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dykeomania · 1 year

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𝒎𝒊𝒂'𝒔 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒓𝒃𝒔: parenthood (3).

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: parenthood means stress, and endurance, and exhaustion, and learning curves, and ... sometimes, really, really, really good sex?

𝐚/𝐧: this is my Parenthood (Thought) Piece because i understand that i am mentally 30 but i llloooooooooooveeee a good domesticity concept i eat that shit up nnomnomnonmonmnom. i needed to talk about early parenthood with ellie and i needed to talk about some of the ... Alternate Consequences ... of early parenting .. if you will. this was fun. this was also composed between the hours of like, 2-4am. i think it's pretty literate, and kind of alright. you may have a fun time reading it. if you don't, sorry i'll venmo you a dollar. not ssssure if i really have anything else to say, honestly. proofread (at a very early hour, mind you) but i always make mistakes, i'll always edit over time.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: i understand these tags are like super weird and i always preface my fics like "fuck around and find out," but just to be clear, this fic does not sexualize children in any way. any way. just to really make that clear. mentions of you and ellie being engaged. joel's technically alive. mentions of children. parental uncertainty. stress. a little bit of sub bottom!ellie. we're dipping our toes in. also dom top!ellie. mentions of oral (both receiving), mentions of vaginal penetration (reader receiving). both ellie and the reader being milfs / ellie thinking its really hot how you are a good mom (there are still so many things in this category that i could've hit that im probably not even thinking of, so if y'all like this and wanna talk about them, Please talk to me) i write in past tense for literally all of it and this is just a me thing, but that's not really my style, so things may be .. off. or maybe it's just me. maybe i'm tripping. we'll see. it's like, 4am. so.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.1k, just about (i did too much).

. . . .

you both lived on the farm. it was a quiet, proud little life that you lead. a picturesque actualization of all of the little thoughts and dreams that you and ellie have had about living together, about having a family. though, parenthood was new, and difficult. there were some nights that the baby wouldn't stop crying, and both of you would take turns feeling like shit -- one usually at a grander magnitude than the other -- because neither of you would know what to do. what, am i like, a bad mom? does he hate me? you spent time convincing each other that that is simply not the case, and that this was all part of the process. that you were both new, and learning, and that it's okay.

if you knew nothing else, whether that be due to not having experienced parenthood before or the delirium accompanying the heavy set bags and dark circled ruminating under both of your eyes, then you did know that there were a few things for certain: he will suck his thumb. his cries will turn to wails which will turn to sniffles, which will turn to sighs. he will get tired. he will roll over, and coo, and will go to sleep.... eventually.

granted, while this mentality in general made things easier throughout the early days of raising your newborn son, there was still no doubt that it was.. exhausting. in every way. parenting was a constant learning curve, and it took tolls on both of you in different ways. for ellie, she'd get quiet. snippy, even, and gain a little bit too much audacity at times. a snarky remark or demonstration of blatant impatience towards something minuscule, but still hurtful. her frustration would always point toward some deeper issue that she often struggled met with annoyance first, and words second. one of the first things that ellie learned while parenting was that she was really bad at communicating. she'd find herself throughout the first three, maybe even six months, constantly finding ways to say sorry.. even without saying really having said it. like, slipping into bed when after you'd finally went to sleep, and pressing kisses to your temple. or making sure the dishrack was completely empty, so you'd have one less thing to work about. albeit she struggled to verbally explain that while she understood you were too, she was just.. a little tired.

maybe it was the sleep deprivation, or her willingness to take up most of the tasks that required attention in areas other than just the inside of the home. which.. you did have to admit, were a little bit more intense than cleaning and washing dishes. no one asked her to do all of that. she took it upon herself to do extraneous tasks, like fix the fucking roof, during the peak of summer. and you'd always offer to help, truly. but it was always no, i've got it. you've got other stuff to do. you just go play with him, and i'll be in to take over in a little, okay?

you would, at times, have to sit her down and remind her to take it slow. that the roof isn't really bothering either of you, right now, and it won't until .. october, probably. that it's okay to swap out, if need be. she can do dishes, cook if she wants (burn down the house, if she wants), clean up while you go fix the wiring of the fence, tend to the horses, whatever the fuck she feels the need to do, on top of having to do already.

you would have to remind her, that she just can't do everything all at once. and that's okay. but that's also neither of your faults.

both you and parenthood alike would teach her to .. slow down, take it easy, and to talk.

ellie would have to teach you something similar, believe it or not. your back hurt. your tits wouldn't stop fucking leaking, and ever since you gave birth, you wouldn't stop getting these aching migraines that made your ears ring. you quite literally found yourself bending over backwards, trying to do everything all at once all of the time (sound familiar?), because you knew that it was as much of your job as it was ellie's. you can change the diapers, you can pump the breastmilk, you can clean the house, you can stop him from crying, you can read him books (that he couldn't understand, yet, technically), you could do everything. and theoretically, you could. and you would, until it made you frayed, and unhealthy.

that would be enough to make ellie to step in, put her hand on your shoulder, and advise you in a tone that was about as gentle as it was stern:

hey, let maria take him for a couple of days. you're tense -- i can feel you from across the house.

despite the anxiety and the frustration and the sleep deprivation and the exhaustion, you really would feel grateful to be experiencing this trying time together. there were some patterns characterizing it that were obviously stressful, and anxiety-inducing. but there were some consistencies throughout it that were be sweet, and tender. like, running each other warm baths. sitting – either in the bath, with the other, or on the toilet, or the side of the bath – and talking in low volume, not really out of fear of waking the baby, but just to kind of relish in the pocket of peace that existed between the two of you in that moment. the affection never died between the two of you. you were always snuggling close to each other when it came time for bed. always pressing tender kisses to each other's shoulders, holding each other's hands, circling your thumbs and indexes over each other's engagement rings.

… But!

you know... i'm a whore. so honestly, what really spurred this whole thought, is the fact that .. during parenthood your sex lives would practically be nonexistent. and it's not something that either of you really notice, until one of you explicitly brought it up. raising a child -- especially raising one in an environment that you both worked to keep safe, secured, and comfortable -- is a lot of work.

it wouldn't dawn upon either of you until you both were eating one night at the table - another tradition that you did not forfeit. you managed to dance around the subject due to something entirely tangential, and then it hit you, and you said – out of pure realization, ellie, we haven't had sex in .. like, months.

and just like that, the consequences of at least 98 days of involuntarily celibacy hit you both like a fucking truck.

for you, it came in the form of .. the simple reminder that your soon-to-be-wife is really... really fucking physically flawless. you'd notice this everytime she'd wear short-sleeves, or shirts no sleeves, which was really only.. every once in a while, as jackson got colder, or whenever you both woke up. sometimes you'd find yourself looking at ellie's back profile as she sat upright on the bed, adjacent and turned from you, stretching a big, grand stretch, and you'd feel a specific heat beginning to tickle the insides of your thighs. you found it harder to keep your gazes to yourself as ellie exited the shower, muscles apparent, and glistening. her whole body was littered with scars, and yet she was still so gorgeous. it was hard to believe that even for a second you failed to recall – or be conscious of – the fact that as much of a teddy-bear as she was, you were practically dating a fucking sculpture.

naturally, you would act on your desires first. and frankly, ellie would be so willing to lean into them.

she'd be lying if she said sometimes she didn't wake feeling a bit restless, and like there was only one thing that soothe her. she craved it, sometimes – your hands, on her. all she needed were some quick rubs against her clit and kisses against her skin to motivate her to get out of bed and feed the animals. and she was so, so fortunate to have a fiancée good enough to her to give her just that.

she dared, shame on her, to forget how good you could make her feel. ellie never really let anyone touch her, before she met you. before she met you, she was honestly convinced a lot of the parts "down there" didn't work. she could hardly achieve making herself cum. it’d take so long. ellie hardly masturbated because she’d get impatient in any ordeal that wasn’t some needy, feral 3am occurrence that left her stirring, sweaty, and overwhelmed. it was a lot of buildup for what she saw as, in the end, very little payoff. and as far as other people making her cum went? well, no one had ever gotten that far. frankly, she didn’t think anyone would get that far.

that was until she met you.

it definitely wasn’t easy. there were a lot of tired wrists and upper biceps, and your jaw did get pretty sore. her pussy was gorgeously messy. but her clit liked to hide sometimes underneath the extra skin. when you found it, you learned that it was usually, extremely sensitive. but you told her that that was okay. you could make that work.

you spent a lot of time learning all of the technicalities. what was too much, what wasn’t enough. what to say to her; how fast to rub her.

it paid off, because about a month into dating, you showed her that it — and frankly, anything — was possible. just takes a little bit of time, and patience, kisses and whispers of affirmation how about how good she feels. how good she’s doing. takes some listening, intently, to what she needs. to what her body needs.

can feel you twitching. you want my finger right here?

fuck, yeah. right there. just like that, baby -- please don't fuckin' stop.

and once you got good at it (and you got so fucking good at it), ellie couldn’t get enough. she jokes, regularly, that that’s one of the reasons why she’s going to marry you.

ellie's voice in the mornings would breathless and empty. all bostonian accent, rasp, and nothing else. they were vulnerable. whenever she'd let you between her thighs and you placed those kitten licks across her clit transitioning into these longer, learned drags, her moans would break, like glass. her hips would shuffle. sometimes, you’d have to hold her still.

no no, fucking running. it’s okay. just let me. can you let me? can you let me take care of you, baby?

fuck. yes. yes, yes, fuck. s— sorry just – oh, fuck.

it would mostly just be wake-me-ups. but ellie's back would always be arching by the middle of it. she'd find herself gasping, and sighing, and fucking -- against your tongue, against your finger -- and gripping onto whatever, all while mumbling to gods she didn't believe in.

that feels so, so so fucking – g–good.

so fucking good to me; feels so good, babe, thinki'mgonnacum–

ellie's orgasms hit her the same way every time. hard. ridiculously hard. leaving her breathing heavy, and screwing her eyes shut while she grasped at your hand, or your hair. her thighs would tense -- sometimes scramble -- and then collapse, after a while. she became this perfect amalgamation of tinted cheeks, chapped pink lips, messy brown hair, and sticky skin.

she was such a fucking .. painting. she's so incredible.

the plan, as she wrote it, often was to immediately get out of bed after you made her cum. but oftentimes, she couldn't do anything for the first couple of minutes except lie there, body just a sack of bones and jello. her head would rest instead of pressing into yours, or would nuzzle its way deep into your neck. both occasions a precursor to her finally catching her breath. when she moves her head to kiss you, capturing your lips in something thankful, and sweet, it is almost always grounding for the both of you.

better?

so much better. holy shit, babe.

and that's not to say that ellie would never act on her desires. she was always just a little more calculated.

for ellie, her frustrations would creep up on her in the weirdest ways. it would be.. small things. things that were, actually, probably mutual. watching you wash the dishes, even when you’re not bent in a particularly promiscuous way. watching you cook, even when she wasn't really watching you, 'cause she was keeping the baby busy. but what really did her in was watching how you handled your son. something about seeing you have him on your hip, cooing at him or laughing with him, or playing with him, or smothering his cheek in big kisses that elicited these big, big giggles from him, drove her.. a very, questionable? kind of crazy? it was pure. it was so sweet, and most of the time, it was just that. but you were so, good with him. after so many months, despite all of the struggle, you really did blossom into a beautiful, capable mother, who still held the glow and all of the weight from the pregnancy and just–

ellie would realize how good it all looked on you. she would feel.. really proud.

and it made her feel like you .. deserved something.

you both remember the first night she’d acted on her desires like it was yesterday. it was on the night that you two had hosted a dinner party for all of your mutual close friends and people who you called family. the dinner was a 3-week-long process of grocery picking, tablecloth finding, invitation designing, and recipe collecting. it honestly stressed you out more than it did ellie because, to be honest, she was kind of just there for moral support. it was your idea, after having had maria over for dinner once. and it was a great idea. but it left you drained – defeated from the final week of preparations, which was especially hectic. when you bathed that night, you bathed alone, a little overstimulated from the day. but you’d let ellie run the bath, though. only because she insisted on doing so.

the soak cured some of the ache that settled deep into your joints, muscles, and bones.. but not all of it. after you'd set the tub to drain, brushed your teeth, and wrapped a towel around your body, you entered the room with an expected level of silence. you slathered moisturizer on your face, over your arms, over your stretch marks. when it came time to take off your jewlery, the rings – except the prized one – came off easily. but when it came to your necklace, your hands were simply too slippery. you sucked your teeth. you always did this.

you eventually sighed, filling your lungs to call:

hey, bug. can you come help me take this necklace off, please?

ellie eventually would appear behind you, probably shuffling off of the bed or rounding some corner after changing and becoming into her own definition of comfortable. if she seriously complained, you didn’t hear it. you only felt her, how her hand placed itself on your shoulder just to let you know that she was behind you.

some things never change, move your hair over.

you do as asked, and hang your head. ellie's fingers brush against your skin with a kind of delicacy that makes shivers run down your spine. you lift your eyes, catching ellie's in the mirror before you. yours, heavier than hers.

you watched as she fought a smile, or a smirk. either was a given with her, honestly — in retrospect, it was most likely the latter. you couldn’t really tell, though. she’d dipped her head, eyes fixated on her fingers that fiddled with your necklace clasp.

you did a really nice job on the dinner, tonight.

suddenly, you were the one fighting the smile. you watched her, still.

yeah?

oh, you like.. completely knocked it out of the park. you did great. it was really, really really nice.

you didnt know if ellie was referring to the food, or the setup, or the wine choices – whichever. but something about the appraisal made your head buzz, like you were coming down off a two glasses of champagne (which.. maybe you were). ellie successfully removed your necklace, and yet didn’t back away. instead, she pressed herself closer to your back, and tilted her head so that she could speak just above the top of your ear,

you looked really nice, too.

been waiting for you to settle down, a bit. so i could tell you.

you probably hummed something in response, something that was probably suggestive but also thankful at the same time. it gets lost, though. because ellie bent down, and placed these slow, unassuming, appreciative kisses down your neck, and against the plateau of your shoulder. between those words and the way her hands lingered over your skin, the way she was breathing you in and drinking up the moment, and your scent, made you melt into her way too easily. like butter in a warm pan.

you exhale, like you've been meaning to for .. you don't even know how long.

el..

mhm?

you realize though, that the house is quiet. too quiet. there is a stillness to it that makes the pit of your stomach twist, and anxiety and guilt bubble in the base of it before you could even stop it.

...where's our baby?

you felt ellie grin against your shoulder. she masked it with a peck,

he’s at joel’s.

and then you felt her tongue drag across your skin. a long, open-mouthed kiss across the midpoint of your neck. she presses the padding of her tongue against tender flesh, sucks hard enough for blood to make the skin bloom, and almost -- against your own will -- makes your eyes roll shut.

the simple act -- acts rather, of ellie coordinating behind your back to have the baby taken off your hands (you knew it for a few days – it's always a few days). she thought she was so slick. it was odd, how much relief those three words gave you,

but at the same time, you kind of wanted to be mad at her.

it was hard to, though. but you couldn't think straight, with how her hands were moving over you, over your towel. with her pelvis pressed against your ass, and her lips on your neck.

you tried,

he was fine here. everything was .. fine, ellie.

but she was so..

i never said everything wasn't fine.

i just think... you've had a really long, stressful week.

you hate how your body reacts to ellie's hands smoothing up your towel. your whole body broke out into goosebumps, seemingly trying to fit into the pores of ellie's palm,

and i think i wanna make it better.

ellie's breath was hot on your ear, and you didn’t realize it, but your head was already tilted. your eyes had begun to flutter closed. you felt yourself, almost swaying against her. your mouth hung as her teeth grazed over sensitive flesh. her tongue pressed against familiar spots that had been untouched -- like the rest of you -- for so, so long. it was too activating.

in your best effort of defense, you spun yourself to turn around to face her. ellie’s head was tilted, her eyes were low. her breath spanned over your mouth while your palm laid flat against her chest. you stalled – shivering, shaking, suddenly caught in a rapture of toiling emotion that you hadn't felt that strongly in .. god knows how long.

her head dipped back into your neck. she pressed her cotton-clad hips against your towel-covered ones, and it just wasn’t enough. it was a lot, and yet, not enough.

your hand snaked over the nape of her neck as you breathed against your cheek, whole body feeling heavy and compliant. your knees were jelly. you could feel your clit. pulsing, and pleading. it ached as you feel ellie's hand slip over the backs of your thighs, inching under the cusps of your ass.

you needed something. you needed anything. you like to think that you had no idea what necessity meant before this moment, because you had never felt it so strongly. it knocked the wind out of you, only leading you to ask – to plead, without pleading,

e... ellie?

and she understood.

ellie’s head lifted from the crook of your neck she crashed her lips upon yours. the kiss was heavy, and deep. your knees buckled, and where you swore you may fall, she made sure you didn’t. you were shuddering, a hand suddenly possessive around the back her neck. her hands suddenly possessive and stabilizing with the grips she held on your ass. months worth of unknown tension relinquished itself in the pushes and pulls you demanded from each other's bodies while teeth clattered and bit into chapped flesh, turned glossy. moans and breaths circumvented between the two of you, and suddenly, the whole room felt like it was on fire.

she delivered a verbal command, teeth tugging at your lower lip as she half-way parted from it,

jump.

you’d used whatever remainder of your energy to follow the simple instruction, your legs wrapping around ellie's waist like she was your lifeline. they remained around her as your back fell against the duvet, and as she kissed you so deep, your head ran dizzy and your body was left no choice but to arch into her.

you remember your hand smoothing over her abdomen, and reaching up to grab her chest. you remember sighing into her mouth over the fact that you could. you relished in the moan she released your mouth, and only returned it halfway.

you remember gripping her and massaging her and bucking your bare hips up against her in hopes of making her make that noise again, louder. you remember how she bucked her hips into you in hopes of the same sentiment, her waistband grazing against your bair clit cauisng her to succeed far quicker than you.

the night was filled with mind-blurring, fuck-until-the-sun-rises kind of sex. sex that you had no idea your body had needed until ellie had given it to you. your body reeled with every kiss that she'd placed over your skin – you’d watched as she peeled back your towel, and replaced bits and segments of the fabric with her lips in soft, attentive kisses. it was hard to believe that they would transpire into messy, sloppy things. wet, tantilizing things that would trek down the axis of your body. that would hold your body hostage as her tongue and her lips worked on your clit to bring you closer and closer to your third orgasm of the hour.

your body wasn’t used to it. any of it. it was, however, too used to and hyperaware of having a tiny human in the house that you simply couldn’t wake at this time of night.

you were shuffling, at one point, scrambling to put a hand on your mouth, or to bite your own knuckle. when that didn’t work, you let your head fall over to a pillow while you fucked up against ellie’s tongue and bit the fabric, trying so hard not to moan. but you felt yourself cracking.

you’ll never forget how ellie looked up at you. eyes a deep, pointed shade of green as she shook her head – mouth still attached to your clit – which in and of itself had almost made you cry. when she pulled away, it was the only time you let yourself make a noise. only because the whine that was ripped out of you was entirely unanticipated, just like her action.

her breath rippled over your the nerves as she ran her fingertip up, and down your hole. you whimpered, hips shifting up relfexivley, cunt tightening just from the invitation. nearly gushing from the feeling of her beginning to small rub circles against it, instead.

i’ve missed you so fucking much.

she dipped a finger inside of you with such ease, and no warning. a long, slender digit bottomed out inside your cunt, before she pushed in another, and made your jaw go slack. her eyes hung on yours – glossed over with lust and a bit narrow as a result of the devious smile that’d begun to overtake her expression.

she’d begun pumping her fingers.

he’s not here, baby.

it’s just us.

her fingers were so fucking long, you swore to god, you would never want a life without them in it. couldn’t bear another 3, 4, 5 months without having them in you. jesus fuck.

wanna hear you.

wanna hear you be as loud as you fuckin’ want.

ellie emphasized her words by proceeding to fuck you faster. her tongue latched back onto your clit, rolling over and slurping at the nerves, rolling beads of saliva and your juices into and against the bundle. the sound of your cunt was so encompassing, it was hard to believe that it became the backdrop for the moans that ellie had ripped out of you. that made it into, and mostly out of, the pillow, amidst a sea of praise and bucking hips.

the next morning was luxuriuosly unproductive. ellie had only woke to feed the animals and returned to bed and slept with you until noon. she was always affectionate, come mornings. but especially riding off of the honeymoon buzz of the night prior, she made the morning after memorably tender, often pressing kisses to your forehead, and your shoulder, regardless of how awake both you or she was. she’d whisper sweet nothings into your ear, promises of how much she loved you. how she’s really glad this is how she gets to spend her life, as long as it’s with you. all of the sugary things that eventually caramelize into jokes and giggles and laughter, and that how you’d know it was time to get up.

it’s safe to say that parenthood brought you and ellie both very interesting things. it brought you challenges, and it brought you lows. it brought you highs, and photographs, and moments where you did feel like all of your hard-work was paying off, even when it didn’t seem that way. having a family meant having the opportunity to open your house up to people you who you loved. having a family meant having traditions, and things to fall back on – things that you would develop over time, as you learned more and discovered more of what you wanted. and having a family with ellie meant that you could fall back on each other, no matter how tough things got.

.. it also just meant sometimes having really.. really good sex.

(whenever you remembered that that was something that the two of you could actually do, that is.)

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #the last of us #ellie williams smut #joel miller #the last of us smut #literally no one asked for this i just needed this #it's pretty valid i guess #i always notice its so easy to just write thoughts that come to my mind as opposed to like Hovering over one idea for like 2 months #idk that's wild #i feel like i have texts that are literally just written a lot prettier but like #i like the vibe setup #i just can’t reread it anymore or else i get really like critical and for good reason but bleh #actually no (10am mia speaking)#this is probably like fine im gonna give myself the benefit of the doubt #i Finished it which was Good i'm gonna pat myself on the back #good job mia!!!!!

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undertheopensky · 4 months

Text

Memento

Whumptober Day 22: Glass Shard

Characters: Four, Sky, everyone else is there

Trigger warnings: Self-harm, it’s unintentional but it’s there, minor nudity, panic attacks, a special kind of unreliable narrator, many bad decisions are made

Read on Ao3!

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The portal looks like any other. It’s only as he steps through that Four registers something – off – as his awareness stretches and spirals and f r a y s

They’re scattered in the void between stars, drowning and endless, flecks of insignificance against a being so much greater that the scale of it is lost to them.

OUTSIDE EQUIPMENT IS FORBIDDEN.

Their body doesn’t exist right now. It’s so easy for the entity to strip them down to their essentials, their skin and their blood and their bones, leaving everything else behind in the void. Peeling away everything that isn’t them, their sword, their tunics, the cord at their throat –

No!

In this moment-between-moments they’re barely a spark of thoughts, a soul in potentia, and every fibre of their being curls tight and defensive against the gentle tug. Over their heart, they wrap threads of lightning and fire around a faint and faded glimmer. They resist.

The entity tugs again.

No no no don’t take it please don’t take it I can’t lose it I can’t lose him I can’t –

The entity… pauses.

They cling tighter. I won’t let you take it.

ALL OUTSIDE EQUIPMENT IS FORBIDDEN.

They keen in soundless protest. Mine-his-only-thing-left-grief-and-horror-and-mourning–

…ALL OUTSIDE EQUIPMENT IS FORBIDDEN. BUT A TRINKET THAT GRANTS NO ADVANTAGE… THAT, I CAN ALLOW.

And they’re flooded with relief a split second before they’re flooded with sound and light and ow.

Everything always tingles for a few seconds, after teleportation. All his pieces realising they’re still alive, registering protests about the sand beneath him, the chill of the air, the ache in his tightly-clenched hand –

“What the fuck –”

“Who took my rings –”

“WHERE IN DIN’S NAME ARE MY PANTS?!”

Everyone else is discovering they’ve been stripped of their equipment and are reacting accordingly. Four sits up slowly, flexes his throbbing fingers just enough to check –

A thin cord tugs at his neck; razor edges bite into his palm. The necklace is safe. He didn’t lose it. It’s safe.

He shudders out a sigh, hot and cold playing over his bare skin. After the panic attack, all of them slammed together in united desperation, everything feels kind of muffled. There, but unimportant. Even everyone’s noisy agitation isn’t worth responding to – no one is missing, no one is hurt, they’re just upset. They don’t need him for that.

“Four – shit, Four, you’re bleeding–!”

He realises what they’re reaching for almost too late. “No!” he yelps. “No don’t touch it it’s mine don’t take it no no no–” The sand is cool and slippery under their feet as they scrabble back. There’s a wall, there’s a corner, there’s nowhere to run so they huddle instead, curled protectively around the hand holding his necklace and keening high and panicked.

“Don’t take it,” he gasps, “please don’t.”

“It’s okay,” someone soothes, “it’s okay. I won’t take it. I’m just worried about your hand. It’s bleeding; are you hurt? I’m not going to take anything from you. I just want to see your hand. Do you think you can do that?”

Panting, Four peeks out of his defensive ball. Sky is there, not too close, crouched far enough away to give him some space. His tentative smile widens when he sees Four looking back at him.

“I promise I won’t take it,” he repeats. “Can you take a deep breath for me? Please?”

Aware he’s being handled and annoyed by it, Four obeys only out of spite. Breathing the full depth of his lungs hurts. It takes a few gasping starts to get all the way down, and by then the green-grey panic has faded from the edges of his vision.

“I hate that this shit works,” he says in a sapphire-tinted growl.

Sky is infuriatingly patient. “If it didn’t work, we wouldn’t ask you to do it. Do you think I’d be able to take a look at your hand now? Please?”

As the adrenaline fades it is starting to hurt. And… it’s Sky. He… they trust Sky.

Mostly, indigo murmurs.

Slowly he uncurls his fingers, wincing crimson as the pain flares. Blood runs down his bare arm. It’s still a struggle to let go enough to switch the blood-streaked pendant to his other hand. His heart drops into freefall for the instant it takes his fingers to close, only steadies when the edges bite just enough to register. Only then does he let Sky take him by the wrist.

Welling up from the ragged cuts, blood drips to the sand; Sky frowns in concern. “Some of these look deep… does anyone have a potion? Bandages, even? I seem to have misplaced my kit…”

“No,” says Wild, grimacing. “It’s… I’ve only ever seen one of these before, but the shrine keeper takes everything as you come in. Weapons, equipment, armour.”

“Fucking clothes,” Legend mutters.

“You don’t even wear pants to start with, Legend,” says Twilight.

“That doesn’t mean I want to go naked!”

“Magic’s probably still on the table, if you have the strength for it.” Wild shoots Hyrule a hopeful look.

Without meaning to Four tenses when Hyrule gets close.

“I’m not going to take it from you,” Hyrule says, repeating Sky’s words from earlier.

Four flushes with dull embarrassment. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry for scaring you.” Moving more slowly, Hyrule carefully lays his fingertips on Four’s bleeding hand. They start to glow, a gentle spring green, and Four watches the self-inflicted cuts fade away, leaving smears of blood behind.

“Thanks,” he says. Then, to avoid the inevitable questions, he forces himself to stand, looks straight at Wild, and ploughs onwards: “So, how do we get out of here?”

“Well, assuming this is some kind of shrine, it could vary. Sometimes they’re… moving puzzles. Like, you have to move a ball down a path, but there are lasers in the way that will knock you into a pit if you don’t block them somehow. Or you have to reach a high area but there’s no ladder, but there are things that you can pile up into like a really lopsided set of stairs. Other times they’re combat trials – you have to defeat a certain monster, or a group of monsters, to make the final door open.”

Wind makes a noise of understanding. “Oh, so it’s just a dungeon then. Cool.”

Wild frowns. “I… dunno? You guys always made dungeons sound, like, super drawn out. These are like. Two, maybe three tasks, and you’re done. The steals-all-your-shit shrine was the worst for that alone but it was also a combined combat-puzzle thing. I guess you didn’t have to fight the monsters to get the balls, but it was a lot easier carrying them around if you didn’t also have to dodge arrow fire.”

“And you did this without armour or a sword?” says Warriors, somewhere between aghast and impressed.

“I broke a lot of sticks,” Wild agrees. “I would have given so much for even the crappiest sword, but I’ve never been able to get anything past the shrine keeper.”

“Thought you said you’d only seen one of these?” Legend runs his fingers over his knuckles again. It’s an unconscious motion, missing his rings.

“Well I ran the first time, didn’t I?” says Wild reasonably. “Panicked and ran for it. When I got far enough away the monk gave me all my shit back. I tried a couple times to sneak stuff in, throw it from the raft or whatever, but no dice. How’d you do it, Four?”

Four’s hand tightens. Hot blood starts to seep into the spaces between his fingers, something sharp like panic coiling around his heart.

“Steady, Four,” says Sky. “Deep breaths. Shit, you’re bleeding again – Wild!”

“I’m sorry! I was just curious!”

Four wants this over with. Why can’t they just leave them alone, fuck, they’re always asking and poking and so goddamn nosy, they never let things go, he can see their burning curiosity and knows what they want, he can feel it pressing in on his heart –

If he doesn’t think about it too hard, the words can stumble out. “I felt it – and – I fought it.”

Legend frowns. “You fought it for your necklace? Why not your sword – hell, your shirt?”

“How did you even feel it?” Wind demands. “One second we were walking into a portal and the next we’re stripped to our skivvies! There was no time!”

“Time’s more flexible than you think,” they say absently. Their fingers shift, making glass cut twilight-sharp, and their heart steadies.

“When the portal – when we entered the shrine – there was a moment where – Wild called it the shrine keeper – I – felt it. Taking everything away. Bag. Sword. Clothing. But –” his hand twitches again. Sky hisses as more blood hits the sand. “I couldn’t let them take this. It’s the only thing I have of my best friend.”

The words fall from his lips in blood red and bruise purple and he meant to say them but he didn’t and he regrets them but he doesn’t. The pendant is important, they can’t lose it, they need the others to understand that –

Their mind turns inward. What if they hadn’t – convinced them? What if the shrine keeper had taken the fragile shard of glass –

Give it back! It’s like an echo of a memory, too-sharp and too-clear. Please give it back, please!

Their fingers tighten. Pain swells, drowns out the almost-memories, and stays a constant drumming throb even when they relax.

Unease runs viridian.

“–our, I need you to take a breath for me, can you do that? C’mon, head up, you can do it –”

Calm and steady, Sky’s voice draws them from the almost-flashback. It’s harder this time – they hurt, and they’re tired, and the grief isn’t lurking so much as clawing up their spine. The world presses in on them. They hurt, Green-Red-Blue-Vio all caught up in we-miss-him-we-miss-him-we-miss-him. It makes everything harder, when all they want to do is fall deep and curl up in mirror-shard memories that hurt the same way they do. (The pain is comforting.) (They know it shouldn’t be.)

When they’re like this, when they can’t find the balance that lets them be Four instead of four, when they don’t even want to – someone has to take the reins. Someone who’s capable of at least pretending to be a person, for a while – and this time, that’s Red. Red, who feels things so intensely he circles right back around to ‘functional’. Who manages to take a full breath of air even through the tears, making Sky smile encouragement.

“Good! Good job, just keep it up, you’re alright.”

Red wants the smile, wants the comfort just as much as he hates it. It’s wrong. Too big, the wrong shape, smells of feathers and sunlight instead of smoke and steel. Another stuttering breath rips through his chest. He misses them so much – misses them all, even when they’re right there with him because it’s not the same. And there’s nothing he can do about it except breathe, and cry, and wait for the storm to pass.

Hyrule inches closer. “Four, you’re bleeding again. Can I see your hand?”

Red breathes through the avalanche of fear and hurt and no. Checks – the bleeding isn’t bad – before shaking his head. “S’fine.”

“I don’t want to leave you in pain. Please?”

“No.” It comes out harsher than he intends.

“Okay, not right now. Can you let me know when you’re ready?”

Red hums agreement. Presses the hand against his sternum, feels the way it makes glass shift in his fingers.

“Just make sure you get it treated, little one,” Time says from nearby, deep and slow. “That’s your sword hand.” He’s – closer than Red had realised. They all are, actually.

“You gotta look after yourself!” Wild adds.

That is possibly the most hypocritical thing he’s ever heard Wild say, and for a moment he just stares. Then he gets distracted by Wind, bouncing and clearly relieved Four is looking more stable.

“It’s okay, Four! Wild says these don’t take long, so we’ll be out of here and back to normal in no time!” His eyes catch on Four’s hand – still clenched tight, still bleeding – and flicker uncertainly. Then he squeaks and flails in protest as Warriors scrubs a hand through his hair.

“Sailor’s right, it’ll be okay. Maybe talk to your friend next time you’re home? See about getting a spare – or somewhere safer to keep it?”

Twilight makes a noise of agreement. “Your friend must be real important to ya,” he says, “but you haven’t mentioned ‘em before. Can you tell us about them?”

Embers spark.

“He killed himself,” Four says boldly, “to save my life.”

There’s a brief, horrified silence.

Then everyone bursts out talking at once, Twilight’s frantic apologies mixing with Wind telling him off, Hyrule pleading to let him help, Warriors protesting something that gets lost in the commotion. They’re guilty, apologetic, desperately trying to help.

Red doesn’t care.

“I can’t just – get a new one, because it was his, and now he’s gone. He saved me – he saved all of fucking Hyrule – and people call me a hero when I couldn’t – I couldn’t even save him.” Under a layer of numb his skin is burning, with hurt, with anger, with the grief he holds close. He still feels so cold. It isn’t fair.

Time interrupts before he can dig his heels too deep. “How old were you?” His voice is gentle, almost distant.

“We were – we were both thirteen.” His voice cracks and he has to use his free hand to dash away angry tears. This is why he doesn’t talk about it, dammit.

Sky hugs him.

It’s more awkward than usual, without all their layers in the way – why does skin have to be so warm, and slightly sticky, ugh – but Sky is determined, and Four – doesn’t have it in him to protest, right now. Leaning into Sky’s chest, he lets himself relax – lets his fingers loosen, just a little, on the shard of mirror-glass.

They just want this to be over.

-----

When Four doesn’t fight him, just lets himself be held, Sky fixes the rest of the group with a sharp eye. “Wild, how fast can you get us through this?”

Wild’s back goes straight. “Depends on the tasks, usually doesn’t take more than an hour or two.”

“How do we get out afterwards?”

Wild glances around, grimacing. “Well, usually there’s a – a platform that carries you up and down, but I don’t see one here – this looks really different to what I’m used to, but it – it feels the same, I guess?”

Sky stays focused on problem solving. “Any other ways out?”

“The shrine keeper. When you approach them, the shrine keeper teleports you out.”

“Can we bypass the dungeon and go straight for the exit that way?”

“No, they – they’re always blocked off, you have to – the shrine wants you to do something, and you have to figure it out and – and actually do it, before the path opens – sometimes the problem is the path –”

“Okay, so it is like a dungeon,” says Legend. He’s tense, keeps flicking quick looks at Four and the way he’s standing unprotestingly in Sky’s hold. “How fast d’you think we can get through with multiple people helping?”

“Only one way to find out!” says Sky with false cheer.

Quickly they get themselves organised. There’s no equipment to outfit themselves with, no armour to check; all they can do is split into smaller groups to hopefully cover all corners as fast as possible. Legend makes a point of putting Warriors in the only group of three. Warriors complains, but’s mostly a front. He’s never experienced a dungeon before and is rightly wary, so putting him with two other people who have only makes sense.

Sky they leave to babysit Four, whose empty expression and slow reflexes are not convincing anyone that he’s capable of a dungeon run. Some traps have genuinely murderous timing. He’s also still refusing to let go of his necklace, which cuts him deep enough to bleed every time something makes him startle.

Once they’re gone, and the sandy hallway has gone still, Sky gently rocks on his feet, moving Four with him. “Hey, Four? You with me at all?”

Four gives a displeased grunt.

“Yeah, I know.” Sky’s heart hurts. “C’mon, let’s sit down again. The others will come get us later.”

Four goes with him when he tugs, crouching and then tumbling into a clumsy sit. His knees draw close to his face, seemingly without thought, going back to the defensive huddle with his bloodied hand at the centre. Stormy grey is alert, if sullen. Mostly Four just looks tired.

Sky sits beside him, not wanting to overwhelm him further. “It’s okay. They’re a lot sometimes, but they mean well.”

Four’s response is too muffled to translate.

“Sorry, Four, I didn’t catch that.”

“I’m tired of them asking!” he bursts out. “I’m tired of them asking about – about friends, and family, and do you have someone special waiting for you at home, and – it hurts, and I’m tired of it, and they won’t stop!”

And of course that was the danger in Red fronting when they were this emotional – what came out was what they felt, no deflecting or sugar coating, no way to hide after.

“I’m sorry,” Sky says. “I didn’t realise it was bothering you so much. I can talk to the others about it and make sure everyone stops.”

If they haven’t sworn off it already. Blue, sardonic, even through the grey haze cloaking their mind.

I feel bad, Green murmurs, they were just trying to help.

After such an outburst? Doubtless they feel worse than you do, says Vio.

“They should feel guilty,” Red mutters, and it’s shot through with indigo venom. “Maybe now they’ll shut up.”

Sky tightens the arm across his shoulders. “It’ll be okay.”

He feels helpless. Four isn’t usually – vindictive, like this. Nor prone to outbursts and fits of temper. Being stripped mostly naked would knock anyone off-balance, to say nothing of the desperate way Four is protecting his necklace, but – Sky just doesn’t know what to do. Four’s a lot more functional than he would be, after three panic attacks back-to-back, but how much of that is just a mask? How much is he really struggling to hold it together?

(Would Sky even be able to tell, when Four’s been hiding this for so long?)

He runs a hand through his hair, absent-minded, and catches on the lack of catching at his ears. “Aw, man. It even took my earrings. Wild did say it would give them back after, right?”

“…yeah.”

His sigh of relief is only slightly exaggerated. “That’s good. Those weren’t easy to get, you know.”

Four’s tired blink isn’t the most rousing expression of interest, but Sky launches into the story anyway. He has to let go of Four to make the gestures his hands want to, and – it’s fine. Four doesn’t collapse in on himself at the loss of contact. All he does is turn his head to watch Sky talk, eyes still a little too sharp.

Sky hopes the distraction helps. Involving Four hadn’t worked, but something completely outside of himself, something new to hold onto? Maybe it will help him calm down from the edge of panic he’s been riding since they first stumbled out of the portal.

It’s as he’s describing Scrapper and the Mogmas that Wind’s shout draws them both to look up. “Hey, guys! Legend cracked it!” He waves enthusiastically, like maybe they hadn’t yet noticed him standing in his skivvies at the end of the hall. “There’s a big statue but Wild doesn’t wanna mess with it ‘til everyone’s there! C’mon!”

Four refuses Sky’s hand to get up, though he’s a little shaky on his feet. Sky tries not to hover. He knows how annoying it is, having people looming close just waiting for you to fail, and at the same time, he doesn’t want Four to hurt himself if he stumbles and falls.

Wild was right: this isn’t nearly as long and complex as a dungeon. According to Wind, who chatters on as they make their way up the spiralling collection of ramps, they’d had to do a fair bit of work pulling things apart to make it traversable for anyone who wasn’t Wild. “It took him and Twilight and Legend with his power bracelets to move that block,” he waves at the massive piece of stone they’re walking over to the next bridge-like panel. “And then Wild used his slate for these metal pieces, except he kept dropping them, and his aim is shit, so Wars nearly fell in that pool getting out of the way.”

Sky snorts at the mental image.

When they make it to the top, they find the others loosely gathered around some kind of blocky statue. It looks like a cross between an owl, a fox, and a rabbit. What even needs ears that long?

Wild flashes them a strained grin over his shoulder. “So! Usually I find a ten-thousand-year-old Sheikah monk at the end of these things, but it’s got kinda the same feel to it, so we’re gonna try anyway. Just in case, everyone grab hold of me.”

That isn’t easy. Eight different people have to crowd around Wild’s back and sides to make sure everyone has a hand on him. Sky spots Four’s hand in the crush, still streaked with drying blood, and his stomach rolls.

“Okay, everyone ready? Here goes nothing.” Wild reaches out towards the statue.

For a long moment, nothing happens.

Then the world twists like a Time Gate, several things happening at once. A panel goes red – lights up green – a glimmering box of blue light shatters, flinging threads of glass before they freeze in midair – an angry buzzing noise – chiming fairy bells –

The statue smiles.

WELL DONE.

And as suddenly as it started, it all stops.

Sky fumbles a bit at the added weight, his sailcloth dragging at his shoulders and his earrings suddenly heavy in his ears. Time’s armour makes a crashing noise like it had been dropped from a height; Time grunts.

They’re outside, grass under their feet and a weird teardrop-shaped stone building behind them. Sky doesn’t know where they are – it’s all hills and fields and low-hanging trees – but there’s no monsters in eyeshot so he uses the opportunity to double check all his belongings were returned. Earrings, sailcloth, clothes – check. Bag – check, and it looks like the contents are intact. Master Sword and scabbard, fucking goddessdamned check. He did not appreciate losing her, even for a couple of hours.

Around him the others are doing much the same, adjusting clothes and checking packs. Legend’s running his fingers over his rings like he’s counting them, while Warriors struggles to get his mail to sit right over his bad shoulder.

And Four –

All Sky catches a glimpse of is black and glossy and strangely clean of blood before Four is shoving the pendant down the neck of his tunic, out of sight.

The difference is immense. All the tension drops out of his shoulders, he stops standing hunched in on himself, even his face relaxes from its hard, suspicious lines. There’s still creases around his too-red eyes – he’s still feeling the effects of the panic and stress of the day – but he looks more himself.

He even smiles at Wind’s little dance of happiness at getting his pants back. “Aren’t you the first one to strip every time we find a lake?”

Brightening at the sound of his voice, Wind spins to face him and beams. “Yeah, but that’s different! Lakes are fun! This was just annoying.”

“You shoulda heard him whine when we asked him to scale that rope,” says Legend.

Wind makes an outraged noise. “You try climbing coarse hemp with no pants! I ain’t a fan of splinters in me privates!”

The laughter and bickering is slightly strained. Even as Hyrule creeps up and is finally, finally allowed to heal his torn-up hand and wipe away the blood, everyone’s giving Four his space. Not pushing, not demanding things of him, just letting him exist with them.

Good. Sky will still catch them up individually, make sure everyone knows Four’s had enough of personal questions, but for now at least, everything is okay.

Wild finishes what he was doing – taking photographs of the weird building? – and waves his Slate at everyone. “Definitely my Hyrule! If we head north, we should make it to Castle Town by nightfall.”

“Isn’t your Castle Town still mostly construction site?” Legend says, and Wild shrugs.

“If you wanna spend two days walking to Kakariko, be my guest, but there’s at least a temporary stable and inn at Castle Town.”

“I vote beds,” says Wind immediately.

Sky agrees – from the look of the sun, they’re mid-afternoon, so being just a couple of hours away from safety is very appealing. It only takes a little debate for Legend to give in, since he doesn’t want to sleep on the ground if he doesn’t have to, either. As they set off through the grass, Sky scans the group one last time.

Twilight’s up the front with Wild, Hyrule looking on in fascination as Wild waves at a herd of horses and threatens to catch one. Warriors is close enough to intervene if necessary, while Legend is deliberately ignoring them in favour of studying the landscape – in the opposite direction of Wild’s horses. Wind has dragged Time into a conversation about his armour, with Four – steady and reserved once more – chiming in here and there about plate maintenance.

Sky takes a deep breath, and lets the tension run out of him as he exhales.

For now, everything’s okay.

#whumptober 2023 #linked universe #lu fic #skies writes #lu four #lu sky #lu wind #lu wild #lu twilight #lu legend #lu hyrule #lu warriors #don't @ me if your fave did a dumb #they are all stressed and dumb rn #i debated having this like a ‘you can keep ONE THING’ but decided the incidental nudity would probably not be conducive to good angst #regarding four and who’s speaking at any one time: if it’s not clear it's not meant to be clear #:)#I know there are ways to get equipment onto eventide #but i like imagining the monk sitting there watching link’s attempts to bypass it rolling its eyes and going ‘i can’t let you do that dave'

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