her to twitch.

Ellie cleared her throat. “The van is all yours.” she firmly stated, leaving no room for disagreement, making her way toward the door. Travis didn’t waste a second moving out of the way of the door, but Kathy was hesitant; she stayed standing where she was as if she was tethered to the floor, looking at Ellie pitifully. Her lips were fixed in a slight frown and her expression could only be read as sympathetic. Ellie mustered a barely noticeable smile, hoping to extinguish any feelings of sorrow that Kathy was feeling.

Kathy stood in front of the door for several minutes before finally moving to the side, joining her husband. Ellie sauntered toward the door, her footsteps heavy, but before she left, she glanced at the married couple over her shoulder one last time. Kathy had waved at her, returning the same smile that Ellie had given mere seconds ago. Her eyes then migrated to Travis, who’s expression was dour, large hands still clutching his gun; Kathy had holstered hers long ago.

Despite the situation that Ellie found herself in, she could only feel content. The travel van that she was just beginning to call her home was no longer hers, but she didn’t feel sorrow when she had to part with it. Ellie’s conscience was put at ease knowing that she had just helped a couple, soon-to-be-family, find somewhere stable and mostly secure to settle down in, even if just for the time being.

She stole one last look at the van, before focusing her attention on the imaginary path ahead of her – but she had only taken a couple of steps before she heard the door of the van swing open once more. She turned around, being greeted by Kathy, who was holding a handful of granola bars with an apologetic smile. She waved Ellie over, gesturing for her to come closer. Ellie obeyed, silently walking over and looking at her curiously.

When she approached, she held out her hands, waiting for Ellie to accept her offering. "Take these," she said, voice firm. "It wouldn't be right for us to kick you out and not give you a, uh…. parting gift, of some sort." She spoke.

Ellie shook her head. "You didn't kick me out. It's okay, really," she glanced at the granola bars in Kathy's hands. "And you should keep those. Any kind of food is hard to come by all the way out here."

Kathy sighed, eyebrows furrowing in bubbling impatience. Suddenly, with confident strides, she walked behind Ellie and unzipped her backpack, stuffing the granola bars inside. "Exactly, which is even more of a reason to give you these." She said as she closed up the backpack. When she was facing Ellie again, she let out a series of chuckles upon seeing Ellie's look of defeat, standing there with her bag just a little heavier.

Ellie adjusted the straps of her backpack as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Thanks. That was, uh… really kind of you."

Kathy absentmindedly rested her hand on her protruding stomach. "It was the least I could do."

There were a few beats of silence that passed between the two women as they looked at each other, sharing glances of mutual acknowledgment at the fact they would be parting ways. Kathy gave Ellie one final grin, waving once more and waiting half a second for Ellie to wave back, before heading back toward the entrance of the van. Ellie continued to stare until the door was closed shut.

Once again, that familiar feeling of loneliness had reappeared as she looked at the road ahead of her, walking forward into the unknown.

She wasn’t sure where she was going, she was simply letting her feet take her where they wanted to go. Ellie wasn’t in any rush, either, walking casually as if she was taking a stroll in the park. On either side of her was nothing but forest, the trees tall and imposing, the leaves moving gracefully in the breeze, seemingly breathing as if alive. There were plenty of broken down cars alongside the road, and the occasional animal that would always scurry away once they picked up Ellie’s scent.

The sky was still a captivating blend of oranges and pinks, but it was noticeably getting darker. There was a slight chill in the air, causing Ellie to wrap Joel's– her jacket around her body more securely, tucking her hands inside of her arms, trying to keep them warm. She was grateful for the granola bars that Kathy had given her, having devoured two of them earlier along her journey. If only she had water to wash everything down; the assortment of nuts and oats not doing much for her already dry throat.

Surprisingly, she hadn’t encountered much trouble during her walk. It was almost unsettling, how barren the world around her was. Ellie observed her surroundings closely, her eyes moving a mile a minute as she anticipated an ambush, whether it be from people or infected. She was tense, ready to pull her pistol from its holster at the slightest of sounds. But the journey remained relatively peaceful. It was a stark contrast from places like Seattle, where Ellie couldn’t go anywhere without a Wolf or a Scar ready to ruin her plans. For the first time ever, even if only momentarily, being alone was not a miserable experience for Ellie, but a tranquil one. She closed her eyes, losing herself in the calming amalgamation of nature’s sounds and the sound of her feet softly hitting the pavement. It was during this moment that fatigue was settling within her aching bones, her gait gradually becoming slower, her eyelids getting harder and harder to keep open without effort. Ellie briefly considered curling up on the side of the road, but as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she was startled awake by the sound of loud and penetrating voices hitting her ears.

Her eyes shot open, looking left, right, and behind her, before realizing that the voices were coming from up ahead. She heard the sound of a group of men conversing with one another before she actually saw them.

“I’m fucking starving. I could eat a horse.”

“We’re all hungry. Just stop complaining, for fuck’s sake.”

“We’re in shitty shape, man. No food. No shelter. Barely any water because your dumbass drank it all. Y’know, I think it’s your fault we’re in this situation.”

“Are you two really bickering right now? Shut the fuck up, Jesus.”

It was mostly dark now, so she quickly turned on her flashlight, but the light was dim and barely helped her with seeing a few feet in front of her. A curse word fell from her lips, knowing full well she didn’t have spare batteries. She thought it would be a better idea to conserve what little light the flashlight was producing, clicking it off.

The group of men had come into Ellie’s view eventually, and she noticed that they were all heavily armed, with a dog keeping close to their side. Ellie removed her pistol from its holster, gripping it securely. It took several minutes for the men to notice her, but when they did, they stopped for a few long seconds, exchanging words with one another, their voices barely above a whisper. Little did they know, Ellie’s hearing had bettered significantly, and she was tuning in to every sentence.

“That woman looks pretty fucked up. I say we leave her alone.”

“She’s got a backpack. It might be worth searching.”

“Let’s just focus on getting where we need to go-”

“It’s four of us, one of her. We can take her out easily. Let’s get closer.”

Ellie’s finger was now resting on the trigger of her gun. She continued walking closer to them, slowly closing the distance between them. One of the men leading the group spoke first.

“Hey! You there! You alright?” He shouted. He was clad in all black, a shotgun being held in his grasp.

Ellie didn’t respond. Once again, she began observing her surroundings, searching for a potential escape route. Ellie realized fairly quickly that her best bet would be darting off into the forest if she wanted to lose them. The second man who was walking beside the leader nudged his arm to grab his attention, a sickening smirk resting on his lips. He was carrying another long gun; a rifle. He muttered something else to the man in charge, which obviously did not go unnoticed by Ellie.

“Is she deaf, or what?” He said with a chuckle. The leader only glared at him, effectively silencing him as he returned his attention to Ellie. The distance between her and the men was shrinking, and Ellie, not wanting to immediately provoke them, began walking backwards. She had passed a clearing into the forest on her right side, and decided that she would make a mad dash through the trees.

The leader provoked Ellie once more, this time, his voice much less friendly than before. “Where are you going? We just wanna talk. Maybe we could help each other out.”

On the surface, his request sounded innocent, but by the sinister smiles plastered on his henchmen’s face, to the overall intimidating nature that they all shared, Ellie had put two and two together.

But, in typical Ellie fashion, she gave them all the finger before sprinting into the clearing, narrowly avoiding gunshots, the harsh and piercing sound of bullets firing clashing with the gentler sounds of the natural world around them.

With only the moon illuminating Ellie’s path, she had a difficult time trying to see exactly where she was going, noticing a large branch on the ground just a couple seconds too late, tripping over it and landing on the ground. It was during this fall that she also noticed there was a steep incline, steeper than she thought it was, and she was sent rolling down a small hill. She was stopped by a large, thick log, rolling into it and feeling the pain shoot through her shoulder.

Ellie was effectively winded, frozen on the ground as she tried to recuperate, breathing in and out through her nose heavily. Adrenaline had long been running through her veins, giving her just enough energy to power through the intense pain in her shoulder to stand up. She blinked a few times, her vision spotty; and once she was able to see the environment around her clearly again, she soon realized that her gun had fallen out of her hand some time during her trip down the hill. Panic hit her hard like a bucket of cold ice water as she fell to the ground again, knees digging into the dirt as she pushed away fallen leaves, feeling for the cold metal of her pistol. The men were surely chasing after her and she knew her gun was around here somewhere.

As if matters couldn't get any worse, Ellie picked up the telltale sound of groans and clicking in the distance that never failed to send chills down her spine; and the sounds were very quickly getting closer.

When Ellie had finally found her pistol, she hastily brushed off leaves and dirt, but before she could even make her next move, there was a horde of infected already shambling toward her from behind, snarling and feral. Ellie was stuck in a crossroads, not wanting to turn her back on the road – but the infected made themselves the more immediate problem. Ellie could see them getting closer and closer. She raised her arm, releasing shaky breaths. She took one step back – stepping on a large rock and losing her footing.

When she felt herself falling to the ground again, a loud shriek escaped her throat, followed by a string of profanities. The infected were right in front of her now, and there was no way Ellie could get back up in time to defend herself.

“She ran in here!” She heard one of the men shout. Ellie shut her eyes tight, believing that her fate had already been sealed, waiting to either get torn apart by the runners or shot to death by the men.

But neither happened.

The infected had completely surrounded her, but they weren’t attacking. No, they weren’t even looking at Ellie. They seemed to be attracted to the sound of the men shouting, looking around frantically, groaning and convulsing, completely animalistic at the smell of fresh meat. Ellie looked up at them from where she was still lying on the ground, complete and utter bewilderment coloring her features. They weren’t interested in her.

Ellie stood up, slowly, brushing herself off. All of the runners had glanced at her and were aware of their presence, and yet they never touched her; she might as well have been a tree or a rock with how disinterested they were in her.

When the men finally caught up, out of breath and red in the face, they looked ahead, immediately noticing the hoard. But they also noticed Ellie standing directly in the center of it.

One of the henchmen’s jaws practically dropped to the forest floor, watching the sight in front of him in disbelief, fear chilling him to the bone and keeping him frozen. All of the men shared a similar expression, and Ellie could only chuckle at how their eyes comically popped out of their heads.

“Look, everyone.” Ellie spoke to the infected as if they were old friends, feeling a newfound power. “Fresh meat.”

As if on cue, the runners attacked the four men before they could regain their wits and aim their weapons. The runners wasted no time in digging in, the men screaming in unimaginable agony – until they weren’t, and only the sounds of aggressive chewing could be heard. The dog that was with them had sprinted off into the forest, and Ellie watched the fluffy animal disappear into the distance before refocusing her attention on the runners and their feast.

While the runners were eating, Ellie approached the corpses, checking their pockets (she had to push some runners out of the way, to which some of them would grumble angrily before deciding to snack elsewhere). She took whatever ammunition she could find, stealing the rifle and shotgun as well, both weapons fortunately having been equipped with shoulder straps for easy transportation.

One of the henchmen, who was in the middle of having his leg devoured, had a map in his pocket. When Ellie unfolded it, she gave it a quick once over and realized that it was a map leading to Jackson. Ellie wasn’t sure where she was, but according to the map, Jackson was merely miles away. Not exactly close on foot, but just knowing that the place she once called her home was somewhat nearby took her by surprise. Her plans on returning to Jackson had effectively been turned upside down after the transformations that her body had undergone – but she pocketed the map anyway. Besides showing the location of Jackson, it also displayed nearby restaurants and convenience stores, which could definitely be worth scavenging.

She let the runners finish their meal, walking a little bit further into the forest and sitting down on a tree stump to catch her breath and process everything that had just occurred within the last several minutes.

She turned on her flashlight, removing her backpack from her shoulders. The dim lighting was just enough for Ellie to locate her journal within the bag. She pulled it out, as well as a pen, and opened her journal to a fresh page. She felt the need to document the changes that were happening to her body to better understand everything that she had been experiencing.

Before she began writing, though, she reached into her bag once more to pull out a granola bar. After unwrapping it, she finished it in just a few bites. She threw the wrapper to the ground and finally put her pen to the paper.

Okay. I totally just fucking cheated death just now.

Not only are mushrooms growing out of me, but I have superpowers too, apparently.

I can hear peoples’ voices from miles away as if they’re standing right next to me. I can smell everything around me – the grass, the soil, rotting animal carcasses… I could even faintly smell those guys who tried to kill me before I even saw them.

I also feel hunger more intensely than the average person. Whenever I get hungry, I get these god awful cramps that hurt more than any other kind of pain I’ve ever fucking experienced. Thankfully, though, I haven’t felt the desire to eat human flesh. Not yet, anyway.

The craziest thing, though, is the fact that other infected don't even pay attention to me. Like I’m not even there. They get close to me, but they aren’t hostile. I still can’t believe it.

When all this shit started happening to me, I thought I was some kind of monster. But all of these… symptoms of my infection… are actually proving to be kind of useful. I’m conflicted.

I’ve never felt more alone. There’s nobody else going through this but me. I wish I had answers. I wish

Ellie stopped mid-sentence when she felt a cold nose poking her hand. Startled, she retracted her hand, but her nerves were quickly calmed when she noticed that it was the dog from earlier. He was a beautiful golden retriever, although he wasn’t very golden anymore because of how dirty he was. A small grin broke out on Ellie’s face, and she reached her hand out, hesitant, anticipating aggressiveness, but the dog didn’t growl or bare any teeth – instead, he sat there patiently, tail wagging as he waited to be pet. Ellie did just that, running her fingers through his slightly matted fur. Pets were never really Ellie’s thing – but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t thoroughly enjoying the furry friend’s company.

“Hey, buddy,” Ellie said softly. “I thought you had run away.”

The dog just continued to sit there, staring up at Ellie with big, round eyes. Ellie’s heart was warm at how truly and undeniably adorable he was. In a world full of ugly people, infected and non-infected alike, this wide-eyed golden retriever that was currently resting his head on Ellie’s leg, satisfied at receiving affection, was a reminder that not everything in this world was ugly.

An idea had popped into Ellie’s mind, causing her to momentarily pause the headpats that she was giving. The dog whined, nudging her hand. Ellie giggled at the feeling.

“Wait just a moment, buddy. Are you hungry? I got something for you.” Ellie said.

She closed her journal and put it back in her bag, the pen acting as a bookmark, mentally making a note that she would finish the entry later. She then pulled out the very last granola bar (it was chocolate free, Ellie noted).

The dog’s ears perked up at the crinkle of the wrapper. When the granola bar was free from its plastic sheath, Ellie placed it in the palm of her hand, holding it out to him. The dog sniffed the bar curiously, briefly looking up at Ellie as if asking for permission to eat it. Ellie smiled. “Go on. It’s all yours.” She muttered, and as if the dog could understand her, he gobbled up the granola bar in one bite.

While he was chewing, Ellie glanced at the dog’s neck. She noticed that he was wearing a collar. She reached out and grabbed the silver pendant, holding up the flashlight in front of it to read the engraving.

“Your name is… Otis? God, who would name you Otis?” Ellie spoke in an amused tone, a laugh bubbling out of her throat.

After the touching moment, silence had befell the both of them briefly. Otis’s head had returned to its resting position on top of Ellie’s leg, and Ellie absentmindedly continued petting him as she stared off into space. It was nearly pitch black outside if not for the moonlight and Ellie didn’t feel entirely comfortable continuing her journey on the road without being able to see her surroundings very well – it seemed like another ambush just waiting to happen. But Ellie didn’t seem to have much of a choice; sleeping in the middle of the forest didn’t seem to provide a lot of safety either.

The gears in Ellie’s mind were turning as she considered her options. But she was suddenly stirred by her thoughts when Otis had run off into the distance, and Ellie had immediately missed the warmth of his head on her leg and the feeling of his fur between her fingers. She sighed, getting up and slinging her backpack on, her muscles sore and aching from the events that had transpired just moments prior. She could especially feel the pain in her shoulder now that the adrenaline had dissipated. She knew without even having to look at it that there was definitely a pretty black and blue bruise that had formed.

Ellie stood up from the tree stump, stretching her limbs, before making her way back to the open road.

She didn’t get very far, though, when she heard two loud barks. She froze in her tracks, a smile almost immediately breaking out on her face when she turned around to be met with Otis again. She kneeled down and opened her arms, to which Otis ran into Ellie’s embrace happily.

“Are you gonna leave me or not? Make up your mind, little guy.” She asked playfully. Otis barked again, and Ellie put a finger to her lips as if Otis could understand what that meant.

“Quiet, boy. We don’t wanna attract any unwanted attention, yeah? I’m still pretty worn out from earlier, aren’t you?” Ellie questioned with a lighthearted chuckle.

Otis allowed Ellie to pet him a few more times before removing himself from her arms and scurrying off again, but this time he stopped just a little bit ahead of Ellie, staring at her with those big, round eyes. His tail was wagging behind him excitedly. Ellie cocked her head, much like a confused animal would, returning the eye contact with Otis.

“What is it, boy?” Ellie asked. Otis trotted only a tad further into the distance before stopping again and turning his head to look at Ellie once more.

“Ah, I see,” Ellie began. “You want me to, uh… follow you?”

As if trying to answer her question, Otis barked again. Ellie immediately kicked into gear, following the dog just to get him to stop making noise.

“Okay, okay.” Ellie said.

Ellie followed Otis silently, wondering to herself why she was even following some random dog in the first place. You should be back on that road, Ellie thought. This is a complete waste of time.

Ellie sighed, considering turning around and leaving the dog for good as it seemed like he just wanted to go on a stroll, until she saw something just up ahead. A cabin.

Otis had led Ellie to shelter.

A grin that stretched from ear to ear appeared on Ellie's face, her eyes widening in surprise. She called Otis over and showered him affection, endless praise spilling from her lips.

"You're the best, aren't you, boy? I'll take this over a fucking travel van any day."

Ellie slowly walked up to the cabin, Otis following close behind. From what she could see outside, she noticed a warm, faint glow emanating through the front windows, perhaps from a fireplace or a lantern.

Removing her pistol from its holster, she knocked on the large wooden door. It didn’t open immediately, which Ellie had expected. Instead, she heard a muffled voice from the other side.

“What do you want?” She said curtly, her voice stern. Otis’s ears perked up at the sound of the person’s voice, her tail wagging in eagerness.

“I don’t want any trouble. I, uh… I need somewhere to sleep for the night.” Ellie replied. There was silence on the other end for several minutes as the person was seemingly contemplating. The silence stretched on for so long that even Otis had become impatient, letting out high-pitched whines. Ellie placed a comforting hand on his head, rubbing gently.

Ellie sighed, tiredly running her other hand through her unkempt hair. “Please… I just need someplace to rest-”

Her sentence had abruptly ended when the door had finally swung open, and she was met with the barrel of a gun being pointed directly into her face. In mere seconds, Ellie raised both of her arms, her gaze shifting from the weapon to the woman’s steel gaze. She looked to be no younger than Ellie, or possibly slightly older, and she had long, dark hair collected into two braids that complimented her olive skin tone. She was clad in white jeans (that were definitely whiter when we're brand new) and a forest green blouse, a black jacket over her shoulders. Ellie noticed that her eyes had widened considerably, as she was visibly bewildered by Ellie’s appearance.

“You– You have fifteen seconds. I suggest you leave.” The woman threatened.

“I’m not infected! I know what this looks like, but please-” Ellie started, but the woman only stepped closer to her, the pointed gun in her hands never wavering for a second, to which Ellie subsequently took a small step back.

“Bullshit.” The woman spat.

“I swear.” Ellie replied. She could see the woman’s eyes rake across her skin as she observed her closely. She had fallen silent now, and Ellie could tell the woman was mulling over a decision in her mind. While she was taking those few minutes to contemplate, Ellie spoke again.

“Look, I can’t explain– this whole situation,” Ellie said, gesturing to the fungal growth that covered her body. “But I won’t hurt you.”

The woman still kept her contemplative gaze, but her eye contact with Ellie was broken when she noticed a small movement out of the corner of her eye. When the woman looked down, that’s when she noticed Otis, lying patiently next to Ellie’s shoes, her head resting on the top of her paws. The woman’s hand began to shake as she finally felt her resolve crumble, and with a sigh, she lowered her weapon, stepping aside to make room for Ellie and her furry friend to come in.

“Get inside. Quickly.” She said curtly. Ellie didn’t hesitate, walking into the woman’s residence with hurried steps, Otis following behind her.

When Ellie had come in, the woman poked her head outside once more, looking left, and then looking right, before shutting it closed and locking it behind her. Ellie briefly watched as Kennedy grabbed a nearby chair and placed it under the doorknob.

Upon being welcomed inside, Ellie took several moments to observe her new surroundings. Ellie could tell she was in the middle of a living room, noticing a couch, recliner, and a glass coffee table among other things. There was a fireplace in said living room, the sound of the fire crackling resonating throughout the small space and basking it in a warm, orange glow. In front of the glowing fire was a small throw pillow and a blanket that had been folded to create a makeshift mattress of sorts, as well as another, slightly smaller blanket folded on top. Ellie removed her jacket, already beginning to feel quite warm, the heat of the fire having effectively filled the entire room. She wasn’t sure how long the woman would let her stay for, but she was going to enjoy every second. After placing her long guns on the table, Ellie made her way toward the fireplace, sitting down in front of it and holding out her hands. Otis had the same idea, taking his spot next to Ellie.

The woman was still standing by the door, gun in hand, but her finger wasn’t on the trigger. She watched Ellie closely, her eyes raking over all the parts of Ellie’s body where fungal growth could be seen. The woman still chose to keep her distance, as she wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from the mysterious stranger.

Ellie felt a pair of eyes on her back, and she turned around to be met with the woman’s stare. Ellie wasn’t surprised in the slightest that the woman seemed to be put off by her presence. She didn’t question her blatant discomfort and opted for making light conversation instead.

“Thanks. For letting me in.” Ellie started. She wasn’t really expecting a response, so she turned her back toward the woman again, her mind wandering elsewhere as she observed the burning wood.

“No problem.” The woman replied, much to Ellie’s surprise. Ellie turned back around and saw that the woman’s eyes were no longer cold and sharp but instead much warmer, softer, a glint of curiosity hidden in them. Her voice had also lost its sternness, her words coming out much lighter. She opened her mouth to speak again.

“I’m Kennedy.” She said. Ellie repeated the name in her head, even though she’d probably be asked to leave after a couple of days and would never see her again. Regardless of how long she would know this woman, she couldn’t think of a reason to not share her name as well.

“Ellie.” She said simply.

Kennedy gave her a small, barely noticeable grin of acknowledgment. After the exchange of names, they were both quiet for a few minutes as the both of them tried to move past the initial stage of meeting someone. Kennedy remained rooted in front of the door, leaning against it and holstering her weapon. Ellie was in the middle of running her fingers through Otis’s fur, watching the tufts of golden blonde poke through the space in between them, when Kennedy decided to break the ice first.

“So… where did you come from?” She asked. Ellie knew that Kennedy probably had more pressing questions at the tip of her tongue, more than likely relating to the fact that she was covered in bites and had mushrooms emerging from her skin, but wasn’t ready to ask. At least, not yet.

“I stayed in an old travel van a few miles from here. It was shitty but better than nothing.” She replied. Kennedy nodded, listening intently.

“I see… so you walked all the way here, I presume?”

“Yeah,” Ellie said. She cleared her throat. “What about you? How’d you even find this place?”

Kennedy chuckled softly. “Before I came here I was with a group of people. We were living out of some grocery store. Got separated…” she trailed off, staring at the hard wood floor beneath her blankly. Ellie sensed that she had begun reliving some kind of unpleasant memory, but before she could say anything about it, Kennedy shook her head, as if trying to dispel the sudden thought.

“We, um, got separated, and I ran off in a random direction. I guess I just got lucky… coming across this.” She said, gesturing to the cabin itself.

“Real lucky.” Ellie added. Kennedy nodded in agreement.

“Yeah…” she said quietly.

Suddenly, she stopped leaning on the door and walked toward Ellie, grabbing a backpack that had been placed on the recliner on the way, before sitting down next to her on her folded blanket. She still left a considerable amount of space between them.

“How long have you been staying here?” Ellie questioned.

“Only for a few days. I actually plan on leaving tomorrow morning, though.”

Ellie perked up at that. “Where to?”

“A place called Jackson.”

Ellie fell silent, feeling a familiar tenseness in her shoulders. Her stare was blank as she looked ahead at the flames in front of her.

“Jackson?”

Kennedy looked at Ellie quizzically. “Yeah. You heard of it? Had a friend tell me that they had food, clean water, shelter, electricity, a decently sized community… seems like a great place to stay. It could be a rumor for all I know, but I had to find out for myself.”

“I know about Jackson,” Ellie replied. Kennedy looked at Ellie in surprise.

“Are you from there?” She asked excitedly, eyes shimmering with hope.

“I, um… know about people from there.”

A smile had broken out on Kennedy’s face upon hearing this information. She scooted closer to Ellie, and whether it was a subconscious or conscious action, Ellie wasn’t sure.

“Would you happen to know if it’s nearby? All my friend told me was to keep heading north. At least, that’s what she heard from other people.”

Ellie’s eyebrows had furrowed slightly in confusion. “She didn’t give you any landmarks, at least?”

Kennedy shook her head. “No..” she said.

“So you’ve just been wandering around, hoping and praying to some higher power that you’re going in the right direction?” Ellie couldn’t hide the amusement in her tone nor could she fight the smile that was tugging on the corner of her lips. Kennedy also found herself sporting a mirthful expression in response to Ellie’s blatant teasing.

“Listen, a lead is a lead, okay? Now, do you know if Jackson is close by or not?” Kennedy asked, suppressing giggles that threatened to bubble from her throat.

“You really are lucky, then. You’re not too far off. But, uh,” Ellie thought about the map that she found earlier. She grabbed her backpack, opening it up and pulling out the folded piece of paper from inside. She handed it to Kennedy.

"This might help you out." Ellie said.

Kennedy could only gawk at the piece of paper, effectively being stunned into silence. She stared at it for a few long seconds as if she thought it was going to vanish from Ellie’s hand. She accepted the map, looking at it in awe.

“Holy shit. How did you find this?”

“I guess I… got lucky?” Ellie replied, echoing Kennedy’s words from earlier, to which Kennedy let out a genuine, hearty laugh that shook her whole body and even had Otis poking his head up in curiosity, disturbed by all of the sudden ruckus.

Ellie noticed Kennedy’s wide smile, mirroring the expression. Kennedy’s laugh was truly contagious, and the infectiousness of the sound had spread to Ellie, causing a few chuckles to escape her throat.

Eventually, Kennedy had calmed down, feeling a little out of breath from the exertion that comes from having a good laugh.

“Thank you, Ellie. Really.” Kennedy said. “I’m… glad you found me when you did.”

Ellie shrugged. She felt that same warmth she felt when she helped the married couple just mere hours ago. “Don’t mention it.”

After tucking away the map in her backpack, Kennedy began rummaging inside for something else. She found what she was searching for eventually, pulling out a tupperware bowl full of clean cuts of meat. Ellie wasn’t even fully aware of how hungry she actually was until seeing it, and Otis was now giving Kennedy all of his attention, automatically equating the bowl in Kennedy’s hand to something to do with food.

“Please excuse my lack of hospitality,” Kennedy said, teasingly. “You must be pretty hungry, huh? Here, you can have this.” She outstretched her arm and offered Ellie the bowl of meat, to which Ellie gladly accepted and tore open the lid in the blink of an eye.

“Thanks,” she said. “A lot.”

Kennedy chuckled. “It’s not a problem. Oh, and there should be enough in there for the dog, too.” She said.

Before Ellie dove in and had a few strips herself, she took out some pieces of meat to give Otis. Otis ate them happily, tail wagging against the rug. Once Otis was satisfied and taken care of, Ellie ate the remaining pieces, so hungry that she was eating faster than she intended to but she didn’t really care all that much. The meat was bland, like she expected it to be. It wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to at this point. She still devoured the meat anyway, too starved to give a damn.

There was a comfortable silence that had fallen over the both of them as they sat in front of the fire. Ellie didn’t realize it until now, but she missed being in the company of somebody else. She missed having someone to have a conversation with, and for once, it was nice to feel truly safe. In the travel van, she always found herself peering out of its few windows at the slightest noise. There was obviously no one around to speak to; to befriend.

She thought she had gotten used to being alone. But Kennedy made her realize that she was far from truly accepting her loneliness. Ellie didn’t want the sun to rise, because then that meant Kennedy would leave; and her worst fear would become true once more.

But she knew she couldn’t talk Kennedy out of her trip. She wouldn’t want to, anyway. Ellie knew that Jackson would be a far better place for her than in a small cabin out in the middle of the woods.

“I want to ask you a few things.” Kennedy’s voice pulled Ellie out of her mind.

“Ask away.” Ellie said. She braced herself.

“So. You’re immune.” Kennedy didn’t phrase it like a question; more like a statement, to which Ellie nodded.

“Yeah.”

“When… when did you find that out?”

Ellie sighed, taking some minutes to compose herself. “When I was 14.” she replied, silently hoping that Kennedy wouldn’t pry for more information after that.

“Shit. You were so young.” Kennedy said. Ellie nodded.

“Can I… touch it? I won’t hurt you, will I?” Kennedy inquired. It had caught Ellie a little off guard, but she was thankful that Kennedy wasn’t asking for more details about how she got her first bite, so she didn’t mind. She held out her arm, and Kennedy had reached out her hand but she hesitated. She met Ellie’s eyes, once again asking for permission non-verbally, to which Ellie simply nodded.

Kennedy’s fingers slowly touched the fungal growth on Ellie’s arm. She did the same thing Ellie did when she first got it, tugging on them and attempting to twist and bend them. Kennedy’s expression was that of innocent curiosity as she continued to feel Ellie’s arm. She glanced up at Ellie occasionally, checking for any signs of discomfort, but Ellie only sat there patiently.

“They’re so hard,” Kennedy observed. “And it doesn’t hurt?”

Ellie lightly shook her head. “No, I promise. It’s itchy sometimes. That’s about it.”

“I see. Man, it’s crazy to see these things up close. Can’t really get close to a clicker.” Kennedy said. Ellie exhaled sharply through her nose, the sound resembling something of a chuckle.

“I didn’t think anyone like you even existed. I wonder if there’s more immune people.”

Ellie quickly shook her head. Kennedy noticed the slight movement out of the corner of her eyes. She was finished analyzing Ellie’s arm, meeting Ellie’s gaze. She was quiet, allowing Ellie to elaborate.

“There is no one else.” Ellie said softly but with finality in her tone, her eyes filled with sincerity.

“There has to be. I mean, people could be hiding it or something. It’s not like they can just go around telling ever-”

“There is. No one. Else.” Ellie interrupted, her voice coming out more stern then she intended it to. Kennedy was effectively silenced, and Ellie watched the hope dissipate from her eyes as she leaned back, hugging her knees to her chest and staring off into the fire. Ellie mentally cursed herself for being the one to suddenly shift the mood.

“Shit. I’m sorry.” Ellie said.

After a few beats of silence, Kennedy sighed. "It's okay. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable."

Ellie was quick to distinguish any ounce of self-blame that Kennedy was feeling. "You didn't. I didn't mean for it to come out the way."

Kennedy gave Ellie a small smile. "It's alright, Ellie. Let's just move on, yeah?"

Ellie nodded, wordlessly agreeing. She cleared her throat.

"So, anyway… you wouldn't happen to have anything to wash this down with, would you?"

Kennedy once again reached into her bag and pulled out a canteen. She shook it, and she frowned when she heard that there was very little water left.

"This is all I have. But you can have the rest of it."

Ellie was quick to decline. "No… you'll need that for your trip tomorrow-"

"Please." Kennedy insisted, a faint grin resting on her lips and a finality in her tone that Ellie just couldn't say no to. She accepted the water, nodding her head as a silent thanks.

She wasted no time in chugging the remaining water that was inside the canteen, eagerly lapping up every last drop. Otis stared at her curiously, whining to get Ellie's attention; but Ellie had already emptied the canteen.

Ellie looked down at Otis apologetically, petting the top of her head for compensation. “I’m sorry, buddy.”

Kennedy frowned while observing the interaction, immediately being kicked into action. She grabbed her gun and reached out her hand to take the canteen. “I can get some more water. The nearest lake is a bit of a walk, but-”

“It’s alright,” Ellie started. “I’m sure he can make it through the night.”

“You sure?” Kennedy asked. Ellie nodded.

“Okay.” She replied, sitting back down in front of the fire.

With an audible yawn, Kennedy laid down on her back. Ellie continued sitting upright, staring emptily into the fire.

“Aren’t you tired, Ellie?” Kennedy asked. Ellie just shrugged.

“I’m fine. Just… thought I should keep an eye out.” She replied.

Kennedy chuckled at Ellie’s paranoia. “Hey, we’re safe here, I promise. I’ve been alone here for a while now and you’re the first person to find this place.”

Ellie would be lying if she said that she wasn’t beginning to feel the exhaustion overtaking her. Aside from the fact that she had quite the tiring day, many of the nights she spent in the travel van were sleepless ones, and all those missed hours of rest were certainly catching up to her. She could feel it in the way her bones ached with every slight movement, and how her eyelids were getting heavier and heavier with each passing minute. Even Otis had fallen asleep before her, lying on his side, his chest rising and falling slowly. The fire wasn’t helping, either, only adding to her fatigue as the fire’s warmth encompassed her body like a thick blanket.

Ellie sighed, ultimately making the choice to listen to the signals her body was giving her.

Ellie started to lay down, grabbing her backpack to use as a pillow.

“Wait,” Kennedy said. Ellie froze, turning her body around to see what Kennedy was up to.

Kennedy took the blanket she was lying on top of and unfolded it, placing it on the floor in a way that would allow Ellie to lie on top of it as well.

“There. So you’re not sleeping directly on the floor.” Kennedy said with a smile. Ellie gave her a barely noticeable grin in return as a silent thanks.

When Ellie had laid down comfortably, Kennedy grabbed a second blanket of hers and covered the both of them with the soft fabric. There was just enough of it so that the both of them could fit under it comfortably. Kennedy was lying on her back, her hands behind her head, whilst Ellie was lying in the fetal position, facing away from her. There was a comfortable silence that fell between the two of them. Ellie’s eyes had fallen closed, and she felt the looming presence of sleep creeping up to her–

“Ellie.” Kennedy whispered. “Are you sleeping?”

“No.” Ellie replied.

“I just… have more questions I wanna ask you.” Kennedy said. Ellie could have simply told her to ask them tomorrow, but she hadn’t had any kind of company in what felt like an eternity, and she knew that Kennedy would be leaving as soon as the sun rose, so she gave Kennedy her full attention.

Ellie turned her body around, still remaining in a position akin to the fetal position but facing Kennedy. Kennedy adjusted her position as well, now facing Ellie. There was still a decent amount of distance between the two of them, but they were much closer together now. For anybody else, the close proximity would have probably caused some level of discomfort, but Ellie didn’t find herself shying away.

“Shoot.” Ellie said.

Kennedy cleared her throat. “Um, so… can I ask what happened to your hand? I noticed it when you first came in, but I didn’t wanna bring it up at the time…”

Ellie was silent.

“You don’t… have to answer. Or tell me the full story. I’d hate to make you uncomfortable… again-”

“I got in a fight, and the person I was fighting… bit them off.”

Ellie could see Kennedy’s eyes widen and her eyebrows raise even in the darkness of the room. “Holy shit. They… bit them off?” Kennedy repeated, disbelief evident in her tone. Ellie nodded in confirmation.

“Yeah,” She said quietly.

“Well, I hope you won that fight. Did you?” Kennedy asked.

“Sure did.” Ellie lied. Kennedy didn’t suspect otherwise, chuckling at Ellie’s answer.

“Hell yeah.” Kennedy responded, a light grin resting on her face. Shortly after, though, the grin quickly faded.

“Oh and… sorry about that.” Kennedy added.

Ellie shrugged. “I’ve… gotten used to it.” She replied.

“Having only eight fingers… what does it change for you?”

Ellie was quiet for a moment as she thought about her answer. “Well, uh… holding guns felt a little weird, but I figured that out pretty quickly. I’m not left-handed, which is a good thing I guess, but… I think the thing I’m upset about the most is that I can’t play guitar.”

Kennedy let out a barely audible gasp, but Ellie picked up on it. “You play guitar? Or, um… played?”

Ellie nodded. “Yeah. Did… did you?” She asked.

A wide smile broke out on Kennedy’s face, stretching from ear to ear. “Yeah, actually. I played guitar for years. Even had one of my own, back when I was with my group. But when we got attacked, I had to… leave it behind.” Kennedy’s voice began to shake. “I miss playing so much. It really just… took my mind off of everything, y’know? Felt like I was back with my friends and family… sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Almost subconsciously, Ellie reached out her hand, gently placing it on Kennedy’s arm.

“Losing the one connection to your past… I get it. And I’m sorry.” Ellie said softly.

Kennedy didn’t say anything in response, the sound of her occasional sniffles filling the silence of the room.

“Y,know,” Ellie began. “When you get to Jackson, you might be able to find a new one.”

“A new guitar?” Kennedy asked. Ellie nodded.

“Yeah. The people there trade stuff all the time, you might get lucky.”

“Maybe…” Kennedy trailed off.

When silence befell the two of them again, Ellie took that time to roll over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. Subconsciously, she scratched the area of her arm where the fungal growth was located.

“When you get to Jackson, what are you gonna do?” Ellie inquired, curiosity lacing her tone.

“Let’s see,” Kennedy said, releasing a sigh as she contemplated her answer for a moment. “Honestly? I just want to be able to settle down and start over. I wanna create a new life for myself. Meet new people.” She explained.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to do that.” Ellie replied.

Slowly, Kennedy’s wistful expression morphed into one of confusion. “Why don’t you… come with me?” She asked.

Ellie stiffened, sitting up and resting her forearms on her knees. Almost immediately, Kennedy sat up as well, maintaining eye contact with her despite the fact that Ellie was now zeroing in on the fire in front of her.

Ellie found herself picking at the fungal plates on her arm.

“I can’t.” Ellie said, after a few moments of heavy silence.

Kennedy’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why can’t you? I mean, do you really wanna stay out here?”

Ellie shrugged. “No one in Jackson would want me around when I look like this.”

Kennedy’s eyes briefly went up and down the length of Ellie’s body like it was her first time seeing the fungal growth on her skin. “Give them enough time, and I’m sure they’ll get accustomed to it. I mean, I did.”

The chuckle that was emitted from Ellie’s throat was a humorless one. “Some people might get used to it. Other people won’t. They’d only feel unsafe around me… and I don’t want that.”

“But you’re not a threat–”

“I’m not going back, Kennedy. There’s no place for me there anymore.”

Kennedy scooted closer to Ellie. “Anymore?” She asked, subtly urging Ellie to elaborate.

“I… used to live in Jackson. For quite a while, actually.”

“Why did you–”

“I don’t wanna get into why I left. I just want you to understand. I can’t go back. I don’t even want to go back. Not right now, anyway.” Ellie said with finality in her tone.

Kennedy nodded, a deep frown etched into her features. She began fiddling with a loose string on the blanket.

“I’m sure the people there miss you.” Kennedy said.

“For all I know, they probably think I’m dead. Or at the very least, they’re not concerned with me anymore.”

“But you’re not dead. And there is still time for you to–”

“You can’t convince me, Kennedy. I’m sorry.”

“Right. I understand.” She said quietly.

With a sigh, Ellie began putting out the fire. “We should sleep.” She said, abruptly ending their conversation there.

It took a few minutes to put the fire out, as Ellie carefully observed the flames and waited until they had completely dissipated. When no embers remained, it left the room mostly pitch black, with the exception of a few rays of moonlight filtering in through the curtains.

Ellie and Kennedy both laid back down atop the blanket, turning away from each other.

For the first time in a long time, Ellie slept peacefully throughout the night.

The next morning, Ellie woke up to the sound of a door closing gently.

Kennedy had come from outside, with Otis coming in shortly after. She held two deceased rabbits in her hand.

"Morning." Ellie said. Kennedy threw a smile in her direction, placing the rabbits in front of the fire. Ellie quickly noticed her rifle that was slung over Kennedy’s shoulders.

"Morning. I went ahead and took Otis out to use the bathroom and to get some air – and sorry I, uh… stole your rifle, but hopefully this can suffice for breakfast. Do you… know how to skin a-"

"I got it. Thanks." Ellie replied.

“Awesome,” Kennedy said. “Just so you know… there’s a freshwater lake right behind the cabin. It’s roughly a 20 minute walk. I recommend boiling it before you use it for anything. Obviously there’s plenty of wood around for the fireplace.”

“Okay.” Ellie replied simply. She noticed that Kennedy was about to put the rifle back down where she found it, and quickly halted her movements, to which Kennedy glanced at her in slight confusion.

“Keep it.” Ellie said. Kennedy seemed taken aback.

“I can’t just-”

“Is your pistol the only gun you have?”

Kennedy paused, but then nodded. “Well… yeah, but-”

“Then please, keep it. You never know when you’ll need a backup. I’ll be fine without it.” Ellie said. She then grabbed her backpack, rummaging inside for a few minutes before pulling out a couple of packs of ammunition and handing it to her.

“Here.” Ellie said. Kennedy humbly accepted the ammunition and the weapon, giving Ellie an expression that could only be read as grateful, before going to retrieve her bag off of the recliner. She pulled out the map that she had hastily thrown inside before slinging the straps over her shoulders. She picked up her gun from the table and holstered it, and threw the strap of the rifle over her shoulder, making her way to the door. But she didn't leave immediately, instead pausing in front of it and turning around to face Ellie. This time, the expression on her face was one Ellie couldn’t quite read. Kennedy stared at the ground for a few moments, almost as if she was contemplating if she really wanted to leave.

"I guess this is where we part ways." Kennedy spoke solemnly. Ellie gave a small nod, remaining silent.

A sigh blew past Kennedy's lips. "I take it you still haven't changed your mind?"

"No. I haven't." Ellie replied.

"I figured, but I just wanted to make sure." Kennedy said, chuckling humorlessly. "Well, Ellie, before I go… I think it'd only be right to thank you."

"For what?"

"Well, for starters, giving me a map so that I know where the hell I'm going,” She replied with a grin. “And… for last night. It's been a long time since I had a conversation with someone. It felt nice."

Ellie nodded in silent agreement. "Yeah. It did.”

Kennedy’s grin stretched into a smile. "You stay safe out here, okay?"

“I’ll try.” Ellie responded, a smile of her own creeping onto her features.

Kennedy shared one more meaningful glance with Ellie before turning around and slowly turning the doorknob. Otis had rested his head on Ellie’s knee, eyes fixated on Kennedy as he watched her leave. As Ellie ran her fingers through his fur, a sudden but sorrowful realization had dawned on her.

“Wait.” Ellie said, and Kennedy was only halfway out of the door when she had stopped in her tracks.

“Do you think you could take him with you?” Ellie asked, gesturing toward Otis. “There’s no way I’d be able to provide for him out here. Jackson will have everything he needs. Pets were never really my thing, anyway.”

A grin reappeared on Kennedy’s face as she nodded. “Yeah, of course. I’ll take him off your hands.”

“Thank you.” Ellie replied. Kennedy made a short, clicking noise with her mouth, getting Otis’s attention. She gestured for him to come toward her, and like the obedient dog he was, he did just that, trotting over to her while wagging his bushy tail. At that moment, as Otis sat next to her feet, Kennedy seemed to have suddenly remembered something.

“You know, I can’t believe I never asked what his name was.” She said, chuckling incredulously.

Ellie couldn’t suppress her own chuckles as she thought back to the moment she first found out the dog’s name just last night. “You’ll laugh when you find out what it is.” She said.

“Surely it’s not that bad,” Kennedy replied as she kneeled down to read the dog’s collar. When she had read the name, sharp laughter escaped her throat, just like Ellie had predicted. Ellie found herself laughing with her, while Otis just sat there, completely unaware that the two humans were poking fun at his name.

“Otis?” Kennedy spoke after her laughter had died down. “Man, I can’t say I’ve ever heard that one.”

“Me neither.” Ellie said, a light smile on her face.

“But,” Kennedy spoke, running her fingers through the dog’s fur affectionately. “I gotta say, it suits him.”

Ellie gave a small nod. “It really does.”

When silence dawned on them again, the air around them felt different. Ellie knew that Kennedy couldn’t stick around for much longer. There was a pit that was settling in the bottom of Ellie’s stomach at the realization that she would be alone again.

“Can I… walk you out?” Ellie asked. Kennedy nodded fervently.

The two of them, plus Otis, walked back outside. Ellie decided to lean against one of the wooden beams on the porch as she watched Otis and Kennedy descend the small flight of stairs and head toward the road. Kennedy stopped after a few steps, though, turning around to face Ellie one last time.

“Do you think that we’ll… cross paths again someday?” Kennedy questioned.

“Maybe.” Ellie said.

“That’s better than a no, so I’ll take it.” Kennedy replied, grinning playfully.

Suddenly, their departure didn’t feel sorrowful anymore – instead, it felt hopeful. Ellie believed that this would be a new beginning for the both of them.

“See you, Ellie.” Kennedy said.

“Goodbye, Kennedy.”

With one final wave, Kennedy clicked her tongue again to alert Otis to follow her, and the two of them began their long journey to Jackson.

“You’ll make it to Jackson in one piece, right?” Ellie called out. Kennedy whipped her head around to briefly glance at Ellie.

“You can count on it.” She replied, giving Ellie a salute.

Then, her eyes were back on the path ahead of her.

Ellie watched as Kennedy and Otis got farther and farther away until she could no longer see them. When they had completely disappeared into the dense foliage, Ellie’s gaze wandered elsewhere. In the few minutes that she took to properly observe the life around her, she was struck with something.

In a world where the overall human population was left decimated, and small towns and large cities completely ruined, there was still so much beauty in the wilderness, and Ellie couldn’t deny that. There was something so profound about the fact that while everything else succumbed to the fate of a lethal fungal infection, mother nature endured. Inside of that old travel van, Ellie never noticed just how vibrant the trees were, and how tall they stood. There were squirrels and rabbits and birds going about their day without a worry in the world.

She may have lost everything. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t start anew.

There were changes that her body was undergoing, ones that she didn’t fully understand. But Ellie knew that just like every other living thing in the world, she would adapt.

She heard a voice in the far back of her mind:

You keep finding something to fight for.

And fight, she would.

#ellie williams #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou2 fanfic #tlou fanfic #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou2 #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader

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brisquad-unit-4402 · 2 days ago

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unexpected kisses with krisis - zali

oog, been too long since i posted here, thank you all for having me 🥹 getting back into the swing of things with an old wip now finished!

i've had this draft for even longer, about 6 months now... that's because it's a series. i'll post vanta soon! and with luck, i'll finish wilson's in time with that! the types of kisses that make you all confused even more than when you started!

tags: gender neutral reader, pre-relationship, no closure, accidental getting-together, implied krisis hero!reader, pining, some tongue/finger stuff idk, reader is into someone else, unrequited feelings

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

🧻 Vezalius Bandage

The sun is shining, the music is inviting, and the text you've been waiting on all day disappoints you. You flop down on Zali's bed with a melodramatic grunt. "Zaliii," you whine. "Why are men so difficult?"

Beside you, Zali focuses on the neck of his guitar. Music twists around his fingers. He plays a rendition of a love song, just as bluesy as the painted finish on his electric guitar, and only speaks up once he plays the bridge. “They’re quite simple, really.”

“Of course you’d say that. That’s the problem,” you mope. While you sink into the mattress, you hold your phone up as you reread your messages. This guy’s been texting you lately—well, more like you’ve been texting him. He’s cute, but he can’t carry a conversation to save his life.

Zali chuckles a bit, easing into a different tune. “What did he say this time?”

“Nothing. Just one dumb 'Haha.'” You hold your phone high in the air as if it were contagious. You set it to ringer instead of silent so you could read his texts immediately, even turned up the notification volume, yet... “So mid.”

“Very,” Zali says dryly.

Three dots appear. You return your phone straight above your face. “He’s typing.”

“Hm.”

Zali has a talent for hmm'ing in a way that makes you feel way too seen. You watch intently as the three dots hover under his stupid Haha. They collapse. A second later, they return, reigniting your hopes until they disappear for good.

The screen of your phone darkens. You can see the shape of your frown in the reflection. “I don’t think he’s texting back.”

Music swells next to you. Zali strums, trying to figure out how to console you. “This… person you’re seeing,” he begins. “He’s mid?” You nod. “So why him?”

“Okay, he’s not entirely mid. Just his texting,” you defend. “He’s funny, and he makes me laugh, and…” As you explain yourself, you trail off. A small, glowing smile slips across your face. “He likes when he makes me laugh, too.”

“Is that so unique?”

“He makes me happy.”

“Anyone can make anyone happy.”

You nudge Zali. “You are so unromantic, Vezalius.”

His next note comes out shaky from the contact, but he manages to recover by blending it into a chord. “I don't know what you are talking about," he proclaims, unfazed. "I'm hopelessly romantic."

You readjust to lay on your stomach. “Fine, Romeo. What are you thinking? About him, I mean.”

The once-dissonant chord evolves into a familiar melody. It's one of your favorite songs. Ever since he figured out how to play the hook by ear, it's become one of his go-to jams. Whenever he plays it, he improvises some of his own riffs over the parts he hasn't memorized yet.

His pick scrapes across the string, tossing a layer of grit over the smooth strumming. You haven't moved your finger from where you poked him, so you can feel the slight pull of his muscle as he plucks the string. "I don't think much about him. I don't know him." The song warps around Zali's fingers. Your muted humming blends in with his guitar. "All I can tell is that you like the feeling of being wanted."

“Go on.”

"Pursuing someone is only fun when they like you back. But he seems distant." Zali hesitates, letting a chord ring in the air as he thinks. As it resonates, he peers at you. You can see the sunlight in closed-blinds stripes against his eyes, crossing in shades of ochre. "You like spending time with him, but it’s hard to get his attention, so you have to convince him you're worth his time. His loss. Anyone in their right mind would enjoy your company."

You let out a short exhale like a laugh. "I think you lost the plot."

With all the confidence of a tenured professor, Zali declares, "Either he needs to step up, or he has no taste."

His fingers press down on the same frets, repeating the previous note. His eyelashes flutter closed. "But you barely described this person, so I'm uncertain what category he falls under."

"Did too."

"That told me nothing."

"It's his personality." You prop yourself up into a proper sitting position, leg flush along the body of his guitar. "He's fun to be around."

"You're supposed to point out what makes them so appealing."

"I already did."

"Should I provide a better example?"

"Such as?"

"Such as attentiveness. You are very attentive."

"Mm."

"You're sweet." The song softens. "And I like the way you think. You're very thoughtful of everything you do."

Zali's arm pauses, letting the last note hang with his hands over above the strings, uncertain. It's only now that you realize he's made no move to shake your hand off his sleeve.

“You are a very appealing person, Reader.”

Whoever leaned in first no longer matters. The memory had gone out the window along with your breath, not to mention your common sense. Zali lowered the neck of his guitar to get closer, but your hand clutched the fabric of his shirt. There were two guilty parties behind this kiss.

Regardless, innocence bleeds through. Chaste. The first kiss is pure enough, but curiosity begs further investigation once the initial surprise wears off. The curve of Vezalius’s lip is as smooth as the tuning on his guitar.

Now that the guitar wasn’t in the way, you could place your hand on Zali’s cheek. You peek out from drooping eyes, slowly losing your senses aside from pressing lip to lip. You refuse to address the jumble of emotions. If you let logic color your thoughts, they’ll splatter over the living painting in front of you. Rose-tinted cheeks. A mouth dragging watercolor. Dark hair brushes along your fingertips and his cheek, matching his eyelashes drawn in charcoal. Those lashes and the stitched scar give way to golden filigree as Zali cracks open his eyes.

You remember who this is.

Skimming along the heat of his blush, you savor the next kiss—you’ve lost count. A hand rests on your shoulder as Zali leans in. You’d mistake him as eager.

Your thumb is so distracted in circling his cheek that it makes contact with his lip just as he parts his own. His grip on your shirt tightens. Dew coats the petal of his mouth. Zali accepts your invitation, connecting lip to lip to finger in a strange triangle, an abstract expression. The triangle becomes a polygon. What shape, you’re unsure; it depends on the placement of the vertex. Briefly, perhaps accidentally or perhaps subtly, his tongue slots along your thumb.

He rests, waiting to see if this is okay, if this can go further. It is, he does. For as indulgent as you’ve been acting, he ventures with a sense of gentleness, soothing over the knuckle, lapping at your nail. Of course you react. Your thumb rises yet he closes the distance, painting the callus on the pad.

A sharp PINGGG assails your ears.

The sound of parting is louder than the alert. There’s a smack in the air as you’re both startled out of the spell.

Then comes the shock. The wide eyes, the dryness in your mouth even though his lips had felt so soft, his kisses evaporating from your thumb.

Zali pushes you back with a grunt, more dumbfounded than anything. His slender hand slumps to your chest while the other rises to his lip. Saliva sparkles in a line along his chin.

He stares at his lap, a shudder in his breath growing more prominent as he notices the drool. In a burst of realization, Zali clamps his mouth shut and swipes it away. The sudden movement makes his guitar inch off the sheets.

“Shit,” he curses, clawing for the guitar before it hits the floor. He catches it by the body. Twuung. The instrument sings mockingly; you hear an ugly strum. At least the guitar seems unscathed. Zali repeats “Shit” with a fleck of spit against his lip. A traitorous line of thought wonders if that was your doing.

He clutches the guitar close to his chest, as if keeping his hands close would offer an apology for where they previously touched. His sleeves muffle the clumsy strum. Now that the quiet has taken hold, awkwardness settles around your shoulders like an itchy blanket, nailing you in place.

Zali shuts his eyes and asks, “Did he text back?”

Fuck a traitorous thought. Your mind has gone full betrayal by now.

You look straight ahead and make no move. “I’m not sure.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ ⁭masterpost ✧. ┊ ⁭kofi

#vezalius bandage #vezalius bandage x reader #krisis #krisis x reader #nijisanji en #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji krisis #4402 writes #SORRY IT TOOK 9 YEARS i took a break to recharge and then accidentally fell in love with another fandom and wrote a few bangers for it 💔#i don't regret it there's <20 fics on ao3 for that fandom #including mine

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 1 day ago

Text

Cure on the Run | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Part Two

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Words: ~3,600

Tags: No Hogwarts House, Post Hogwarts, Auror!Sebastian, Modern AU, Female Reader Insert, Enemies to Lovers, Forced Proximity, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Eventual Smut

Sebastian's POV

Sebastian woke at 7:30 on the dot. He always did. No alarm. No spell. His body didn’t care if he’d gone to sleep on stone or silk, in a field tent or a Ministry suite. The schedule had been drilled into him—hardwired through fieldwork, instinct, and the knowledge that sometimes the extra three seconds between waking and reacting were the difference between walking out and being buried.

His eyes blinked open, slow and groggy, the early light slanting through the windows of the safe house. For a few seconds, his mind was blank, just warmth and weight and breath. The kind of peace that made him suspicious by default.

It took him another full second to realize what, exactly, he was feeling.

An arm draped across his chest, fingers curled loose in his skin. A knee nudged between his. A thigh pressed warm along his leg. Breath ghosted the curve of his collarbone, slow and steady. And—

Oh, fuck.

His other hand was on the small of your back, his palm splayed flat against your shirt—the one he’d conjured, the one that had hung off you like a nightdress last night. You were curled in against him like you belonged there, your cheek resting just beneath his jaw, the slope of your nose tucked close to his throat.

Sebastian froze. He didn’t even breathe.

The memory of last night returned in brutal, clear detail: the blast. The bunker. The emergency Apparition. Your towel hitting the floor.

He’d looked. Of course he had. Not on purpose, not intentionally, but the moment had caught him off guard—split-second, instinctual—and it had burned itself into the back of his skull: the curve of your hips. The soft slope of your stomach. The shape of your breasts.

He swallowed hard, hand twitching at the small of your back. He could feel the rise and fall of your breathing. Every inhale pressed your breasts lightly—obscenely—against his sternum. Then you just shifted slightly, nose brushing against the edge of his neck, and let out a sound that could only be described as a sigh of contentment.

Sebastian was far from content.

This was a catastrophic breach of professional protocol. He never should have agreed to share the bed. He should have taken the floor or slept in a chair, or hell, he should’ve slept outside in the grass like a dog if it meant waking up with a clear conscience.

But he hadn’t and now you were here, wrapped around him, and it was the most physical contact he’d had with another person in… Merlin, how long?

Months? No. Longer. He didn’t do this. Didn’t let people close because it always ended in pain. Loss. Guilt. Grief. He’d learned that lesson early, and relearned it over and over and over again. With his parents. With Solomon. With partners he couldn’t save. With friends he couldn’t keep.

Sebastian closed his eyes, jaw tight, heartbeat loud in his ears. Of all the people he could have ended up tangled with in a Ministry safe house bed, it had to be you.

You, with your sharp tongue and sharper mind. You, who challenged everything he said with that maddening mix of logic and nerve. You, who treated Ministry red tape like it was an inconvenience rather than an authority.

You, who had no idea how much danger you were really in.

He had liked you from the start.

Your supervisor had introduced you in the Ministry atrium, all brisk handshakes and clipped protocol, and you’d barely spared Sebastian a glance before launching into an argument about whether this kind of escort was really necessary.

"It’s a conference, not a war zone," you’d said. “I’m a researcher, not a target.”

Naive, Sebastian thought. But bold.

There’d been grit in you from the beginning—unexpected, sharp-edged resolve beneath your lab coat and doctorate degree. You weren’t just clever, you had fight in you. Conviction. And, unfortunately for Sebastian’s sanity, you were absolutely gorgeous.

And then there was the part you didn’t know. One of the people who might benefit from your research, your cure, was Anne. His sister.

That was why he’d said yes to this assignment without hesitation.

You were the first glimmer of real hope. Something that wasn’t snake oil or desperate prayer. And instead of hiding behind Ministry glass, you were out here in the world, presenting trial data with a target on your back and too much hope in your voice. It scared him how much he wanted it to work, how much he needed you to be right.

And now here you were, warm and pliant and draped over him in a way that was absolutely, unequivocally not approved by the Auror Code of Conduct.

Your knee shifted slightly against his thigh as you breathed in, dragging the hem of his oversized shirt an inch higher up your—

Fuck. No.

This was not the time to notice how the cotton of his shirt had bunched up around your hips, or how the smooth skin of your thigh brushed dangerously close to his pelvis.

He swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything else—the faint crackle of the fireplace, the tick of the clock on the far wall, the fact that he’d nearly died last night and so had you. That you’d come out of the shower in nothing but a towel and—

His cock twitched.

No, no, no, no, no.

He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood, willing the heat in his groin to abate. Willed his body to remember the mission. The danger. The goddamn professional line he was not supposed to cross.

Then you shifted into the slow start of a stretch. You were waking up.

Shit.

Sebastian could disarm a dark wizard in three seconds flat. He’d fought blood mages in the backstreets of Marseilles. Escaped hex-rigged ruins. He’d interrogated suspects, navigated diplomatic negotiations, dodged cursed bullets and literal fire. But nothing in his training had prepared him for waking up in bed with a half-naked woman pressed against his chest and realizing, in that precise moment, that if you opened your eyes and saw him holding you like this, you'd think he was a fucking creep.

He could see it now: the way you'd freeze, the slow, dawning horror on your face as you registered just how entangled you were. Your leg slung over his. His hand on your back. Your chest against his. Your lack of underthings.

And he was awake. Alert. Aware. Holding you.

Nope. Absolutely not.

Sebastian closed his eyes immediately, arms still frozen where they were, heart hammering like he’d just sprinted uphill in full gear.

If you woke up now, you’d just assume he was still asleep. That he hadn’t spent the last twenty minutes mentally cataloguing the shape of your thighs and the precise curve of your—

He gritted his teeth harder. He was going to hell. And not the vague metaphorical kind. The real, cauldron-boiling, wand-snapping, Ministry-sanctioned disgrace kind. The kind where they stamp your badge and wand core with a flaming Conduct Breach sigil and send you straight to the Department of Internal Review to explain how, exactly, your hand ended up on a scientist’s arse in the middle of a field mission.

It wasn’t on your arse. Yet.

That helpful voice could fuck off, too.

You stirred again, this time for real, and Sebastian felt it instantly.

The subtle shift of your arm pulling back. The slow, bleary inhale through your nose. The soft sound of your yawn muffled into his chest followed by the gentle stretch of your leg against his.

He felt your moment of realization too. It was a sudden jolt beneath his arm, a sharp inhale, followed by total, rigid stillness. You were awake now, very awake and very, very aware of where you were.

You began to move.

Slow, deliberate, like you were trying not to wake him. Sebastian could feel the way your fingers uncurled from his skin like you were setting down something fragile. The breath you didn’t quite exhale. The shift of your leg as you began to slide it back from where it had been slung across his.

Which, of course, was what any rational, professional, emotionally stable person would do. Untangle. Get some distance. Remove yourself from a wildly compromising situation.

You were doing exactly what he should’ve done.

But he hadn’t.

He’d stayed wrapped around you like a bloody blanket. Had spent the last twenty minutes enjoying the way you felt—warm and soft and clinging—and he’d just soaked in it like a touch-starved idiot. Which… was exactly what he was.

Pathetic.

And now you were slowly, carefully extracting yourself from the tangle like someone backing away from a sleeping bear.

He kept his eyes shut.

In any other situation, he would’ve woken up the second you moved. His body was trained for it. Light sleep. One foot always in a dream and the other on a battlefield. The crack of a floorboard could pull him to his feet wand-first. Honestly, he didn’t understand how he could have ended up so deeply asleep with you wrapped around him.

Fucking idiot.

He heard the mattress shift as your weight left it completely followed by the quiet scuff of bare feet across the wooden floor and the click of the bathroom door.

He stared at the back of his eyelids and let out a long, slow exhale.

It was going to be a long morning.

And Merlin help him, the first words out of your mouth when you came back better not be kind. Because if they were, he wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t kiss you just to shut you up.

Get it together, Sallow.

Once he was sure you were busy in the bathroom, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his wand, casting a perimeter diagnostic. Everything came back clean. No wards breached. No magical residue. No scrying signatures. Which didn’t mean you were safe, just that if someone was watching, they were better at hiding it than most.

His eyes flicked to the satchel in the corner, the one he'd snatched mid-blast from your suite.

Inside was everything.

Your research. Your trial data. The Zurich logs. The external drive. The last five years of your life. And Anne. Anne was written into all of it, even if you didn’t know it.

Sebastian crossed to the kitchenette, wand still in hand. It was the kind found in most Ministry safehouses—barebones and impersonal, stocked just enough to keep someone alive for a few days without losing their mind. The cabinets creaked when he opened them. Inside: powdered creamer, instant coffee, two chipped mugs, and plain crackers.

The kettle responded to a lazy flick of his wand, beginning its low, rumbling boil while he scooped out too much instant coffee and shook in an arbitrary amount of creamer. The powder clung to the sides of the mug like ash. He stirred the water in slowly, watching it swirl.

He didn’t hear you re-enter the room so much as feel it. A shift in the air. A subtle awareness along the back of his neck, a pull like gravity.

Sebastian didn’t turn right away. He just took a long drink from his mug, wondering if you’d say something. If you’d mention the bed. The position you’d woken up in.

But you didn’t.

You just moved toward the kitchenette and reached for the second mug.

“Morning,” you greeted him, voice gravelly.

Sebastian nodded once without looking at you. “Coffee’s shit.”

You huffed a dry breath. “Better than nothing.”

He didn’t disagree. Just watched your hands move from the corner of his vision, grabbing the powdered creamer, mimicking his earlier movements.

Sebastian took another long sip. “I’ll get a message out to one of the Ministry drivers,” he said, voice flat. “We can’t use the train or any public transit to get back into the city, it’s too exposed.”

You didn’t look up. “No apparition?”

“They’ll be watching for magical travel.” He paused, eyes narrowing slightly over the rim of his mug. “If Calvenne’s running surveillance out of Vienna, any spike in apparition will flag every detection grid between here and Brno.”

“...Can I call my supervisor?”

Sebastian set the mug down, slow and deliberate. “Only if you’re absolutely sure the line’s secure.”

Your expression said enough—tight around the mouth, brows furrowed just slightly. You were weighing options, calculating risk, and Sebastian could practically see the moment you decided against it.

“I—no,” you said finally, voice low. “You’re right. It’s probably not safe.”

Sebastian nodded once. “Alright. I’ll ask the driver to route a message through internal. Just something short. Let Dr. Proulx know you’re alive.”

The corner of your mouth twitched, not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one. “He’ll appreciate that. He probably thinks I’m buried under the hotel rubble right now.”

“Thinks that little of me, does he?” Sebastian replied dryly, still not meeting your eyes.

He kept his gaze trained on the mug in his hands like it might hold the secret to professional restraint. Like if he stared hard enough, he could drown in the coffee and not in the memory of your bare skin, still burned behind his eyelids.

You shifted slightly beside him, leaning your hip against the counter. “He’s just notorious for worrying,” you said simply. “Nothing against you.”

Sebastian hummed low in his throat. A noncommittal sound. He could still feel the warmth of your body on his skin, like his nerve endings hadn’t gotten the message that you’d left the bed. Like some part of him thought you were still there, pressed against him, tangled and soft and draped across his bare chest.

He needed to get his shit together.

Fast.

“Soon as the driver confirms,” he said, standing straighter. “We’ll move.”

You nodded, quiet for a beat, fingers tapping once against your mug. Then you lifted it to your lips and took a cautious sip. Grimaced.

“Yeah, that’s awful.”

“Told you,” he muttered, already heading across the room, eager for the excuse to put space between you.

A Ministry locker was built into the far wall, spelled shut with layered wards and a recognition charm keyed to authorized agents. He muttered the override phrase and the locks released with a soft, mechanical click. Inside he found two spare uniforms, an emergency port key, and a secure satellite phone.

Sebastian activated the phone, cycling through the scrambled frequencies until he landed on the encrypted line reserved for transport requests.

“This is Sallow. Echo-Seven location confirmed secure. Requesting overland evac—non-magical transport, fallback route Bravo-Two. Civilian attached.”

He paused, jaw twitching.

“And send a relay to Dr. Jean Proulx.” He hesitated again. “Tell him she’s alive. In transit. That’s all.”

A beat. The automated tone chirped Acknowledged. The screen dimmed to standby.

Sebastian set the phone down and reached for one of the uniforms, grateful for something clean to wear. The standard Ministry blacks were a little too crisp, a little too stiff, but at least they didn’t smell like smoke and bunker dust.

He turned the fabric over in his hands, then glanced back at the locker, where the second uniform hung neatly on its hanger.

Technically, civilians weren’t supposed to wear Auror gear. Ministry policy was clear: uniforms carried implicit authority, and misuse could compromise jurisdiction. But he couldn’t very well ask you to climb into a ministry van in nothing but his old gym shirt and bare legs, even if part of him—some deeply repressed, shamefully possessive part—liked how you looked in it.

Sebastian blinked hard and made for the bathroom.

“I’m getting changed,” he said over his shoulder. “You can take the other one. Should fit close enough.”

You looked up from where you’d been leaning against the counter. Your brow lifted. “Isn’t that against some kind of official regulation?”

“It is,” he muttered. “So try not to look too smug about it.”

You didn’t reply, but he caught the faint twitch of your mouth before he shut the bathroom door behind him.

Forty minutes later, you were both crammed into the back of an unmarked Ministry van barreling down a forest access road somewhere between the Czech border and god knew where. The driver hadn’t spoken a word beyond a clipped greeting and Sebastian wasn’t saying much either.

You were seated across from him on the narrow bench, one leg propped up, fingers curled loosely around a canteen the driver had offered. The uniform hung wrong on you in all the right ways—too tight through the shoulders, snug through the waist, and practically painted across your thighs. The top two buttons of the jacket had come undone somewhere between the safehouse and here, gaping slightly when you shifted.

Sebastian tried very hard to look out the window. He hadn’t realized he was grinding his teeth until the muscle in his jaw started to ache.

And then finally, your voice broke the silence.

“So,” you said, tone light but probing, “you never actually said where we’re going.”

He turned his head just enough to glance at you, then back to the window. “British embassy in Vienna.”

Your brows lifted faintly.

“We need intel on Calvenne,” he continued, voice low and measured. “And confirmation of where the conference was relocated. The hotel’s a pile of rubble, so unless they plan on hosting you in a crater, they’ll need a new venue.”

You gave a small, wry huff. “Well. At least I won’t have to sit through the keynote lunch with the Magical Agriculture panel.”

Sebastian didn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he might’ve considered it.

You took another sip from the canteen, then let your head thunk softly against the metal paneling behind you.

“Okay,” you said after a moment, eyes sliding toward him. “I’ll admit it. The Auror escort thing might not have been Dr. Proulx’s worst idea.”

Sebastian’s eyes flicked to you again, this time more directly. “High praise.”

You tilted your head, catching the faint edge of sarcasm. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I won’t,” he said dryly. “I’m far too busy trying not to get us both killed.”

“Comforting.”

He could feel your eyes on him now, but he didn’t dare meet them.

“Is this how most of your missions go?” you asked after a beat, tone casual, but curious. “With explosions and stuff?”

“No.”

“Pity,” you leaned back with a faint smirk. “Must’ve been boring before I showed up.”

Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose. Not quite a laugh, but close.

You glanced at him sidelong, lips quirking. “Do you ever laugh, Sallow?”

“Only when I’m off the clock.”

“Merlin. What do you do for fun then? Practice scowling in the mirror?”

That earned a ghost of a grin, quick and reluctant. “And here I thought you were finally warming up to me.”

You shrugged, the motion easy, casual. “I’m not un-warming.”

Sebastian swallowed hard, unsure what to do with the half-compliment, and tugged at the collar of his uniform. “ETA’s about twenty minutes.”

You nodded, then tapped your fingers lightly against the canteen. “You think they’ll try again?”

“To kill you?”

You nodded.

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “Definitely.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “You don’t sugar-coat things, do you?”

“Don’t see the point,” he replied flatly. “False hope gets people killed.”

You huffed a quiet breath, not quite a laugh. “Charming.”

“Realistic,” he said, glancing at you. “Which is what you need if you’re going to make it through the next few days.”

You tilted your head, grinning. “So you do think I’m going to make it.”

Sebastian didn’t answer immediately. Just studied you for a long moment—your face, your posture, the way you were still treating all of this like some minor inconvenience instead of a targeted assassination attempt that left a crater where your hotel used to be.

It was dangerous. And it was… impressive.

“I think,” he said finally, voice low, “that if you keep listening to me, your odds go up significantly.”

You snorted. “So modest.”

“It’s just math," he muttered.

You smiled, the expression quick and crooked, like you couldn’t help it. “You must be terrific at parties.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite behind it. “Wouldn’t know. I don’t go to them.”

You raised a brow. “Not even Ministry ones? End-of-year, post-mission drinks, mandatory Christmas mixers?”

His expression didn’t change. “Especially not those.”

You made a thoughtful noise and took another sip from the canteen.

“You know,” you said, “I’m starting to think you might be the most emotionally repressed man I’ve ever met.”

Sebastian didn’t flinch. “Good. Maybe it’ll keep you alive longer.”

You laughed—genuinely this time—and it startled him enough that his eyes cut toward you. It wasn’t a loud sound, but it was real, and it wrapped around his ribs like barbed wire.

He looked away before it could mean something.

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