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sweetflanfiction · 2 days ago

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Assymetrical Symphony - Part 11

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

A.N: I am going on a little vacay and I'll probably won't be able to update it as regurlarly, but I'm going to try and schedule this chapter and another one. Good news is more time to write :D

A.N. 2: Apparently the tags have not been wroking. If you asked to be tagged and haven't been, let me know!

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10

• ··········· • ············ •

It was the morning of the day after Viktor had come to the penthouse and taken a twelve-hour power nap.

You walked into the kitchen with a yawn that stopped abruptly when you saw the three people in the room. Two of its usual occupants: your mother, Wyllah, but also a very tired Jayce. Your eyes shifted between your mother and the tanned man on the table, hunching sheepishly as he sipped from a mug filled with coffee to the brim.

“Jayce?” Your tone is a mix between a welcome and a question, not even bothering to call him by his title.

He mumbled his reply, and you looked back at your mother and Wyllah. They both gave a sad smile and a shrug.

“You left the lab.” You began, trying to get him to talk, and he nodded.

His hair was unkempt, and his beard was starting to emerge, meaning he probably had not even been home yet.

“I needed to find Viktor.” He said, not looking up from the mug. “Your mother found me halfway out of the Academy.”

“I left one of my security guards at the lab door,” Wyllah explained proudly. “No one is getting in unless we say so.”

“Thank you.” Jayce said, still looking at his reflection.

“Did you two argue?” You asked, knowing the answer.

Viktor would have never just walked out of the lab, leaving his best friend behind, and Jayce wouldn’t look half as dejected if they had parted ways amicably. Although Viktor had probably already gotten over the argument, Jayce liked to mull over it.

“How…?” he asked. “Wild guess…” you answered.

He sighed, putting his head on his head, finger digging into his unkempt hair.

“What was it about?” You inquired, pouring yourself a cup of coffee, even though you could also guess the subject.

“What do you think?” He snapped, and you sat down in front of him at the booth, grabbing a cookie from the plate one of the older women had placed on the table.

“The great mystery of Runeterra.” You grinned, and he just stared at you, eyes narrowed. “I know it was about the council shenanigans, but what was it specifically about? Gods know you two can fight about a fleck of dust in the window.”

Jayce looked at you and was about to retort but closed his mouth and looked at his coffee before sighing and reopening his mouth.

“I told him I want to give the Hextech freely to the council in exchange for keeping us there as engineers for it, no matter what. I would rather be there to stop them from screwing up than have it destroyed or sold to someone else.” He sighed. “Viktor would rather grab everything and run as far as he can to keep it safe.”

You smiled softly at him gently and touched his white-knuckled hand on the mug. He relaxed his grip and looked at you.

“You can both be right, you know.” “I know, but it’s not that I want to be right… It’s just…” he scoffed, frustrated, looking at the window. “He has stood up for so long, taken so many beatings from topside, kept a straight face throughout everything we’ve ever been through; he has made his mark in this world whether he signs on it or not… And now he wants to run? It feels like a step backward.”

“You both know what hunger feels like, what a wind so cold that seeps through your clothes feels like in your bones. You both know how it is to have nothing and then have everything.” Jayce looked at you both confused and interested. “The difference is Tallis; he knows what happens when you just wait and watch. You get eaten by the big fish eventually. He stood up so many other times because he knew you’d have his back. But right now both your backs are against the wall, and there will be no sorcerer to help you escape the storm.”

There was silence in the kitchen as Jayce searched your eyes for answers all the while trying to assimilate what you said about Viktor.

“How…?” He asked again. “Your past and my present aren’t that different.”

His eyes widened for a second, and he was about to start talking again when you shook your head.

“Discussion for another time and place.”

He nodded, still reeling but quieted down when the telltale sounds of a cane making its way to the kitchen were heard.

“What do I say?” “Nothing…” you whispered back. “He is your friend Jay. He understands the same way you do…deep down…”

Viktor was also stifling a yawn as he made his way to the kitchen, stopping mid-stride just as you did when he saw the other man in the kitchen.

“Jayce?” He puzzled, eyes still blinking the sleep away. “Hey, buddy! You got me worried there for a second.” Jayce got up from the table and walked towards him, scratching the back of his neck. “Listen…I’m sorry if I said something I shouldn’t.”

Viktor blinked a couple of times and gave him a nod and a smile.

“Do not worry, Jayce. I understand.” He patted the bigger man’s arm and limped to the small breakfast nook, where you sat.

“Thank you, Madame Rainemour, for the hospitality.” He smiled at your mother, and she smiled back. “I don’t think I had any say in it this time, but you're welcome, my dear.”

He shifted his eyes to you, and you shrugged.

“You looked like exhaustion and tiredness had a child and left it out in the rain.” You paused and raised an eyebrow, conveying you were joking. “No offense…”

“None taken.” He smirked and grabbed a cookie from the plate.

“Well,” your mother clapped, and everyone’s eyes turned to her, you noticing a small grin on Wyllah’s face. “Since everyone is now sort of awake and looking less dejected…I have a plan…” “A plan?” Jayce asked, leaning against the door frame. “A plan.” Wyllah repeated. “Should I be scared?” Viktor asked, and both older women shook their heads in sync. “That makes me scared.” “Alright, you two... out with it...” You motioned with your head for the ladies to sit and talk.

Your mother started to explain what she had been doing yesterday after she left you and Viktor. Esther had put on her detective’s hat and gone to investigate the ins and outs of whatever was happening with the Hextech vs. Council situation.

She found that the council was going to make the decision to take control of Talis Lab and Hextech in a week or so, with Councilor Salo spearheading the efforts, being the one that seemingly had lost more in the rocket attack.

He had announced to all of those who wanted to hear him about the dangers of the usage of hextech by those who wanted the worst for Piltover. The topsiders had clutched their pearls and agreed he was right and that the council, the voice of all citizens of Piltover, needed to seize control of the tech.

Jayce bonked his forehead on the door frame where he was leaning, and Viktor rolled his eyes.

“I’m starting to see the beauty of him as a stain on the hex gate’s floor…” you mumbled, munching on a cookie. Viktor looked at you questioningly, and you shrugged him off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Do not despair, my dears; as I’ve noted, I have a plan.”

Between her and Wyllah, the plan was laid out in front of the three of you. Your mother would rally up all of the investors and get them to stop the tech from falling into the council’s hands. It seemed simple and very straightforward, but knowing the Topsiders, there will be money exchange and drama and fights. Something your mother seemed very willing to do.

Both of the scientists had nodded in agreement to whatever your mother had put on the table, and you realized how much trust they all had in each other. The universe had to find a way to make up for you not being here. It had put your mother in their path so they could have her instead of you. It hurt as much as it elated you.

“And what do we do in the meantime?” Viktor asked, breaking a cookie in half. “Well, we will need Jayce’s assistance.” Esther pointed at the broader man. “His place as a councillor and one part of the Hextech team will help us get to certain people. But I don’t think that would be your cup of tea, so you can keep securing the lab and the projects, making sure nothing ends up being shown to prying eyes.” “Are they allowing us to work?” Viktor asked Jayce. “No. No hextech projects are allowed to go forth.” Both men sighed. “I’ll stay in the lab with Viktor. I don’t want to get mixed up in that crowd again…” “Again?” Jayce raised his eyebrows, and you matched the expression.

After a while of discussing and more planning, between calculation and scheduling, your head was about to burst, so you excused yourself for a bathroom break and walked to the living room. You sat on the chair that wasn’t Viktor’s favorite place on earth and, drowning out the noise from the kitchen, felt the sunshine on your face.

You jumped at Jayce’s voice calling your name right next to you.

“Holy blue balls of Hextech.” You mumbled, putting your hands on your heart and leaning back on the chair. “Oh, so that’s where it comes from…” Jayce joked. “Sorry…” “Don’t worry about it.” You looked up at him, leaning your elbows into your knees.

“About that thing you said before.” Jayce took a deep breath. “I never told that to anyone but Viktor, and I know he would never tell anyone…” “Like I said, your past is my present. I was snapped here the same way you were.” “Yeah, I got it the first time. I’m as smart as the other co-creator of Hextech, believe it or not.” He grinned. “How? I have searched and researched high and low to figure out why it happened to me, and I never found the answers. Did he appear to you too? The mage? Did some runes in the sky and…new place, new you?”

You shook your head and looked at your hands. He was taking this considerably well, which made sense since he had also lived through something similar.

“I don’t know how it happened; I was there one second and here the next.” “That’s why you ran to the council room; you did know what was gonna happen.” He frowned, his eyes searching the air for connections. “Were you in the council room? Or in the Undercity?”

“I was in the lab when it happened. All was quiet, and then…boom…” “What changed?” Jayce asked, and you shook your head. “I’m not going to tell you. Not all of the details. You…from there…lived it…you felt it…If I tell you, it might make you do something that would lead to the same path, and…I can’t go through that again.”

He nodded, understanding that the addition of knowledge to a situation can drastically change the outcome. You looked at his wrist, the leather band secured tightly around it and the teardrop-shaped gem encased in it. Stretching your arm, you grabbed his hand, turning it palm up. The rune was different.

Jayce also grabbed your hand and turned it palm up. A different rune was carved there, not glowing since you had spent most of the night remaking the star rune in case Viktor woke up. You looked up at him and sighed, his eyes searching for answers.

“I think the technical term is Rune Speaker…” You smiled at him, finding amazement in his eyes.

• ············ •

It didn’t take the group long to have a sort of guarding schedule around keeping the stuff in the lab from prying eyes. Because it was involved in council business, the boys couldn’t work there, but they refused to leave anything unsupervised. And that’s why they had looked like exhaustion itself.

Between the two of them, yourself and some of Wyllah's personal security, it was manageable, although Salo had shaken his fist at having the unknown guards at the door. To which your mother promptly told him she had more money invested in that lab than he could count; she was merely securing her investment.

Your endeavor to enter the orchestra was still in full swing, so you took the time at the lab to write out some of the music you were composing. You had an outline of the piece, but it needed tweaking and cleaning up.

You were not a composer. You hated writing your music. It felt strained. You’d rather just sit at the piano and play something from the top of your head. You were good at that. This was hell for you.

Groaning, you laid your forehead on the cold lab table and groaned. A hand patted your arm, and instinctively you jumped back as far as you could.

“Eh. It’s just me, good old Viktor.” the scientist announced, limping around you and placing a cup of tea and something wrapped in a cloth on the table. “One of those days, huh?”

He sat down next to you and peered at what you were doing.

“Looks complicated.” He said, taking a book out of his shoulder bag, and you look at him sideways, glaring at the man. You pointed to the chalkboard that now has a sheet covering it and raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve seen what you do…” you mumbled. “Numbers. I crunch numbers. Calculation and variants. It’s easy. I see them in my mind. Some are more complicated than others, but… It’s easy. This…?” He touched the clean sheet of music and made a negative sound with his throat. “Cannot comprehend.”

“Remind me to teach you the scale at some point. My mother is catching on pretty quickly. I fear she might get the position faster than me.” “Position?” “I’m trying for the orchestra. I’ve learned that being a stay-at-home Piltie is not for me.” “Piltie?” He frowned at the nickname the Zaunites gave the topsiders. “How very uncivilized of you.”

You both chuckled at his joke, and he nudged your shoulder in a friendly manner. He mentioned the wrapped thing with his chin, and you grabbed it. A small little cake was inside. A round little creamy thing with a slice of strawberry on top.

“Don’t expect much.” He said, opening his book. “It’s from the Academy’s cafe.”

You took a bite out of it. It was a little dry, but it was sugar, and you welcomed the feeling of something sweet in these desperate times.

“Where's Jayce?” You asked after you finished with the pastry. “I thought he was supposed to come with you.”

Viktor took a sip of his cup of tea and shook his head, rolling his eyes in the process.

“Councilor Medarda asked to see him.” He scoffed. “Confraternizing with the enemy, more like it.” “Spending time with his significant other.” you corrected, smiling when he made a ‘yeah yeah’ face.

Silent took over the lab while the two of you both got entranced by your tasks; only the scratching of pens on paper was heard. It was a friendly silence, with both of you sitting close enough that your knees would bump occasionally. Sometimes you would hum the melody you were writing, and he would stop writing to listen to it.

After a while Viktor stretched, moving his arms up to the ceiling. You looked at him and mimicked the movement but stretched your arms in front of you. The two loud ‘aahs’ of pleasure came from both of you in sync, making you both snort.

“I have been thinking…” Viktor began relaxing on the table, his shoulder hunching over. “The other day, you kept having to remake the rune.”

“You noticed?” You looked away from him, slightly embarrassed. “I thought you were sleeping.” “I caught you once or twice. It was a nice gesture, so I kept quiet. In any case, you had to keep redoing it. And well, we have had the same problem with the cores.”

“Vik…” you warned, but he raised his hand, stopping you.

“I know, but technically I am not using your magic for Hextech; I’m using Hextech for your magic. We solved that problem by introducing an artificial rune to the process.” He drew two squares touching on one corner, a crude infinity symbol. “That sustains the power of the core indefinitely. If we work at this the same way we work with Hexcore, your rune ‘push’ simply means you have no other inputs to add to it, and that means that inputs can be added.”

You remembered the rune circle in the council chambers. Going by what Viktor was saying, it made sense; the magic didn’t happen until you had pushed it forward, waiting until you finished the whole rune circle to work and slamming your hand on it to work.

“Could work, but if you tell it to keep going indefinitely, how do we stop it?“ You looked back at him and saw him scratch his neck.

“Usually we have buttons and dials…sometimes an emergency lever.”He placed his head on his hands and looked around for inspiration to strike.

You looked down at your music sheet and rolled your eyes. The answer was right in front of you. You slid the music sheet towards him.

“When you want to bring your composition to an end, you add this…” You pointed to a circle enclosing a crosshair.

“The runes are a language, and languages are fluid. New words are being introduced every day. We can keep adding to it until it works…” Viktor continued excitedly. “We have to test this theory.”

“I’m not going to test something that has a possibility of permanently staying in your lab. I don’t think a never-ending whirlwind is very discreet.”

His shoulders slumped for a second, and then he pointed to a small door next to the front door. That was a cleaning supply room spacious enough for the janitor to keep his cart there, but it was closed off so that if something were to happen in there, it would be contained.

“Alright…Let’s test this out.” You rolled the stool away from the table and slapped your hands on your thighs, watching Viktor move with efficiency.

• ············ • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth @ren-ren23 @furblrwurblr

#arcane #viktor #arcane viktor #viktor x reader #arcane x reader #viktor arcane #viktor arcane x reader #slow burn #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #arcane viktor x reader #viktor league of legends #arcane season 2 #arcane x you #arcane characters #arcane reader

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penkura · 1 day ago

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Holly Jolly Christmas

Summary: Your first Christmas with the Heart Pirates leads you out on deck for a few moments alone, only to be joined by your captain making sure you're okay.

Note: Just wanted to write something like this, Reader needing to step away to get their feelings in check and Law being willing to listen. :) Again, SORRY IT'S SO LATE. I went to see Sonic 3 this morning after church and it threw my whole day off. (:

“Oh come on, stay inside with us! It’s chilly out there!”

“I’ll be fine, Ikkaku, I just need some air!”

She rolls her eyes at you but doesn’t fight, instead being pulled away by Shachi for a dance while you laugh and step outside to the deck of the Polar Tang, taking a breath and feeling at ease. The holiday party your crewmates were throwing was starting to overwhelm you, a small break is all you need, some fresh air and the chance to collect yourself. It’s still hard to believe this is your life sometimes, that you’re a member of this crew and have friends that care about you, including a captain that wants you to stay safe. People who like and want you around, it’s so different from before.

Your first year with the Heart Pirates was coming to an end, right at Christmas time too. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think a pirate captain would request you to join them after seeing you protect yourself from some robbers on your home island, you just wanted to be able to eat that night and keep your hard-earned money from them. Apparently it was enough that day to convince Law you would be a good addition to his crew, for some reason you felt like you couldn’t say no even though he didn’t scare you or anything. It felt like something told you that day to go, not like you had anyone to return to at home anyway. Most people on your home island tolerates you enough to pay you for small jobs, but no one cared when you left, you’re sure of that.

It didn’t matter though, once you were introduced to everyone, they all took a quick liking to you and showed you the ropes, taught you how the ship worked and everything you’d need to know for life as a Heart Pirate. You learned everything as quickly as you could, you didn’t want to be seen and burden or dead weight on the crew, and not one of your new friends thought that about you, they all gave Law good reports when they’d help you with anything.

You’re grateful for everything that’s happened the last year, watching your crewmates have fun tonight and enjoy themselves. It’s really like having a family again.

“There a reason you’re out here alone?”

Hearing Law’s voice just makes you smile at him over your shoulder, before he joins you leaning against the railing. Of course he’d find you, he’s very good at that lately. Sometimes it feels like he's actively seeking you out, though that could just be wishful thinking.

“I just needed some air, captain.”

“You don’t have to call me that when it’s just us, I’ve told you that,” Law rolls his eyes while you giggle at him, “Doing okay?”

You nod with a small hum, you know he won’t press too hard to find out what’s going on, he already knows everything about you. Law never pushed but always listened when you wanted to talk about your previous life, when he noticed you weren’t doing well one day and it ended in you sobbing in his arms for hours about your lost family. He was awkward about it but didn’t make you leave until you were calm again, it made him realize there was more that you hadn’t told him at that point.

You two were more alike than Law ever expected when he brought you on.

“I need to thank you, Law,” he looks over to you with furrowed brows, but you’re not even looking at him, “If you all hadn’t shown up last year, I probably—”

“Enough, you don’t have to thank me again.”

You laugh with a nod as Law rolls his eyes once again, before you reach over and hug him. It’s taken some time but you’ve gotten Law used to these random hugs, he’s even started returning them like he does now.

“Still though, I’m grateful…getting to know all of you and feel like I belong somewhere again…thank you for saving me, captain.”

“…we’re all glad to have you here.”

You both stay like that for a while, even though it’s cold out and you know Law will want you inside shortly to get warm again. But these moments with just the two of you are rare, some people would question your relationship if it’s just captain and subordinate or something else there, but you’re happy with where the two of you are.

“All right, you lovebirds, everyone’s waiting for you to do Secret Santa already!”

The two of you almost up away from each other, Law giving Penguin a glare while you look away, your older crewmate having a smirk on his face.

“I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry. But really, come on! Everyone wants to open gifts!”

“Fine,” Law sighs, waving Penguin and keeping a hand on your shoulder, “We’ll be there in a moment.”

“Sure thing, cap!”

Penguin runs off to get everyone ready, leaving you and Law alone against. He’s obviously annoyed but it makes you smile anyway. It might be more than either of you are ready for, but you grab his hand and starts walking back into the Polar Tang.

“Better not keep everyone waiting, right, Law?”

“Yeah…guess so…”

You’ll tease him about the light blush on his face later, but tonight, you’ll keep the smile he gives you later on to yourself, and the fact you were his Secret Santa will be your personal secret until Law questions you about it.

You’re the only one who could’ve given him those coins from your home island anyway.

#one piece x reader #reader insert #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader

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boredpotate · 3 days ago

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Happier Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Arcane or any music I link. I only own the concept for this story.

Concept: Isekai Fem Reader turns back time to fix her timeline, but has unforeseen consequences.

Powder Pov

"You really are a little artist. You like your new addition to your army kiddo?" I ask Isha as she colors another toy that Ekko made for her. She nods her head rapidly, not breaking her focus on coloring the toy robot while wearing a smile on her face.

"Good to know you like it." Ekko says, sitting on the other side of Isha, keeping the kid between us, before reaching to wipe some food off of her face.

It's been a few days since that operation happened; five days to be precise. After things calmed down for everyone, Vi and Cait went more into detail about what happened in those mines before leaving to check on how the others were doing, and then report their findings. Apparently some old rich guy from Piltover was running the gang and they were using orphans to work in the mines.

"Did she finish her food?" Dad asks as he walks over our table, making Isha pick up and present her empty plate to Dad, "Good job kid. Looks like you're getting your appetite back." he says as he pats her head which makes Isha giggle before going back to her coloring.

After all the kids from the mines were checked on by doctors, we decided to take Isha with us back home and dressed her since Y/n seemed to really care for her.

'Y/n.'

Their name echoes in my head again. I recall her lying down on the table again. Coming back with uncle's medicine to see a more clear view of her injuries with her clothes cut open. Watching as fragments were removed from the surface level of her body. I didn't get to see much more after Professor Heimerdinger arrived, but just by the look on his face before Ekko and I stepped out of the room, I was able to tell it wasn't good. Even when that Viktor guy arrived, it didn't help ease my nerves.

She had some close calls when it came to some deeper wounds in her back, but they would heal with time. The worse was her leg. They said she may recover, but if she woke up she wouldn't be able to walk right for awhile. Cait offered to house her until then but..... that didn't feel right for some reason. Luckily dad suggested housing her in one of the guest rooms we have available since buying out the old building connecting to ours. It being a more familiar place for her to wake up than in a fancy place was his reasoning.

Uncle Silco and the professor pay visits to check on her condition and make sure her IV is working. We sometimes find Isha checking in on her too.

Speaking of Isha, she's been a bundle of joy for the place. Took time, but eventually when she started getting comfortable she started showing her kid self more. Doesn't cause trouble and if she does it's harmless stuff. Ekko and I have taken over the duty of watching over her; I can see why Y/n cares for her a lot. Only took a few days for me to grow attached to her, and it looks like the same goes for the others. She doesn't talk, but she's expressive enough to convey how she's feeling and actually knows some sign language. Can write too.

"Kid must feel lucky. She's got her own personal attack dog ready to go rabid for her." Benzo says as dad brings the plate behind the bar to clean.

"Tch. More like a reckless bodyguard. Ignored all the thugs in the area and just gave into impulses." Sevika says as she nurses her drink at the bar, sitting near Vi and Cait. All of them off duty.

"I wonder what that's like?," I say sarcastically as I glance at Vi and Cait. Cait giggles a little while Vi gives me slight glare before I look back to Isha, "Take my advice kid, and appreciate it while it lasts. Next thing you know she's gonna get all lovesick for a cutie and start stalking her." That get's a chuckle out of people that hears, since pretty much everyone knows how protective Vi is.

"C'mon Pow Pow, y'know I would do the same for you. AND. I did not become a lovesick stalker. Right, Cupcake?" Vi says and looks to Cait to back her up, but get's a skeptical look instead.

"Mmmm, it's not completely wrong." Cait says making Vi look betrayed and the rest of us smirk.

"What!?"

"Sweetie, did you really think I believed that you would "conveniently" run into me every time I went on patrol around Zaun?"

"......It wasn't every time." Vi says, defeated and slightly embarrassed making us all have more of a chuckle from it.

"I did find it cute though. You also made patrols less boring." Cait says with a kiss to her temple to cheer her up, which makes Vi immediately perk up. The scene makes me smile before turning to look at Ekko.

"Hey, I'm gonna go check on her real quick. Keep an eye on her?"

"Go ahead. I got her." Ekko says and I ruffle the girl's head as I stand up and make my way up a set of stairs.

The walk to her room isn't too far from the bar. We decided it would be best that she was close to check on and just in case she woke up with no one with her.

I open the door to see Y/n still lying down on the bed, not having moved a muscle, the light from a nearby window slightly shining on her. I walk to the side of the bed and go to check her IV to make sure nothings wrong and doesn't need to be switched out. Once that is done I turn to look down at her again, this time much closer, and I take a moment to look her over. I see some of the bandages wrapped over her shoulder and collar bone that sticks out from underneath the blanket and take a quick look under the blanket to make sure her wounds haven't opened up again.

Once I see that she's fine I find myself staying to watch her for a little. Usually I'd find this type of thing weird, especially since I hardly know her, but something about her makes me stay longer than needed. It's comforting. She eased the headaches Ekko and I have been having. At first I would just do a quick check up, but then I started staying longer to just watch her sleep. It wasn't just me either. Sometimes Ekko and I will just stay in here and talk while keeping an eye on her.

I take a glance at the door and listen if anyone is coming before sitting down on the side of the bed. It felt nice to be close to her. It felt.... right.

I slowly reach forward and brush aside a few strands of hair behind her ear and I hesitate before laying my hand gently against her cheek and jaw. After caring for her and keeping her clean there's no longer any smudge of dirt or smog on her face.

"Why do you make us feel this way? Why do those headaches go away when near you?" I whisper, knowing she can't hear me or respond. I get lost in my thoughts before noticing my thumb brushing against her cheek and quickly pull my hand away. Calling my strange behavior there, "What is wrong with me?"

I stand up and quickly go to leave, but I take one last long look at her before closing the door and heading back to the bar. Feeling guilty of my strange behavior that I know I should be stopping.

"Why do I not want it to stop?"

Reader Pov

I feel my senses start coming back to me from what feels like a long sleep. I go to open my eyes, but find them hard to open from a bright light. I raise an arm and try to sit myself up on the bed I am laying on and feel myself struggle slightly to do the simple task.

'Wait. A bed?,' I realize before quickly covering my eyes from the light and open them to see myself in an unfamiliar room. I then notice the unfamiliar large shirt I am wearing and lack of pants. I finally see the light that has been causing me trouble is the sun shining through a nearby window, there's what looks to be a leg brace leaning on the wall near the nightstand and I notice that I am connected to what looks like an IV before taking out the tube connected to my wrist, 'Where am I?'

I remember what happened before falling unconscious in Isha's arms. I slowly shift to the edge of the bed and go to stand up; finding myself struggling slightly with my legs feeling weak. One leg feeling very painful to put weight on, so I hold onto the IV stand for support and make my way towards the nearby window and look out after my eyes adjust to the light. I see the streets of Zaun with people going about their day and kids playing.

"Good morning!"

I jump in shock, instinctively reaching for my gun which isn't there, but calm down once I see Professor Heimerdinger.

"Oh, sorry for frightening you. It's good to see you awake. How do you feel?" he asks in his always joyous tone.

"Uh, yeah. Thank you, I feel fine. Some pain in my back, but mostly my leg. My body feels weak though." I say which get's me a chuckle.

"Well that is expected for someone who has been in a coma for five days. S-"

"Five days!?"

"Yes! Now I must ask that you take a seat on the bed so that I may give you a quick check up." he says and I follow instructions while thinking about how long I was bedridden for.

Heimerdinger first jumps onto the bed and checks my eyes before asking me to lift the back of my shirt to look at the bandages I only now notice were wrapped around my torso. He then drops down to look at my injured leg.

"Um, quick question. Where am I?" I ask as he looks it over.

"Oh right! Don't worry young one, you're safe. Currently you're in The Last Drop, the owner of this establishment was nice enough to house you." he answers which makes my eyes widen.

"Vander."

"Yes! You were in quite a severe condition from your task with the enforcers, but you were rushed here to get help. You're lucky nothing vital was damaged. After removing all the embedded fragments and making sure you were stable, Vander and her daughter suggested housing you here. He said it would be better for you to wake up in a place you're more comfortable with than in the Kiramman estate like Caitlyn had offered," Heimerdinger explains before finally looking satisfied with his examination of my leg, "Well, Y/n, it looks like most minor injuries have healed and the more concerning ones are healing fairly quick. The only one that brings concern is your leg. It took a bad hit and will take awhile for you to recover before you can use it normally again, but don't worry. Viktor and Jace both made a leg brace just for you based off your measurements. Easy to put on too." he explains and I nod my head before looking down at the oversized shirt I am wearing.

"Do you mind telling me where my clothes are?"

"Ah, right, well unfortunately they had to be cut open in order to operate on you without risking making things worse. Your armor also did not survive the blast and was fractured in my places; stopping some fragments from hitting you, but also some of it cracking and stabbing into your back. I don't know what was done with it afterwards," he explains and I nod with a disappointed sigh, "Though I am sure Powder will have some clothes for you. Oh! I need to inform them of you waking up! Wait here." he says before rushing off back out the door he came in. I smile at his antics before my eyes explore the homey room.

It has some simple decorations like lamps, a shelf and a wardrobe. Decide to get lost in my thoughts for a few minutes about the situation I find myself in while I wait.

'I really messed up this time.'

*knock* *knock* I hear before I see the all too familiar blue head of hair before seeing Powder's whole head poke in. I see a smile on her face when she sees me.

"Hey, it's good to see you recovered well," she says as she steps in with folded clothes under her arm and cane held in the other, "These should fit you well, and Heimerdinger said you're gonna need the cane to walk. I hope you don't mind if my clothes don't match your tastes. Oh, and your shoes are just by the door." she says as she sets the cane near the nightstand and hands me the clothes.

I over the simple clothing of a pair of pants and a white collared shirt with long sleeves and smile.

"Thanks. This is fine, and thanks for housing me." I say and notice her shoulders drop slightly to be more relaxed.

"Don't mention it. Plus it wasn't that hard to look after you. Even Isha helped a lot." Powder says and makes my eyes widen.

"Isha's here!? I-Is she okay?" I ask and Powder sets a hand on my shoulder.

"She's fine. We took her in after the doctors looked her and the rest of the kids over. You clearly cared a lot for her so we thought it would be best for her to be here," she explains which makes me sigh in relief, "Now if I were I'd hurry before Isha finds a way to sneak up here herself. Ekko and I can only keep her at bay for so long. By the way, how do you know her anyway?," she asks which makes me freeze, "She told us she doesn't know who you are, but she does really like you now for saving her. She makes sure to check up on you every morning."

'Shit. Did not think about that.'

"I..... I kinda knew her parents. They weren't in the best position to support her, so they gave her up." I make up on the spot.

"Where are they now?"

"They passed away. I didn't know which orphanage she was in, and even if I did I couldn't care for her. My lifestyle would have put her in danger." I continue to build off of the lie.

"Hm, how did you know it was her then?"

"It..... It was a feeling," I lie which get's me a brow raise, "I know. It's weird, but it really was just a feeling. I-I can't explain it." I lie again, knowing it's not hardly gonna work to kill her suspicion.

She stares for a second before nodding and goes to leave, but before she does I see her stop for a second before looking back at me.

"H-Hey, are you gonna need help...... y'know... undressing?" she asks with a light blush on her cheeks and I my own cheeks heat up at the question.

"No-No I-I got it. Thanks for offering though."

"Alright, yeah..... cool. I-I'll see you down there. Just head over here when you're ready." she says, pointing down the hall before shutting the door and I hear her footsteps quickly leave.

I take a few seconds to calm my blush down before I start changing. Turns out, I did not completely have it. The pain on my back making it a little hard to take off the shirt I'm wearing, but I still manage to get it off before changing into the clothes given to me. Honestly it felt kinda weird to wear something that was clean and good quality.

I fold up the sleeves just before my elbows before reaching for the leg brace. Now holding it closer I can see the quality of the brace and a part of me hesitates before strapping it on. Once I make sure it's on correctly I use the cane to stand up from the bed and immediately notice the lack of intense pain in my leg because of the brace.

I awkwardly make my way out of the room, trying to get used to the brace and using a cane, before making my way down the hallway to another door where I hear noise. I walk through and find myself on the 2nd floor of The Last Drop. I spot familiar faces sitting at the bar before heading to the stairs. I try to take a step down, but find it a little difficult with the brace and cane making the movement unfamiliar.

"Need help?" I hear and see Ekko walking up towards me, but doesn't make a move to help until I smile and nod.

'Always a gentlemen.' I think before he helps me balance and walk down the stairs.

"Thanks. Not used to moving around with a cane, let alone a whole leg brace."

"No need to thank me. Does it hurt?"

"Nothing I can't handle, the brace helps a lot. I just gotta get used to it. Name's Y/n by the way."

"Oh right! I'm Ekko, sorry, forgot we haven't met yet." he says sounding a little panicked, making me laugh a little.

"Who doesn't know about "The Boy Savior"?" I ask which makes him groan, making my smile widen.

"Man, and here I thought you wouldn't know about that. I don't know why people call me that."

"'Cause you help people. From what I've heard you always try your best to help people."

"So? A lot of people help people."

"Not as much as you do "Boy Savior"," I say again teasingly which makes him roll his eyes, "Sometimes all people need is for someone to care. It gives them hope." I say as we finally reach the bottom step.

"Well, looks who's finally woken up." I hear Vander say and finally notice all the eyes on me now.

"Mornin'," I say not knowing what else to sayin in the moment, before I notice Isha staring at me from behind Powder's legs which makes me smile, "Hey kid, good to see you're alright."

'Most likely kinda scared after I we-' I don't finish the thought because she comes running from behind Powder and crashes into a lower half; hugging me close, 'Maybe, not.' I thought as I run a hand through her hair.

"She's been waiting for you to wake up for days. Always checkin' up on you to see if you're awake," Vander says as I take a moment to take a moment to hold Isha close, old memories of her death going through my head, "Here, you better eat." he says as he places a plate of food on the counter once Isha pulls away, but still holds the bottom of the shirt I'm wearing.

"You-You didn't have to do that." I say which makes the professor look aghast on his stool.

"Nonsense! After being stuck in bed for so long it's best to have a nice meal to start building back your strength and readjust your body." he says and Isha grabs my free hand before tugging me to the corner of the bar counter where Vi, Cait and Sevika are sitting; insisting that I eat, "See? Even the young child agrees." he says which makes me let out a sigh before sitting down at the counter; Isha trying to climb up the high stool next to me to sit down so Powder helps her up.

"Thank you." I say to Vander and begin eating the fresh meal.

'It's felt like forever since I last ate a hot meal.'

"So, I have informed Vander of your condition. I believe after some rest and not putting too much weight on your leg you will recover in no time." Heimerdinger explains and I nod.

"Thank you again. Uh, how much is the brace gonna cost exactly?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. Free of charge! Viktor was the one who wanted it made and insisted you not worry about any payment."

"Really?" I ask in slight disbelief before continuing when I get a nod, "Huh, I guess that's one less thing to worry about. Just gotta figure out how to get back home." I say as I take another spoonful of food. Though I sense a tone shift in the room.

"About that. I, or more like we, were wondering if you got anyone back home to help you recover. We thought someone would come asking for you eventually, but no one showed up." Vander asks as he picks up a glass to wipe down.

"Oh uh, no," I answer which makes Vander look concerned, "I should be fine though. I could hunker down for a few day." I say as I continue eating.

"And if some gang tries something?," he asks and I stay silent; not able to provide an answer, "Mmhm. You're staying here until you recover." he says, making me choke on some food.

"Taking in two more strays I see?" Silco jokes from across the bar with Benzo letting out a small laugh, as Isha pats my back.

"Wait. No I can't st-" I go to protest, but Vander gives me a look which makes me shut up, and Benzo laughs harder.

"Haha! You still got it, huh Vande'!?"

I sit there in defeat after already being shut down of any protests like a damn child, while the three men break off into their own conversations.

'This isn't fair. He used the "Don't test me" look.' I thought as I hear giggles from Powder and Vi.

"Nice try, but when Dad decides on something like this it's better to just roll over. I've tried." Vi says as she gives me sympathetic look.

"Plus I doubt this kid would let you go by yourself. She'd probably follow you down there and I don't think any of us want that." Powder says as she ruffles Isha's hair and hands her a toy robot.

"Thanks. And I'm sorry for screwing up the whole operation." I apologize, but Sevika scoff and waves it off.

"Whatever, it's fine. Wouldn't be the first time we had someone go off the rails on the team," she says as she and Cait give Vi a quick glance, making the pink head roll her eyes, "Plus it turned out better than expected. That explosion caused a noticeable rumble above ground, so when some enforcers found Chross and his guys come out of a tunnel up in Piltover, they put them into custody." she explains making me curious.

"They ended up in Piltover? I didn't know there were mining tunnels there." I voice my curiosity and Cait jumps in to give an explanation.

"There are a few old ones that have been abandoned. Turns out that's how he moved shipments to the Undercity. After interrogation his thugs broke and admitted to crimes, such as paying off some caretakers at orphanages to stay silent and lie about the whereabouts on the children," she says which makes me glance down to Isha who is now coloring the toy, "and the rest of the gang are scrambling without order. Overall a much better outcome than expected, even given the way it went. Your payment will be given in a few days time after we finish our overall report for our investigation." Cait finishes with a satisfied tone and expression on her face before I hear the door of the bar opening.

"Woah, look who woke up. It was about time." I hear and turn in time to see Mylo get elbowed by Claggor.

"Sorry about him. He's still learning how to behave," Powder says as she leans back against the bar counter next to me, "Y/n, these are my brothers, the gangly one is Mylo and the big one is Claggor. Guys, meet the new residence of The Last Drop, Y/n."

"Wait! She's staying here!? Why!? Isn't she still technically a criminal?" Mylo brings up which makes me glance at Cait.

"Right. I forgot to mention. My mother took a closer look at your record and insisted on pardoning you of charges on your record. It was pretty easy to get when it was obvious you weren't targeting any civilians. Though she recommends putting your skill to good use with the enforcers; if not then she suggests at least getting a mercenary license if you want to operate as a mercenary." Cait explains which makes me even more confused.

"There's licenses for mercenaries?"

"Yes. Though it is no longer as common to have mercenaries working around; Silco suggested making it available so that mercenaries would lean towards a more legal line of work instead of working with gangs, which worked." Cait explains making me wonder just how much has changed with laws.

"You didn't know about merc licenses?," Ekko asks as he walks over next to Isha and sets down a pack of what looks like crayons for Isha, and I shake my head, "It was a pretty big deal. Helped a lot when Piltover and Zaun made peace. The council paid any mercenary willing to help with clearing out gangs in Zaun, even if it was just some info."

"See Mylo, she ain't that bad. Stop being an ass" Claggor says, but Mylo scoffs before looking me up and down.

"Well, at least you aren't dressed in rags anymore. You really need a sense of style." he says with a smug look which makes me look deadpan at him.

"You really gonna judge my look, Eyebrows?" I ask, getting a few chuckles from the others and Mylo looks offended.

"I've been telling him the same thing for years." Powder tells me which gets another scoff from Mylo.

"I am, not, getting my brows done. That's a girl's thing." he says which makes Ekko raise a hand.

"Powder does my eyebrows sometimes." Ekko argues.

"Whatever, that's different. I'm not getting my brows done." Mylo continues to protest as he folds his arms, making Powder roll her eyes.

"Fine. If not the brows, then shave the facial hair," which makes him look aghast at the suggestion, "At least the sideburns."

"What!? No way! They're the main part of my look. It's manly. Right guys? Tell her." Mylo says as he looks at Claggor and Ekko to defend him on this.

They both look at eachother, then me, then back to Mylo before acting like they didn't hear anything. Looking elsewhere around the room, making the rest of us laugh.

"Oh, c'mon guys! It looks good." he tries to say, but doesn't gain any support. He then looks defeated before making eye contact with now my own smug look.

"Shave the sideburns." I say as I finish the last of the food on my plate, before my attention is grabbed by the capsule contraption Claggor is holding. Is that a flower?

"What's with the flower?" I ask which makes Claggor smile.

"Glad you asked," he says as he brushes past a disgruntled Mylo and sets it on the counter, "This is a hybrid flower to help get fresh air into the Undercity. It's supposed to be able to survive and produce air, even with all the gasses from the fissure." he says as he twists and pulls some things which gives a demonstration on the flower taking in the fissure gasses.

"What a brilliant idea!" Heimerdinger says enthusiastically.

'Mylo and Claggor working with plants? Never would have expected that.'

"Buuuut?" Powder asks with a slight head tilt, making Claggor sigh.

"But it's not fully working as expected. We got it to start feeding off the fissure gasses, but it's not working out fully as expected. They survive, but won't grow and can't produce enough air down here." he explains as Isha taps on the glass of the capsule.

'What about the tree? That somehow survived.'

"Tree?" I hear Ekko ask and turn to see him and Powder both looking at me curiously.

'Oh shit. I was mumbling again.'

"Oh, u-uh nothing. Sorry I was ju-"

"What tree?" Claggor now asks Ekko.

"Y/n said something about a tree." Ekko says, making Claggor and Mylo look to me. Claggor looking very interested, making me slightly nervous.

'Do they not know about it?'

"Uh, y'know. That one tree in the underground? Has some plants growing around it? Why don't you take samples from those?" I ask, but they look confused, "I guess that's a no."

"A tree? What tree? Where?" Claggor asks, now leaning onto the bar.

"It's not in plain sight. It's hidden in some abandon place, probably where maintenance used to be for the old pipes or something."

"W-Wait. So it's like an actual tree? How big is it?"

"Pretty big. I'd say it's been growing down there before any of us were born, maybe even longer than that."

"An actual tree. Can you show me where it is? Maybe if Mylo and I study some samples and the soil, then we can make a hybrid that can actually work for the Zaun." Claggor asks with hope in his voice and eyes."

"Su-"

"Woah, hold on," Vi says with a raised hand, "I don't think you should be walking around with your leg right? You just woke up." Vi says with concern.

"It's fine. I just gotta make sure not to put too much weight on," I say and turn to Heimerdinger, "Right?"

"Hmm, usually I would say you should rest, but I am also fascinated by this recent discovery. If the location of this tree is not hard to get to, then I think your leg should be fine."

"Not hard at all. Just a walk through some pipes and you're there, though I hope you don't mind getting your shoes wet." I say to Claggor and Mylo.

"As long as there's an actual tree, then it's fine by me." Claggor says and Mylo just shrugs his shoulders.

"Cool. I'll come too. Ekko?" Powder asks and gets a nod before looking at Isha, "And I'm guessing you're gonna wanna come too, huh?" Powder asks and Isha excitedly nods.

Vi then groan as she leans back into her seat.

"Maaan, I wanna see the tree too. Instead I need to go on patrol again." Vi says disgruntled and Cait comforts her with a shoulder rub and Sevika rolls her eyes.

"We can go see it another day Sweetie. Speaking of patrol, we better head out. Stay safe on your trip." Cait says as she pays for the drinks before leaving with a disappointed Vi and Sevika.

I stand up from my seat before looking down at my hip, remembering my lack of weapons.

"You guys wouldn't happen to have my stuff?" I ask, Isha perks up as she jump off her stool and rushes to the backroom, making Powder and Ekko chuckle.

"Yeah, about that. Isha found her way to them, so I hope you don't mind. We were supposed to clean them before you woke up." Powder says, making me raise a brow at her before Isha comes rushing back out with her arms full and wearing two helmets.

She looks at me expectantly as I see she made some cosmetic changes to my gear. Blue and green being the most colors that stand out. My shovel having a smiling face with shark teeth on it, my plain holster now being a mix of blue and green, my revolver having some stars and smiley faces with numbers on the spinning chamber, my gas mask has some little markings added where they could fit, and my helmet is much more colorful with bunny ears on the front. Looking at the colorful gear makes me smile as I pick up my helmet from atop Isha's head.

"I like it," I say before putting it on, "How does it look?" I ask

"Somehow, even more scary than before." Ekko says making me nod in approval before reaching to put on the rest of my gear while Claggor and Mylo discuss with the professor about the potential of their hybrid plants.

I do kinda struggle with reaching around with my gun holster before I feel my hand brush against another and turn to see Ekko.

"Let me help with that," he says as he helps me get the holster around and before I know it he helps with buckling it too; I feel a slight heat on my cheeks from the action, "That good?"

"Yup. Thanks," I say and Ekko nods before I take my gun and shovel and strap them on my hips, then put on my gas mask. Only then do I remember one more important thing missing, "Did you happen to find a journal on me too?" I ask, making Powder perk up.

"Oh right! Sorry," she says before reaching into her jacket and holding it out to me, "Don't worry, I didn't look in it. Just thought you'd want it somewhere safe." she explains and I nod before taking and pocketing it.

'It's best for you to never look in it.'

"Thanks. So I guess we can head out now?" I ask and get nods from everyone and Isha grabs my hand and pulls me towards the doors.

"Dad! We're heading out to go see a tree!" Powder says and get's a nod from Vander.

"Stay safe out there, and don't lean on your leg too much Y/n." Silco says before the three men go back to talking.

As we leave and Isha holds my hand in hers, I can't help but have a nice warm feeling in my chest.

'.....Maybe this isn't so bad.'

Ekko Pov

"Hey, you okay?" I whisper to Powder after noticing her lagging behind the group. All of us now walking through an old pipeline that supposedly leads to the tree Y/n has mentioned. Isha enjoying the the walk in the water, while our shoes are ankle deep in water.

"I am, but.... I don't know. This is just weird."

"You think it's a setup? She seems fine to me"

"No, I don't, but that's the problem. This whole thing feels too fine. Feels too right for someone we just met yesterday. Look at them," she says as she gestures forward at the rest of the group. Bantering about things that come to their minds. I see Y/n, her mask now off and attached to her holster, say something that makes Mylo and Claggor laugh, "She fits in. She fits in too well. Mylo would usually be stumbling over his words when met with a cute girl, but instead they're just joking and ribbing each other like they've known each other since forever." she says, making me sigh.

"I know. I was surprised when Mylo was actually able to let out a sentence without a voice crack." I say jokingly, making Powder slightly glare at me and give me a nudge.

"I'm serious. It's weird, but it's good weird. Even you and I have stayed in her room because it felt nice to just be there with her. You know that's not normal," I remember the times we'd spend in that room, using Isha as an excuse of being there sometimes because she wanted to be there, but I know Powder and I enjoyed Y/n being in the same room as us, "She makes me forget that she's a stranger. We all have friends, but we have a pretty tight knit group of people we really really care for. When I saw the condition she was in that day Vi rushed her in; I never felt that worried before. I thought she was gonna die and that made me want to cry. Even now, I still hardly know her, but it just feels right to be with her. She's hiding something and that makes me feel really upset, and I shouldn't be." Powder finishes airing out her thoughts and finally takes a deep breath. Making me wrap an arm around her.

"You're not wrong. I've been questioning it too.... but is it that bad? Maybe she just fits in really well with us?," I try to argue, but then immediately sigh in defeat to myself, knowing that's not it, "Never mind, I'm just lying to myself. I feel it too. That weird pull to her. It makes me want to protect her."

"Exactly! Whenever I think about how she's hiding something, I really wanted to look in her journal but held myself back. It's wrong, but it feels right. I-I think I see it in the others too. What-What's happening to us?"

"I don't know."

'A part of me doesn't want to know. Just accept it.'

"There just up ahead, it should be there." Y/n says as she points to the light at the end of the tunnel. A smile on her face that brings back that comforting feeling and I feel Powder relax under my arm as we catch up with the group.

Once we finally reach the end I blink to adjust to the sunlight and stare in shock at the actual living tree.

"It's real." I say looking at it in awe.

"Amazing! To think that life somehow found a way to live deep down here underground. Imagine what it must have gone through to adapt to it's conditions!" Heimerdinger says looking at it in awe.

Claggor quickly goes up closer to it with Mylo and the professor following close behind. Isha splashes around the area, she looks to be having fun playing in the water and looking at the insects.

"It's beautiful. How did you find this place?" Powder asks Y/n, who is keeping a close eye on Isha with a smile on her face.

"Just wandering around. Eventually stumbled upon this place one day." she says, but I see her fiddling with her shovel handle. I ignore the sign of nervousness and turn back to the tree.

"I can't believe no one knew about this place. It's like a sanctuary."

"A sanctuary for hope," Y/n says as she glances at me, "Even in the roughest conditions. Life finds a way to thrive. Kinda like Zaun." she says and turns back to the tree. I catch myself admiring her in scenery, apparently a little too long because I feel Powder nudge me slightly and give me a knowing smirk. It's then that we see some slight shine onto her eyes, making her blink and rub at them.

"Damn light." she says as she raises a hand over her eyes and blinking a lot, having a hard time to adjust.

"You really aren't that good with light are you? What's up with that?" Powder asks as Y/n moves to a more shaded area.

"I'm just not used to it. I've spent most of my life in the deep end of the Undercity, so light isn't really a thing I'm used to." she says making me raise a brow.

"You've had to have come up from there at least sometimes right? When was the last time you left?" I ask curiously, and also some concern for the health of her eyes.

"Besides yesterday, it's been years. Last time was when that whole speech about peace between Piltover and Zaun happened on that bridge," she says making both Powder and I stare at her in shock and horror, "What?"

"Y/n. You haven't been to the surface in eight years!?" Powder asks in concern, making Y/n nervous as she helps Isha up from the water after she slipped.

"No. Too busy dealing with gangs honestly. Never really kept up with Zaun," Y/n says as she wipes some dirt off Isha's face, "Wake up, eat, hunt down gangs, sometimes wipe them out and if I'm lucky I get a good amount of sleep. Rinse and repeat." she finishes explaining making me connect some dots.

"That's why you look so confused about laws and the way Zaun is now. You've been completely out of the loop," I say, getting a nod from Y/n, "So you haven't seen how Zaun is now? The markets? Stores? Community? Nothing?"

She looks hesitant and too embarrassed to answer, even getting a sympathetic look from Isha.

'She has been living in the past. Literally.'

"Okay. No, we're going on a different trip." Powder says, sounding slightly upset, as she walks up to Y/n, grabs a hand and starts dragging her back to the pipe with Isha following close behind. Y/n gives me a pleading look to help her, but I shrug my shoulders. A part of me also wanting to see where this goes.

"But-But what about the tree and the others?" Y/n asks making Powder roll her eyes, before tugging Y/n forward almost causing her to fall and looping her arm with her own, holding her close to support her and help her walk.

"They're too busy getting samples and admiring the tree, they'll be fine. We, are going to give you a tour around Zaun."

"You do-"

"Shut up. You don't have a choice. Come on you two." Powder calls back to Isha and I. I quickly catch up them and pick up Isha from behind and place her on my shoulders as we follow behind the two. Powder continuing to drag the reluctant girl. That feeling of everything being right, emerging again.

I don't fight the feeling this time.

Hope you enjoyed reading. Sorry if there are grammar mistakes.

#arcane au #yandere arcane #yandere arcane x reader #yandere claggor #yandere ekko #yandere mylo #yandere powder #yandere silco #yandere vander #yandere vi

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sinnabarmoth · 1 day ago

Text

Tribute for the Dragon (6/18)

Pairing: Dragon|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: After the events of the hot spring you take to avoiding Sylus. It goes well until your accidentally wander somewhere you shouldn't have been.

Content Warnings: Adult language.

Length: 2k

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (7)

Read on AO3

“I am going to hurl myself off the mountain.” you muttered into your pillow. “I’m really gonna do it. I can’t go back out there and face him now. My only option is death now.”

You had been hiding back in your bedroom since that morning. You knew you technically had duties but you could not bring yourself to leave the room. When you thought about what happened back in the hot spring your entire body got heated.

It was one thing to have your own little forbidden fantasies that confused you but it was another to actually live them! You couldn’t act like Sylus wasn’t attractive. He was. If he were human then you probably wouldn’t be feeling so conflicted about it. But he is at least part dragon and while it looked like the only differences were cosmetic ones, you had not taken into account that there would be biological differences too!

He could really smell when you were aroused! That was beyond unfair! Now what were you supposed to do? Apparently if you got aroused you stunk up the entire mountain! You would reek and he’d know and how were you meant to go about your normal duties knowing that at any moment you could have a sudden fleeting desire and he’d pick up on it like a hunting dog tracking a rabbit!

Then his offer to help! Dear gods above, you were going to get aroused again if you thought of the implications.

Maybe it would be fine. You could survive this. Knowing what you knew now the lust would eventually fade and things could go back to normal. He’d get bored of teasing you and--

No. He would not get bored of teasing you. It was stupid to think otherwise. But he may at least stop making blatant comments about it at some point.

With that in mind you decided to be brave and go back to your work. You were just going to do your best to avoid Sylus until you felt that you could be normal about this again. And avoid him you did. You crept through the tunnels like you were a thief in the night. The moment you heard him you darted in the other direction.

When it came to preparing meals you cooked them, shouted that the food was ready, and took off again. And you knew that Sylus could tell that you were avoiding him. If he really wanted to he would come seek you out wherever you were. For whatever reason he was letting you play this out. Perhaps he found it humorous or maybe he understood why you were doing it and was giving you that space. It was impossible to say which was correct.

All you knew was that the thought of seeing him made your skin alight and your legs tremble. Honestly, knowing that he could sniff out your desire made you feel aroused more often now. It was like when your foot was itchy but you didn’t realise it was itchy until you thought about it. If he had never said anything you probably would have been fine.

You didn’t know how long you could keep this up. Something had to give.

Then one day you were walking about the mountain when you heard Sylus coming down the same hall. You panicked and ducked into the closest room to you. At the time you hadn’t noticed the X carved over the archway.

You ducked inside, pressing yourself into the shadows waiting for him to pass. You stared into the darkness of the room and slowly your eyes adjusted. It looked like an empty spacious room. The only thing you could make out was the glint of metal further in.

Your curiosity got the better of you, no longer worried about Sylus coming down the hall and got closer. In the wane light you were able to make out what was there. It was an old chest. No shiny adornments on it or anything, just plain wood and iron.

Why was this in here all by itself? You glanced back at the doorway. You didn’t hear Sylus. He must have passed by.

Slowly you hefted the lid, the hinges creaked loudly as if they had not been moved in years. Perhaps they hadn’t. You had to squint and angle the chest towards the light from the doorway but you could make out a few things inside. Most of it was some old books and clothes but there were two things that caught your eye. One was a large piece of what looked to be an eggshell and the other was a shining gold pendant. Pendant was the wrong word. The disc you held in your hands was as wide as a dinner plate on a chain as thick as a rope.

It was dazzling. It almost seemed to glow in the darkness, a thin shine of red coming off of it. The design on the face was simple but masterfully done. Swirling designs crisscrossed the surface into some looping star shape.

Why would Sylus keep something like this in here and not the hoard room?

“Are you done snooping?”

Shit!

You froze, dropping the pendant back in the chest and closing the lid. Sylus was standing behind you, silhouetted in the door. You couldn’t see his face against the shadows but the ice in his voice was indicator enough that he was pissed. “I told you not to come in here.”

“Sorry.” you blurted out. “It was an accident.”

“And was it an accident when you went through my things?” he stalked further into the room.

“No…I just saw the chest and my curiosity got the best of me. I’m sorry. Really I am.”

“Well, I hope it was worth it. Now get out.”

In all the time that you had been here, this was the only time you had heard him genuinely angry. Your heart clenched and you held your arms close to your chest.

“Yes, master.” you squeaked out and fled the room as fast as your feet could carry you.

You did not see Sylus for the rest of the day and this time it wasn’t because you were avoiding him. He had disappeared from the mountain again. The room, when you walked past it later, had been blocked off with a mountain of rubble. Whatever that room was, whatever was in that chest meant, it was clear that Sylus did not want you in there again.

You felt guilty about looking through his things. There was no excusing your actions and if you had been smarter about it you would have never touched that chest. You would have recognized you were in a room you shouldn’t have been in and left the moment you were sure Sylus was gone. But now he was angry with you and you did not know how that would affect things between you.

This was arguably worse than the whole masturbation debacle. At least you knew where you stood with him regarding that. Now, you were scared. Not of him. You didn’t think he would hurt you. But you were worried that he would put you at a distance now. What if all you ever were to him from here on out was a servant? What if he decided he didn’t want you around anymore? Would he send you back to the village?

“Damn it.” you sighed. “I have to talk to him.”

You searched the mountain but like you had suspected earlier, he was missing. Probably gone on another flight. You went to the entrance and sat down. He’d come back at some point and you’d be waiting.

~~~

Sylus had been trying to give you the space you so desperately wanted after what happened in the hot spring. You were embarrassed and nervous, he expected that. But he had been sure you would get over it in time. So he let you hide and run, partly amused by how nervous you were.

Then he had caught you in that room. There were few places he didn’t want you treading, most of them were for safety reasons. The room that you went into though trying to hide from him was one that he had marked off for personal reasons. What he kept in there was for his eyes only. At least it was until you opened that chest.

He had seen what you were holding and all he wanted was for you to drop it. Forget everything you had seen.

When you looked at him…what he saw…what he smelled even. You were scared. Scared of him. The sour stench followed you out of the room. He didn’t want that. You were never supposed to be scared of him.

He went to the chest, checking the contents inside and slammed the lid shut once more. He then blocked up the entrance so no one could enter again. There was no reason for anyone to be going in there. Never again.

That sour stench of your fear was still in the hall. “Damn it.” he didn’t want to be here when the mountain smelled like this. It only reminded him of that terrified look you had thrown at him. You had looked so helpless, so small. The only time he had seen you look half as scared was when you first came to the mountain in that ridiculously extravagant dress and the makeup that had sweated off your face. But then, that fear had never been directed at him. You had always been so strong and so brave about everything that happened to you.

With one look he was scared that he had destroyed the trust you had put in him. What if you wanted to return to the village now? If you were truly that unhappy he would let you go in an instant. But the mountain would be so quiet without you. He needed to correct this before you were too far gone. But he also needed to clear his own head first.

He stayed out in the sky, flying without direction. He hadn’t noticed how long he had been gone until the sun started to set in the sky. He immediately turned back, hoping that he could catch you before you went to sleep.

It was dark when he returned. The mountain no longer smelled of your fear. And to his surprise, there you were.

You were at the mouth of entrance, propped against the stone wall, eyes closed as you slept. Had you been waiting for him?

“You didn’t need to wait out here,” he murmured to your sleeping face. He shook his head and gently scooped you up into his arms to take you back to the bedroom.

He had just gotten you back to the bedroom when you started to rouse, your eyes opened and squinted up at him. “Sylus? Where did you go?” you said through a yawn.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m back.” he set you on the bed.

“I’m sorry.” you rolled over to keep looking at him.

“I know you are. Go back to sleep.” he pulled the blankets up around you. He turned to leave but you caught him by his hand. “What is it?”

“I really am sorry. I don’t know what it was about that room or that chest that you didn’t want me to see but I do feel bad about going through it. I just…” your hand gripped his tighter, “I guess part of me looked through it because I wanted to know more about you.”

Sylus had not been expecting this. “What do you mean?” he asked, kneeling next to the bed so you were eye level.

“For as long as I’ve been here the most I feel I know about you is your name.” you said. “I don’t feel like I know anything else.”

“You wish to know my past?”

“Not even that.” you sighed, “I just want to know you. If I am to spend the rest of my life here, I may as well know the only person I may ever get to talk to.”

The rest of your life…

You weren’t asking to go back to the village. That’s all that mattered to him.

“That is fair enough.” Sylus said. “You may ask as many questions as you want, in the morning though. Then we can both get to know one another better.”

You smiled, it was sleepy and small but you had smiled at him. “Good.” your eyes closed again.

He looked down and saw your hand was still curled around his claw as you drifted on back to sleep. “What a strange little human you are.”

#love and deepspace #lads sylus #lads mc #sylus x mc #sylus x reader #dragon sylus #lads dragon au

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leona-hawthorne · 8 hours ago

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FICMAS #8— HE’S MINE! / mattheo riddle

december 23rd

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary: it seems to be a little hard to get into the christmas spirit when your little sister is hogging your boyfriend!

warnings: fluff, established relationship

words: 1.4k

a/n: i love this one tbh :)

navigation ficmas masterlist

It had been your idea to bring Mattheo home for Christmas. Of course it had. You’d argued for it, certain your parents wouldn’t mind—and they didn’t. In fact, they’d been surprisingly enthusiastic about it. They liked Mattheo, for one, and they knew enough about his home life—or lack thereof—to see why he might need an escape for the holidays. Besides, the thought of leaving him behind in that cold, empty manor while you went off to bake cookies and trim trees with your family felt unbearable.

What you hadn’t planned for was your little sister.

The moment she saw Mattheo, her eyes went wide, her lips parted in a tiny gasp, and for once, she didn’t have a single smart remark. You’d expected her usual groaning protest of Ew, boys are gross or Whatever, he’s probably boring. But instead, she just stood there staring up at him, as though he were some sort of fairy tale prince who’d stepped straight out of one of her bedtime stories.

“Hey,” Mattheo had said gently, crouching down to her level. He had that rare, soft smile on his face—the one he reserved only for you, and apparently now, six-year-old girls. “You must be the famous little sister. I’ve heard all about you.”

Her face had turned scarlet, and she’d ducked behind your leg, clutching your jeans for dear life. You’d raised an eyebrow at Mattheo, trying to stifle a laugh. Well, this is new.

From then on, it was as though she’d claimed him. Every time you turned around, there she was, dragging him off for some new adventure. At first, it was cute. Endearing, even. She’d taken him by the hand to show him the ornaments she’d made for the tree, chattering on about how she’d painted the reindeer one herself. He’d listened patiently, nodding and smiling as though her ramblings were the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard.

But then it escalated.

By the second day, you found them at her little pink tea table, tiny porcelain cups in hand. Mattheo’s long legs were awkwardly folded beneath him as he pretended to sip imaginary tea. You’d leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, biting your lip to keep from laughing.

“Really?” you’d asked, grinning. “A tea party?”

“She made me a very convincing argument,” Mattheo replied, deadpan, though the corners of his mouth twitched with amusement. “Also, I think this is her way of letting me know who’s in charge here.”

You’d laughed then, shaking your head, but something about the way your sister beamed up at him had made you pause.

It wasn’t long before her demands grew bolder. She’d roped him into baking cookies—flour dusted all over his dark jumper—and insisted he give her a piggyback ride around the house. And though Mattheo obliged her every request with good-natured patience, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance.

Because every time you tried to steal a moment alone with him, she was already there, wedged firmly between the two of you.

On the third day, you figured maybe it was time to steal back your boyfriend.

“Where is he?” you muttered, stalking through the house. The smell of gingerbread lingered in the air, and somewhere, you could hear your sister’s giggles echoing down the hall.

You found them in the living room. She was perched on Mattheo’s back, her little arms wrapped tightly around his neck as he crawled on all fours, pretending to be a dragon.

“Really?” you said, crossing your arms as you stood in the doorway.

Mattheo glanced up at you, his curls falling into his eyes. He was grinning. “What?”

“She’s hogging you,” you said, your voice teetering on the edge of a whine.

“She’s six,” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “You jealous of a six-year-old?”

“What? No, I just– you know what? You two have fun, I’m gonna go help my mom with wrapping.”

And by the fourth day, you’d had enough.

You didn’t know whether to scoff or to smile as you watched Mattheo from the doorway of the kitchen. He stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, flour dusting his dark shirt as he helped your little sister roll out sugar cookie dough. His hands were comically large compared to hers, yet he moved with such careful precision, as if afraid to crush her tiny fingers by accident.

Your sister giggled, a sound that echoed through the space like a bell, and your chest tightened at how easily Mattheo coaxed that sound from her. It was endearing—no, more than endearing. It was heartwarming. But also…infuriating.

You stepped into the room, leaning against the counter as you folded your arms. “How’s it going in here?”

Mattheo glanced up at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s going great. We’re making masterpieces, aren’t we, kid?”

Your sister nodded vigorously, her pigtails bouncing as she beamed up at him. “Mattheo says my snowman looks perfect!”

You raised a brow, biting back a smile. “Perfect, huh? Even though his head is sliding off his body?”

Mattheo chuckled, brushing a streak of flour off his arm. “It’s an abstract snowman,” he said smoothly, turning back to the dough. “He’s got character.”

Your sister giggled again, clearly thrilled by his attention, and you felt the beginnings of that familiar pang of annoyance. You’d invited Mattheo here for you, not so he could spend every waking moment entertaining your sister.

“Right,” you said, stepping closer and nudging him lightly with your hip. “Well, I’m stealing him now. We were supposed to watch a movie, remember?”

Mattheo looked over at you, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. “Baby, are you jealous of a six-year-old?”

Your mouth opened, indignation flaring to life, but before you could respond, your sister tugged on his sleeve. “Wait! We still have to make the reindeer cookies! You promised!”

Mattheo crouched slightly, bringing himself to her level as he smiled at her. “And we’ll make those, I swear. But your big sister’s giving me that look, and I think I’d better listen to her before she drags me out of here.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the way your lips twitched upward. “I’m not giving you a look.”

“Oh, you’re giving me a look,” he teased, standing to his full height and brushing his hands off on a towel. He leaned closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “You’re practically glaring at me. I’d almost say it’s cute.”

“Don’t push your luck, Riddle,” you muttered, though your cheeks burned at the way his breath ghosted against your skin.

Your sister pouted, crossing her arms. “But Mattheo—”

“I’ll be back,” he promised her, giving her a playful wink. “And when I am, we’ll make the best reindeer cookies anyone’s ever seen. Deal?”

She huffed, clearly not pleased, but she nodded anyway, her pout softening.

You grabbed Mattheo’s wrist, tugging him toward the living room before your sister could protest again. “Come on. You’re mine, remember?”

He let you pull him away, laughing softly under his breath. Once you reached the living room, you rounded on him, poking a finger at his chest. “You’re supposed to be spending time with me. Me, Mattheo. Not my sister. Me.”

“Is this really happening right now?” he asked, smirking down at you. “You’re actually jealous of a six-year-old.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m not jealous,” you shot back, though your words sounded more defensive than you intended. “I just don’t like sharing, especially when it’s you. And second, it’s not my fault she suddenly decided she loves boys after swearing for years that they had cooties!”

Mattheo grinned, his hands coming up to rest on your hips. “So what you’re saying is…I’m irresistible.”

You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me anyway.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, finding his gaze soft and affectionate, his smirk less teasing now and more genuine. Your frustration melted away as quickly as it had come, replaced by a warm, fluttery feeling in your chest.

“Yeah,” you admitted, dropping your hands and stepping closer to him. “I do.”

“And for the record,” he murmured, leaning down until his lips brushed your temple, “I’m yours. Always.”

ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @iamaconfusedpan

#mattheo riddle #slytherin boys #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle x fem!reader #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle fanfic #harry potter #slytherin #fluff #benjamin wadsworth #ficmas #leona-hawthorne ficmas

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cressidagrey · 2 days ago

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The moment I could see it - Part 5

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Ariel Cane (Original Character)

Summary: 5 Times that Gianpiero Lambiase thinks that Ariel Cane and Max Verstappen are weirdly similar…and 1 time he is just happy that the two of them are no longer pining after each other.

Warnings:

GP's POV, mention of cancer, mention of parent's death

Author Notes: I am back to my old tricks...which means I write from the most random of POV's just because. (I once wrote a chapter from a dog's POV so like, GP doesn't even really count.

It was supposed to be a "friendly" padel match, but then Max's competitive nature took hold.

That's what GP got for taking Max up on his offer of showing him around Monaco for a day after three weeks spent in the South of France with Laura and Franny for their summer vacation.

At least Franny found Max and Ariel's banter hilarious…and his daughter had also definitively gotten a kick out of the completely pink bakery Ariel had found for them to have breakfast at.

Now here they were at the Padel Court, Francesca happy with her Nintendo Switch and GP and Laura were pulled into a… friendly game of Padel.

Just that it wasn’t feeling very friendly.

Playful barbs with Ariel quickly evolved from playful to downright vicious. GP found himself watching, torn between amusement and horror.

"I didn't know you took padel matches this seriously," he commented wryly to Max.

He should have known better.

Max shot him a cocky grin, the look in his eyes promising carnage. "I take everything seriously," he said, a hint of swagger in his voice. "Especially when I’m playing against her."

GP followed Max's gaze to where he was staring at Ariel with a look that was equal parts challenging and flirtatious. GP couldn't help but chuckle at the sight, the competitive edge between the two of them was palpable.

"Looks like a bit of a one-sided rivalry there," he observed, watching as Ariel just grinned at Max.

"Trust me, it's not," Max muttered darkly, his gaze not leaving Ariel. "She may look all sweet and innocent, but she's a demon on the court. And the worst kind of trash talker.”

GP snorted at that, finding Max's description of Ariel amusing. "A demon, huh? I find that hard to believe," he teased, raising an eyebrow at Ariel, who was currently preparing to serve.

Max huffed, his eyes never leaving Ariel as she served. "Just watch," he said. "You'll see what I mean."

GP did indeed see what Max meant.

There was carnage.

Mostly because Laura, who had never played Padel in her life before, and Ariel, who was Max’s favourite Padel partner… wiped the fucking floor with both of them.

Gianpiero learned firsthand what Max had meant about Ariel’s trash talking skills. Within minutes they were thoroughly demolished by both women playing together. It became even more apparent that this 'friendly' game, was anything but friendly.

Even his wife, who was usually pretty reserved and calm, had taken on a competitive edge that Gianpiero had never seen in Laura before.

And Ariel, well...she was downright ruthless.

Max, too, seemed surprised and a bit displeased by the unfolding events. GP could almost see the competitive fire burning in his eyes as he watched Ariel and Laura effortlessly rack of point after point…unless it was becoming pretty obvious that they had no chance whatsoever to leave this court with their dignity intact.

"You call this friendly?!" Max grumbled, glaring at Ariel, who was currently on the other side of the court with a smirk on her lips.

Ariel shot him an innocent look. "I call it playing to win!" she calle back, her tone deceptively sweet.

Max grumbled in response, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "This isn’t playing to win," he retorted. "This is downright domination."

"And domination wins games," Laura chimed in, her tone dripping with smug satisfaction. GP couldn’t help but chuckle at her comment, finding the whole situation quite humorous. Max, however, looked disgruntled.

"Why are you this bad at it, Max?" Franny asked from the sideline, looking up from where she was deeply engrossed in her Nintendo Switch. Even the 10 year old saw Max’s lack of talent and GP needed to bite back a laugh.

Max shot her a disgruntled look, his pride a bit wounded. "I'm not bad!" he yowled in protest. "They're just...surprisingly good."

Gianpiero couldn’t help but chuckle again, amused by Max's frustration. Franny gave a smug shrug, her attention returning to her game. "Sounds like something a bad player would say," she said casually.

Max stared at her, his mouth open.

GP bit back his laughter, but Ariel didn't. She was grinning, bright red hair pulled back into a bouncy ponytail.

Max's padel abilities had also not been helped by the flippy tennis skirt Ariel wore which had resulted in Max nearly smacking himself in the face with his racket at last twice.

Which in turn though had definitely amused GP and Laura though.

Max shot Ariel a withering glare when he noticed her grinning. "You think this is funny, don't you?" he demanded, a hint of irritation in his voice.

Ariel tried to look contrite, but the twitching upturn of her mouth gave her away. "A little bit, yes," she admitted, her tone smug.

Gianpiero chuckled quietly, watching the interplay between the two. This was far too entertaining.

Max frowned at her response, his irritation further fueled. "It's not funny," he grumbled, his eyes narrowing. "It's humiliating, that's what it is."

Ariel shrugged, her grin widening. "Well, you're the one who chose to go up against us," she pointed out cheekily. "You should expect to be humbled every now and then, Mr. Two Times World Champion."

Max glared even harder at her for the reference to his championship titles, clearly bothered that she was rubbing it in. But he couldn’t deny her reasoning. It was his own hubris that had led him into this situation.

"Shut up," he grumbled. “You’re supposed to be on my side, you know."

"Nah, last time I checked, you were the one who wanted to partner with GP," Ariel said brightly. "Don't worry, next week I'll help you wipe the floor with Danny again."

Max grumbled at her response, but there was a hint of resignation in it, realizing that she had him there. The fact that Ariel was able to so easily rile him up was both aggravating and admirable.

Gianpiero could feel the tension between the two, but couldn’t help but find it slightly amusing. "Danny is shaking in his boots already, I'm sure," he chimed in wryly.

Max shot her a half-glare, his annoyance still evident. "You're enjoying this way too much," he grumbled, his pride wounded from the ass kicking he had just received.

Laura chuckled at his comment, a satisfied grin on her lips. "And you're taking this way too seriously," she countered, her tone playful. "It's just a game, Max."

Max huffed in response, clearly not appreciating her casual brush-off. "Just a game, she says," he muttered. "As if we didn’t just get absolutely trounced."

"You're acting like a child," Ariel chimed in, her voice tinged with amusement. "Just accept that we won, and move on. I promise you, you'll survive."

Max shot her a scathing glare, his irritation at her constant taunts starting to show. "And you’re acting like a sore winner, you know that?" he retorted.

"I'm not a sore winner," Ariel shot back, her tone light and playful. "I'm just thoroughly enjoying your reaction to losing. This is the most fun I've had in months."

GP chuckled at her comment, watching the banter between the two. Max looked about seconds away from pouting like a petulant toddler.

Max gave an exaggerated eye roll, his irritation evident. "Oh, I’m glad my misery is such a source of amusement for you," he said dryly, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Ariel snickered at his response, clearly enjoying his annoyance. "Oh, it’s more than amusing," she said, her smirk widening. "It’s downright hilarious.”

Max scowled, unable to come up with a retort that wouldn’t prove her point. His face was a picture of annoyed frustration, as he looked from Ariel, who grinned like the cat who got the cream, back to Laura and Gianpiero, both wearing similar expressions.

His eyes landed on Franny as well, the preteen clearly taking great pleasure in the way events had unfolded. Max let out a resigned sigh mixed with a hint of a pout, realizing he was seriously outnumbered.

"Come on, I'll buy you some ice cream to soothe your ego," Ariel said drily. "What do you think, Franny?"

Franny looked up from her game, her eyes lighting up at the mention of ice-cream. "I think ice-cream sounds great," she said, her tone cheerful.

Gianpiero chuckled at the innocent expression on her face, clearly amused by the turn of events. Max huffed in defeat, clearly outvoted and outwitted.

"See?" Ariel said, her tone dripping with triumph. "Everyone wants ice-cream. Except for the biggest child here, of course."

Max shot her a withering look, the pout now on his face. "I'm not a child," he protested, but there was little conviction in his voice.

Ariel just rolled her eyes.

GP later reflected that the most amusing thing about the whole afternoon probably was the fact that by the time Max got two scoops of vanilla ice cream with extra sprinkles, all was alright in his world again.

Max savoured the ice cream with a satisfied expression, the sweetness seemingly having a soothing effect on his wounded ego. GP watched as the petulant expression on Max's face was slowly replaced by contentment, a change that was as amusing as it was fascinating.

"Feeling better now, champ?" he couldn’t help but tease.

Max huffed, but there was no heat behind it. He gave a small nod, his attention still focused on the ice cream. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he mumbled through a mouthful of ice cream.

Ariel chuckled beside him, clearly enjoying the fact that Max was so easily pacified. "Ice-cream does fix everything.”

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solarsturniolo · 3 days ago

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wait i wanna hear about this frat boy 🫣

@zebonos GIRLLLL WHERE DO I EVEN START 😭😭

1. all of my friends say he’s ugly (he’s 6’3’’ sue me)

2. he snores SO LOUD

3. he punches and talks in his sleep

4. he has a cocaine addiction

5. he’s a bouncer at a bar that i’m a regular at

6. his head is too small and his eyes are uneven

7. he gets mad and insecure about my attraction to vinnie hacker

8. he is HORRIBLE at communicating (which was the ONE requirement i had when i agreed to let my friend set us up together. I said idc what he looks like, idc if he’s just wanting to fuck, he HAS to be good at communicating)

9. our second time together he marked me with hickies, begged me to stay the night, kissed me on my forehead, told me he wanted a future w me, etc

10. our 4th time together (we were awake for two hours mind you) he said he wanted to marry me 3 times, wanted to have kids with me 2 times, said i love you 4 times, planned what our engagement rings would look like, etc)

11. i ended up fucking his roommate and he had a talk with me about it. (“yeah…he’s a good guy, so much better than i could ever be for you…but whose bed are you in right now?”)

12. held my favorite pair of earrings hostage for a month

13. he does not like when i unadd him on snapchat and will ask ALL of my friends why im mad at him when ive told him i hate using snapchat for communicating bc its cancer.

14. he does not sleep in the dark

15. fucked a girl with an std

16. tried to get with me without telling me he fucked a girl with an std

17. tried to LIE about fucking a girl with an std

18. insane alcoholic. i watched him crush a 24 case of beer in two hours

19. doesn’t acknowledge me unless i’m actively ignoring him

20. he will STARE AT ME AND FOLLOW ME AROUND THE BAR ALL NIGHT if we are there at the same time (my friends have WITNESSED THIS HAPPENING) (( @megamett44-lover ))

21. will text me at 3:00-5:00 in the morning saying he needs to talk about stuff but i’m obviously ASLEEP

22. has not taken me on a proper date. (but he will buy my drinks and offers to buy me food if we go to cookout or mcdonald’s so i guess i can’t complain)

23. sleeps with socks on

24. hogs the blanket

25. doesn’t take out his trash and lets it pile up in his room

26. he has an awful haircut

27. left me alone immediately after sex for 23 minutes to go watch his roommate get his head shaved (no aftercare) and then was confused why i wouldn’t speak to him

28. did i mention he snores? did i also mention i get MAYBE an hour of sleep if i spend the night because its so bad??

29. tries to convince me not to make him use a condom

30. threw a fit one time bc a vinnie hacker edit came up on my phone so, in retaliation, he decided to look at thirst traps and sexual audios on tiktok for half an hour. i told him it was making me uncomfortable and told him to stop about six times and he only did when i threatened to leave.

31. would call me princess after i specifically told him NOT to do that.

32. beer pong with a bunch of his frat brothers is apparently a ‘date’ in his eyes…

33. didn’t acknowledge me at a party we were both attending until his buddy basically told him i wasn’t gonna keep pursuing him lmao

34. got so shit faced at the bar that he kept telling his frat brothers “isn’t she so pretty” “god im with the prettiest girl in (insert city name) right now” “im about to post her on my story” “should i buy her flowers” and i was so uncomfortable that i almost left the bar. (i had told him i wasn’t looking for anything serious and that pda made me uncomfortable)

35. he deadass chugged nyquil in front of me “to help him sleep”

36. has roaches in his bathroom (frat house)

37. refuses to smoke weed but will do 6 lines easy peasy???

38. not smart

39. thinks he can manipulate me (he can’t and it drives him crazy that i don’t fall for it)

40. asked me to find someone (female) to have a threesome with us (every inquiry made the same face before saying “no thanks”)

41. He hyper sexualizes my attraction to women

42. asked me if i’d block every guy in my phone for him (we had been talking for two weeks)

43. he’s an asshole to his dog and calls him mean names and hits his snout and shoves him around

44. he is persistent on trying to get me to blow him (i don’t do blowjobs. he knows this. still tries.)

45. he blew $160 gambling at the bar the night we went out 💀

46. he’s younger than me and extremely immature

47. he thinks listening to chief keef is an unheard of personality trait. (“i know all of the lyrics to Love Sosa” okay, so do 9 million other people)

Dude i could go on and on about this mf he’s WEIRD.

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #i need him in a way that is concerning to feminism #sturniolo imagine

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wren-kitchens · 1 day ago

Text

i guess i’m human no more

4732 words

joel is extremely used to the vast amount of feathers he finds in their bed (and his mouth) every morning—going so far as to know which yellow feather is from jimmy's wings or grian's (jimmy's have more brown hues in). joel essentially knows their wings off by heart, and has been teased endlessly after that one time he accidentally revealed this fact to grian. despite all this, there's- there is a bit of a situation. it's- there's a new colour feather.

good LORD this has taken me a while to finish. judas had the incredible idea of watchers/listeners being contagious to people they're emotionally close to in MAY and here I am in december only just finishing the oneshot for it

I did in fact go wild with this one. there are many headcanons and so much bad boys because I love them

CW: body horror, gore

there are too many feathers in their bed.

this is extremely ordinary—in fact, joel would be concerned if there were a normal amount of feathers in their bed, because it would mean that jimmy and grian had just been laying completely still. after sleeping in the same bed as them for a week or so, joel has learnt that this seems to be physically impossible for either of them to do. every single morning, joel has woken up with jimmy and grian sprawled in increasingly unlikely positions on top of him and each other (which is kind of sweet), and at least three feathers in his mouth (which is kind of gross).

that's not even to mention how many feathers they shed when they stretch their wings out. honestly, joel wonders if he should just attach a bin bag to their wings and see just how many feathers they can amass in a single day; it'd be an interesting experiment. although, the most they shed is when they're preening, which- okay, he can no longer get annoyed with them when they leave the piles of fluff on the floor—not since they let him help. now he knows how loopy they get, joel understands why they'd forget to tidy up.

(joel wouldn’t admit this at gunpoint, but he's never felt so.. okay- it's- it will sound silly, but so trusted, than when jimmy suggested joel help, and grian agreed. there are very few things so intimate than preening, as joel has learnt, and the idea that they would ask him for help with something that personal makes his head spin.)

all of this to say, joel is extremely used to the vast amount of feathers he finds in their bed (and his mouth) every morning—going so far as to know which yellow feather is from jimmy's wings or grian's (jimmy's have more brown hues in). joel essentially knows their wings off by heart, and has been teased endlessly after that one time he accidentally revealed this fact to grian.

despite all this, there's- there is a bit of a situation. it's- there's a new colour feather.

it doesn’t sound that weird, but- no one else on the server has wings with the pattern on the feathers joel has started finding, so there's no way it just rubbed off someone else and fell off here. it's a kind of orangey-beige, with dark brown marking; something joel knows is not a pattern on anyone else's wings on this server. it could be a weird glitch, if grian or jimmy have different markings on another server, and at some point their wings lagged or something. yeah, that makes sense.

so much sense, in fact, that joel didn't bother telling grian or jimmy about it—which apparently was about to bite him in the ass.

if joel has to spend one more second trying to be diplomatic with scott, whilst being shot looks that very plainly tell him to chill out, he's going to stab someone. especially as martyn and grian are clearly arguing about something or other in the most roundabout way possible, and jimmy keeps backing grian up. joel has no idea what either of them are actually arguing about, and apparently neither does scott, which is only some consolation. also- not necessarily related to this situation, but joel must have slept funny or something, because his back has been aching all day, which is not adding very much to this experience.

"look- I don’t want you to be my ally any more than you want to be mine," joel says, thoroughly exasperated. "but you and your allies seem to be fundamentally immortal in these games."

scott raises an amused eyebrow, clearly entertained by joel's attempts at formality. dickhead. "so, you’re trying to profit off my skill?"

joel scoffs, stretching his neck in the hopes of lessening some of the pain in his back. "you say that like it's a bad thing. you know, I-"

"no- you’re being ridiculous!" martyn interrupts, half shouting and apparently unaware of the commotion he’s causing. "it's downright irresponsible-"

"and what do you think you’re doing?" grian's wings have puffed up in anger. "you realise that out of everyone you could turn-"

"which is exactly why i’m not going to." martyn insists. joel has no idea what either of them are talking about, but it's better than arguing with scott.

jimmy barks a laugh. "there are more than one reasons you’re wrong there-"

"you can’t talk!" martyn jabs a finger at him. "how would you know-"

"how would I know?" jimmy says, voice slipping from indignation to anger. "how would- do you remember, martyn, who turned me?"

joel's back gives a sharp stab of pain, and he winces at it. maybe he pulled a muscle or something when he was swimming up the side of the mansion with building materials.

scott looks at him. "what are you doing?"

"you- what?" joel glares back instinctively, which scott apparently finds funny. "i’m not doing anything?"

"if you say so." scott turns back to the argument.

joel scoffs, folding his arms- and instantly regrets it as a spasm shoots up his back. void- what did he do to himself? it seems like it's getting worse as the day goes on, which does not happen with muscle strains- as far as he remembers, anyway. scott glances at him again, and joel pretends he hasn't noticed.

" -hen you should know better." martyn's voice is cold, but there's something like regret lacing his tone. joel feels like he’s missed at least five chapters- what are they on about? "you know the risks-"

"you know the risks firsthand, martyn." grian steps forward. "and do you truly think They will take kindly-"

"of course They won't, but it's not going to happen." martyn hisses.

whatever joel has managed to do to himself seems to be worsening by the second- demonstrated by the pounding behind his eyes that seems to have materialised out of nowhere. cool- great, this is exactly what he needs right now: more pain. he closes his eyes for a moment, in the hope that the lack of light might alleviate the throbbing pain. it does not help at all—in fact, it just makes him feel a little unstable, since he can no longer see where he’s stood.

he's- wait, what- did joel open his eyes and not notice? that- no, that's definitely- what the fuck? is the game glitching, or is-

"joel?" scott's voice is uncomfortably close to his ear, and joel's eyes snap open (how the fuck could he still see). "are- what-" (why does scott look scared.)

"you- that's not normal." joel's voice sounds so far away from his body. does he have double vision?

pearl looks over at bigb from where she's been laying upside-down against the wall. she says something that looks like, "I have an idea." but no sound comes out.

maybe he just needs to lie down- it's probably fine. it's just- he has some kind of fever- he just needs to have a nap.

grian is too busy trying to stop both himself and jimmy from attacking martyn to notice that anything is wrong.

someone grabs his arm-

joel lists sideways, and scott manages to catch him on instinct before he completely topples over. his eyes- they've definitely not always been purple.

grian looks over, panic rising in his chest like bile as he realises the worst has happened-

"can- is there-" joel's breath is coming far too quickly- is he even breathing anymore? "I don't-"

someone is grabbing his shoulders, and there are too many faces to even- decipher who it is. he might be on the floor- there's something that could be grass under his hands, and someone is talking- who is talking? joel doesn’t want- he doesn’t like any of this. can he go home?

his mind swims, bursts of colour and movement flashing before him, gone before he even has time to understand what they are. head pounding, faces blur his vision- some he recognises, some he can't even begin to process if they are actually faces by the time they've vanished. people are shouting what might be his name and everything is- there's too much- there's way too much-

amidst the chaos, there's a gentle pressure against his forehead, and all of a sudden-

"I- grian?" joel is- he’s looking at grian. he’s only looking at grian.

grian's eyes are fading from purple back to black, and he looks so worried, joel is almost embarrassed. "i’m- void, i’m so sorry."

joel's chest is tight with fear, and now he isn't dealing with- whatever just happened, he realises that his back has begun to hurt a lot more than it already was. "what- what the fuck was that."

"it- that was my fault." grian drops his hands from joel's shoulders, and joel immediately misses the warmth, but he’s too focused on how guilty grian looks right now. "i’m- I was reckless- I knew what might happen, but I-"

"what happened?" joel says, almost exasperated. his back is killing him, and he doesn't know what's going on, and he just wants to go back to the mansion and curl up in their bed. "I don't- I don't care whose fault it is, I just- what was that?"

grian looks like he might cry, and that might just be the worst part of all of this. "you- so. you know what I am, right?"

"I- yeah?" joel remembers suddenly that scott and martyn are still here. "I- I know."

"well, that- if I get.. too close to someone, they-" grian's breath catches in his throat, and he coughs. joel wants to hug him, but- even the thought of lifting his arms that high makes his stomach turn. why does everything hurt so much? "it. it happens to them, too."

joel stares for a second, brain sluggish against the pain and overwhelm as he tries to understand what grian actually means. it takes a moment, but it begins to dawn on him. "you're saying- no, that wasn't-" he looks over at jimmy, half expecting to find him grinning. he is more solemn than joel has ever seen him. "that can't be- possible, I don't-"

"what did you see?" jimmy asks, and this is ludicrous, but-

"pearl and bigb." joel's head feels foggy, his spine burning at his flesh. "I- me, but, from scott's point of view. and my eyes were- wrong, I don't-" he takes a breath. "why did you not tell me?"

"selfishness, mostly." grian says softly. "there's no excuse."

"what- I just don't-" joel's breath is starting to feel laboured again as he tries to concentrate on his words and not how it feels as if his back is being sliced open. "why does it hurt?" his voice slips into something so vulnerable, joel is almost thankful that he’s too distracted to care that scott is right behind him.

for the first time, confusion flits across grian's expression, coupled with a concerning amount of panic. "I- hurt? what hurts?"

before joel can remember how to string the words together, scott is saying, "I- joel, take your jacket off."

grian looks as confused as joel feels, but scott sounds weirdly serious and joel is in too much pain to argue. "it- I can’t. it hurts to move."

"what's going on?" jimmy says, closer than he was a second ago.

"I would have thought you'd know." scott is saying, and joel is about to accept his fate and hit him when he finishes- "he’s growing wings."

there's a moment in which all joel can think is that he probably should have mentioned those feathers he kept finding in their bed, until there's a resounding squawk of- "what?"

"makes sense." joel grits out, if only because the juxtaposition is funny. if joel can’t commit to the bit in any situation, who even is he? "don't- don't suppose you have potions?"

"martyn, can you grab a golden apple?" scott says, stepping in front of joel—who is not happy that his best bet right now is scott smajor. he’s not so stubborn as to not accept his help though. "grian, help him take the jacket off. cut it off if needs-"

"you are- you are not ruining my jacket." joel manages to look up in order to glare at scott, but he falters as he takes in how concerned scott's expression is. scott notices him looking, and his face turns blank.

"fine- take the jacket off then, or it will get ruined." scott scoffs, turning away to watch martyn grab the apple.

"can you- are you gonna explain what is going on?" grian says, somewhat more desperate than joel thinks he meant to sound. "how is- why is this-"

a spasm of pain wracks joel's body, and he suppresses a scream as he falls forward on his arms, shaking a little. his breathing is heavy again- he just wants it to be over.

"if I die," joel manages, head swimming. "will- can I just-" he can’t muster up the energy to finish the sentence, but the desperation in it seems to be conveyed. can it just be over?

"I don’t know." scott says, and despite it all, the helplessness in his voice brings joel some sense of vindication. so he doesn’t know everything.

"okay, i’m- i’m gonna take your jacket off." grian says, more panicked than joel knows he wants to sound. "can you- is that possible?"

joel lets grian move around him, barely lifting each arm as grian guides the sleeve of the jacket off his shoulders. as soon as the first sleeve comes off, joel finds himself relaxing ever so slightly at the lack of pressure against his spine. he should probably make that vest bigger.

"why- why is this-" joel can barely manage half of that sentence before the pain becomes too much, but scott seems to understand what he was trying to ask.

"i don't- i’m not sure." scott says, more panicked than joel thinks he’s heard him in a long while. "I just- this kind of thing happened to me in double life, but I still don't understand-"

"oh void." grian says suddenly, and joel has to resist the impulse to turn his head. "I thought i’d- it shouldn't be possible anymore-"

"what shouldn't be possible?" jimmy says, with a sense of urgency joel has never heard from him before.

grian hesitates for a moment, and joel recognises it—grian always does this when he's about to say something either bizarre or embarrassing. or both, more often than not. "the game- it thinks we're soulbound."

there's a pause as everyone seems to process this ridiculous information, before jimmy says, "it- but why does it hurt? tango grew wings in double life, and he didn't even notice until his shirt got torn."

"there's- it's a.. thing." grian audibly winces as he speaks, as if he knows exactly how terrible whatever he’s going to say will sound and is preemptively apologetic. of course. "the closer soulmates are—like, emotionally close, I mean—the less painful it is- and vice versa. but- the game thinks we're soulmates, which. I assume is- is 'cause we're close. so since we're not actually soulbound-"

"it thinks that must be distance." scott realises. joel is gonna murder someone once he regains the use of his body.

joel groans, dropping his head to the ground in exhausted exasperation. "why's everything so.. weirdwith you?" he manages.

"i’m so sorry." grian says, voice quiet enough that joel thinks only he was meant to hear it.

joel is about to tell him not to worry about it when a kind of pain he’s never felt before in his life shoots through his back- and the ripping of flesh is all he can hear, a scream forcing its way from his mouth- primeval and torturous. he’s never felt pain before- he’s never felt death before- there can be nothing worse than this.

it feels like years until joel realises that he is beginning to see shapes again, that there are other noises in the world other than his own whimpers of agony, that the terrible tearing is not all he can feel anymore. there's something that feels like a viscous kind of liquid against his skin, and a sickly sweet smell that he can’t quite name. healing potion, joel recognises as the pain begins to lessen.

after a long moment, joel finds himself able to push himself into a sitting position- and almost falls backwards as newfound weight pulls him down again. jimmy is in front of him all of a sudden, catching his shoulders and wiping something wet off his face. it could be tears, or blood, or potion—joel has no idea.

"you- you with us?" jimmy asks, a scared-looking smile on his face, as if trying to reassure joel of something he can't bring himself to trust. "you’re not- you’re feeling better?"

joel nods, suddenly exhausted and more thankful than he realised for the warmth of jimmy's hands against his arms. "you- you guys are such nerds."

jimmy grins, looking ridiculously relieved at being insulted, and there's a soft laugh from next to him that sounds like grian. "yeah?" jimmy says. "how's that?"

"not- not sure if I misheard, but." joel takes a breath, and jimmy squeezes his arm gently. "'think you care about me so much that the game thinks we're soulmates. and you- you turned me into a watcher, or something." joel manages a grin.

"yeah. you heard right." jimmy says, and there's a rush of affection in joel's chest. "I- do you want to lie down or something, 'cause you look like you’re about to pass out."

joel answers by shuffling slowly forwards and falling onto jimmy—far too tired and in far too much pain to let the embarrassment stop him. jimmy gives a slight gasp of worry, before wrapping his arms around joel's waist, lower than joel expected him to. it takes a second for him to remember that- he has wings now, which are probably in the way of normal hugs. jimmy presses a kiss into joel's hair, and he makes a soft sound of content.

"sorry I took so long." martyn's voice comes from somewhere behind him, more nervous than joel thinks he’s heard him in a while. man, he should grow wings more often if it makes everyone this scared. how's that for a trap? "we didn’t- I wasn't sure you’d be able to eat the apple-"

martyn's explanation is reduced to white noise in joel's ears, and- void, he’s tired. jimmy's heartbeat is audible from where joel is leant against him, and he can almost feel the way his own heart stutters to catch up; he wonders if grian's heart is at the same pace, with whatever this bizarre game has done to deign them unofficial soulmates. he wishes he had enough energy to pull grian into their hug and see for himself if their hearts all beat in unison now.

something occurs to him all of a sudden, and joel closes his eyes. he isn’t sure- and now probably is the worst time to try this kind of thing out, when he has no idea how any of it works, but maybe he can.. do something with this whole watcher thing.

joel feels as if he’s trying to use a muscle that doesn’t exist—like some kind of phantom limb—but after a moment, grian's face comes into view. it's easier than he thought it'd be. almost like controlling a timelapse drone, but with your mind, and also the video is directly transmitted into your brain. it's pretty cool.

there's a stab of regret as joel stops congratulating himself on such a good job, and actually takes in the amount of guilt etched into every line of grian's face. his stomach drops as he turns (kind of? he sorta- uh. hard to explain, actually) and sees that jimmy is wearing a painfully similar expression. almost scared to see, joel looks at martyn and scott, and is at least vaguely reassured to see that they just look worried. frankly, if joel ever saw scott looking guilty because of joel, he'd have to end his own series.

"it- it's not your fault y'know." joel manages—more of a mumble than anything else, but grian and jimmy both seem to know he’s talking to them. "'s kinda cool. I should probably thank you."

grian is looking at him- or, maybe his.. watcher drone? either way, he seems to know he’s being looked at. "I am sorry, either way." he says, but he doesn’t look as devastated as he did a moment ago. "I didn’t- I should have told you what could happen."

joel snorts. "if you thought I was about to turn down cool powers and wings, you don’t know me well enough." he finds that it's getting somehow easier to speak, despite being exhausted, and he remembers the healing potion still travelling through his veins. he never thought he'd be this thankful for martyn- probably ever.

grian smiles, and it feels as if a knot in joel's chest has dissipated. "you’re definitely getting the hang of it."

jimmy hums in agreement. "it's not called a drone though." he says, and it very suddenly occurs to joel what a listener must be able to do. "I- did you not already know?"

"how was I meant to?" joel huffs, watching with slight embarrassment as jimmy smiles at it. "you’re a secretive lot."

"so- and I hate to disrupt this," scott suddenly says, and joel suppresses an instinctive groan. "but do you need any more help?"

there's a mischievous kind of look that flashes across grian's face, if only for a second, and joel can't help but feel reassured by the fact that he's getting back to normal. "well- we could use a couple allies?"

scott sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can’t really turn you down now, can I?" he says, and there's a weird kind of tone that makes joel wonder if he’s actually as annoyed as he’s putting on.

"I just grew wings." joel mumbles, unintentionally quiet but apparently effectively sympathetic, as even martyn seems to be swayed. look at him go. "'can’t just.. throw us to the wolves now."

scott rubs his face with a hand, clearly throughly exasperated at how easily he has been won over. "yeah- okay, fine. we can be allies."

"thanks." jimmy grins a little, and joel watches as scott softens ever so slightly at it.

joel opens his eyes, and he’s once again staring into the coral reef, facing away from everyone else. jimmy's hand is in his hair, and his back is only aching now. he’s a little worried to move, in case it all starts feeling abysmal again, but he can hardly spend the rest of his 24 hours on the mean gills' bridge.

"I could carry you." jimmy suggests, and joel makes a noise of concern—thinking about how precarious they've made their base. "that's- yeah, that's a good point."

"could you try to stand?" grian says tentatively. his voice sounds closer than it was a moment ago, and there's a hand on joel's shoulder that has to be grian's. "the pain shouldn't get too much worse, since the potion has actually fixed a lot of the wounds."

joel wonders if grian can read minds too, or if he just knows what joel would be thinking. he doesn’t think he can read minds, which suggests that- maybe grian just knows him that well. it's a nice thought.

he pushes himself slightly more upward, regretful as he leaves the warmth of jimmy's embrace- and immediately begins to fall backwards again, once again completely forgetting how unbalanced he is now. both jimmy and grian make noises of panic before joel catches himself before he topples all the way over, and he can’t help grinning despite the twinge of pain the sudden movement shoots through his back- and wings, which is a bizarre feeling.

"I might need some help not falling over." joel grins, as grian stands up and lends him a hand. "but it doesn’t hurt that much anymore."

"that's good." grian says, a wave of relief overtaking his expression. joel squeezes his hand, and grian smiles.

jimmy is at his side before joel realises. "maybe we avoid bread bridge for a bit." he says, and joel snorts.

the journey back to the mansion is not nearly as perilous as joel had worried it'd be, considering that it's day and anyone they bumped into seemed to notice the dried blood accompanying the very large wings on joel's back and presumably decided that trying to kill them now would just be rude. the downright murderous looks from both jimmy and grian when someone came a little too close with a weapon, or made just a bit too serious of a threat probably also helped.

instead of attempt to swim with the unfamiliar weight of his newgrown wings, joel elects to pillar up instead. jimmy and grian hover next to him, climbing onto trees and swimming up the water in some attempt to provide a safety net if he falls. admittedly, it's quite sweet- not that he's about to tell them that. he instead settles on insisting that he knows how to pillar up, and praying to every deity that might exist for him not to fall off immediately.

luckily, no one falls or dies or whatever, and they all make it to the top of the mansion in one piece. joel is prepared to pass out in their bed as soon as he reaches it, but he doesn’t really want his bad boys to worry even more at his exhaustion.

as if reading his mind- oh. he forgot- yeah, he can actually do that, can't he? it- anyway, jimmy plops himself down, and gestures for grian and joel to join him—which joel happily obliges. grian almost hesitates, but joel drags him along, and grian doesn't even bother protesting.

joel lays next to jimmy, and grian—who followed quickly after him—pulls him into a hug. huffing softly, joel hugs back. "it's okay." he mumbles into grian's shoulder. "I promise- i'd say something if it weren't."

"I know." grian half-whispers, clearly fighting tears. "i’m- I just can’t get over- I did this to you."

joel swallows more emotion than he expected. "yeah. but- it's- it's 'cause you care. it's not- I can’t hate that." grian makes a little noise that could be a suppressed sob.

"thank you." joel can barely make it out, but he can’t help but blink back tears at the honesty in it- from grian, of all people, that means a lot.

his wings are still sore, and moving them sends an ache down his back, but joel finds himself wanting to wrap them around grian. "I just- I also- y’know. care." joel says, kind of hoping it's too muffled for either grian or jimmy to hear. "it's- I like having.. I don’t know, a piece of you guys with me."

grian sniffles, holding joel tighter. "I- dude, you’re- you’re gonna make me cry."

"join the club." joel huffs a laugh, eyes burning. he buries his face in grian's jumper in the hopes that it'll wipe away any tears that come.

there's a very quiet clearing of someone's throat next to them—unmistakably jimmy. joel doesn’t even need to look up to know he’s also trying not to start crying, and he blindly reaches out a hand until he finds jimmy's shirt and pulls him towards them both. grian catches on, shifting a little to make room for their bad boy.

"I- I didn’t wanna ruin the moment." jimmy is saying as both grian and joel drag him into the hug.

joel can't help smiling as he feels jimmy wrap his arms around him, which- it's embarrassing, but weirdly, he doesn’t even care. "as if either of you could ruin anything." he scoffs, almost to himself.

there's a kiss pressed into his hair, and grian laughs as joel rolls his eyes (if only to disguise how much he appreciates it). "bad boys for life, right?"

jimmy mhms along as joel grins, "bad boys for life."

#the title is maybe a bit on the nose but I was struggling with song lyrics and monster by dodie is one of my favourites #gore #body horror #how else do you tag growing wings very violently #joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans #grian #jimmy solidarity #solidaritygaming #bad boys #the bad boys #limited life smp #the end may be a bit weird but honestly idec it's been 7 months #wren writes #trafficblr #trafficfic

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emphasisonthehomo · 10 hours ago

Note

Can you do a Buck POV of Tommy telling him that Ryan thought he was straight please?

From this.

NSFW!

•

Buck loves Tommy like this. Post orgasm relaxed. Shirtless and flopped against the couch. Head tipped back and eyes closed. Almost his entire upper body is still flushed, a sheen of sweat clinging to his skin. His nipples are hard, his breathing not quite settled.

Buck’s breathing hasn’t settled either, and his legs feel almost jelly-like as he stands. If Buck had his way they’d sit and cuddle for a little longer before doing anything, but Buck isn’t having his way about that because-

Well.

Tommy’s face and throat are covered in come.

Some of it’s smeared, a mess across Tommy’s cheeks and chin, from where Buck couldn’t help it and licked the taste of himself out of Tommy’s mouth.

“Hurry up, baby,” Tommy says, quirking an eyebrow up but keeping his eyes closed.

Tommy’s voice is rough from how he’d taken Buck’s cock into his throat earlier. Buck shivers.

“Yes, Sir,” Buck says, just because he knows it’ll make Tommy laugh.

It does, and the sound follows Buck as he hurries to the bathroom to get a warm washcloth. When he makes it back to the living room, Tommy’s relaxed even further into the couch. He tips his face in Buck’s direction once he hears Buck get close.

“How was your day?” Tommy murmurs, reaching out blindly to grab Evan’s naked hip, “We got distracted before I could ask.”

Distracted is an understatement. There had been maybe 30 seconds between Tommy opening the front door, and the two of them fumbling at each other’s clothes and tumbling onto the couch to suck each other off.

“Good,” Buck says, gently wiping at the come on Tommy’s eyelids first, “Went for a run, did some vacuuming, all that boring stuff.”

Tommy hates vacuuming and Buck hates the dishes. It’s a fair trade. Buck carefully slides the washcloth lower to clean up the mess on Tommy’s jaw, and Tommy’s eyes blink open.

“Mmm, thanks,” Tommy says, groping along Buck’s skin before resting his hand on top of Buck’s ass.

“What about you?” Buck asks, remembering to be curious, “You ever figure out what was up with Ryan?”

Buck’s not expecting how hard Tommy starts laughing. His entire face crinkles up as he giggles helplessly.

“I did,” Tommy says after a huge inhale, shaking his head, “God babe, you’re not gonna believe it.”

“What happened?” Buck asks, bewildered before he grabs at Tommy’s chin, “Stop cackling, I’m trying to clean you off.”

“Sorry,” Tommy snickers, going still again, “Anyways uh. Ryan thought I was straight.”

Buck freezes.

“What?” Buck demands, washcloth still mashed wetly against Tommy’s face, “How?”

“I don’t know,” Tommy says, looking up at him, “I have no idea. I thought he knew, but apparently he didn’t.”

“I’m confused?” Buck says, wiping across Tommy’s mouth, “He was mad that you’re gay?”

“Not quite,” Tommy says, voice muffled until Evan pulls the washcloth away, “From what I’ve been able to figure out, he thought I was straight and then you decided to stick your tongue in my mouth. Then he thought it might be a weird prank or something.”

“Helluva prank,” Buck frowns, “Also I’m pretty sure I only stuck my tongue in your mouth for like. A second.”

“I’m instituting a ‘no tongue while on shift’ rule,” Tommy rolls his eyes and adjusts his hand on Buck’s ass to start tugging him down, “That’s good until we shower, I’m getting cold.”

Dropping the washcloth unceremoniously onto the floor, Evan goes where Tommy wants him. Namely pressed close, nude and a little sticky. Buck reaches out to grab one of the blankets and throws it over them, and settles in for the cuddles he didn’t get earlier.

“Anyway,” Tommy continues with a happy sigh, sliding his hand slowly up and down Buck’s spine, “Somehow he missed that you’re a guy, and then was upset I didn’t tell him.”

“Sounds like a him problem,” Buck says, because he can’t imagine being upset upon finding out a coworker isn’t straight, “I thought pilots were supposed to be observant.”

“He’s a smart kid,” Tommy says, voice a little defensive, “I just assumed he knew because everyone else knows. But I’m also. You know… I’m not exactly flagging at work.”

“You should,” Buck says, “That’d be a good prank. Show up with a grey hankie in your left back pocket, see who says something.”

“Absolutely not,” Tommy says, affronted, “I don’t want to know who knows what that means.”

#aron's fic #911 #bucktommy #tevan #misperception

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in1-nutshell · 2 days ago

Note

Request juno struggling with being pregnant

There have been too many request about this. Just going to combine all of them here!

Hope you enjoy!

5 Things that have happened during Juno's pregnancy

SFW, Platonic, Pregnancy, Familial, Romantic, Cybertronian reader

MTMTE

The following are just some of the events that happened during Juno’s pregnancy.

1. The new schedule adjustments

Now sparked, Juno was advised to take some of her usual tasks a bit easier or ask for help in doing heavier things.

They understood and tried getting used to the temporary change.

Rodimus wanted them to just focus on the sparkling instead of doing work, this ended up with a day’s long argument between the couple.

It ends up being resolved with a compromise with Juno doing more of the tasks that have them at the desk.

They won’t admit it, but they are grateful for the change when their pedes and frame starts to ache and pulse dully.

Juno gently slumps on the berth with their optics shut. They feel a familiar warmth sitting next to them while gently rubbing a thumb on the side of their helm. Juno barely cracks an optic open. Juno: “Roddy?” The familiar chuckle confirms it. Rodimus: “Rough day?” Juno groans. Juno: “More of a sore day.” Rodimus: “You know, you can always—” He stops when he sees them glare slightly at him. Juno: “Roddy we’ve talked about this.” Rodimus just shrugs. Rodimus: “Can’t blame a mech for trying.” They both laugh a bit before getting ready to go to sleep.

2. Protective Rodimus unlocked

Rodimus had always been a bit protective over Juno, even before they were a couple.

When Juno was his friend, he saw it fitting to be their friend that could protect them while giving them a good time.

A knight in shining armor that would occasionally flirt once feelings started blooming.

The protectiveness ramped up once they had their run in with the DJD.

Rodimus understood that Juno could handle themselves… but the image of their limp and battered frame would be seared in his mind.

Now with a sparkling on the way, the protectiveness skyrocketed.

But he wasn’t going to go overboard and smother them, just heavily hint on things that would keep Juno and the sparkling safe and healthy!

He wants this to be as safe a pregnancy and delivery as possible.

Rodimus figures that this something he couldn’t screw up.

Will pick Juno up if they are feeling particularly achy or tired.

Has talked with Drift and Ratchet about what else he can help with the pregnancy.

Massages when they are alone in the habsuite.

Juno is sitting up against the wall of the berth while Rodimus gently starts massaging their pedes. Rodimus is humming a tune. Juno tilts their helm a bit and gently strokes his helm fins. He stops and looks at them. Rodimus: “Joony? You need something?” Juno shakes their helm. Juno: “Just wondering.” Rodimus stops the massage and gives them his full attention. Rodimus: “Wondering what? Is it the bitty? Did the energon not sit right? Is it too cold—” Juno: “Roddy! Its not that. Huh, I’m the worrier not you hun.” Rodimus huffs a bit. Juno: “Just wondering how lucky I am to have you by my side.” They chuckle feeling Rodimus’s frame growing warmer and pulls him to a hug. Rodimus: “I should be the one wondering that Joony.” He wraps his arms around them and doesn’t let go.

3. Perceptor

Perceptor started off distant from his sibling during the first weeks.

Always in the lab, even more than usual.

It worried Juno a lot and made them upset.

He wasn’t answering his messages or com lines.

Was he mad at them?

Was he mad at the sparkling?

They had tried to go to the lab, but no one let them within 10 feet from it.

Apparently the Co-Captains finally agreed on something for once…

Brainstorm gets one whiff of this and forcefully drags Perceptor with Rodimus so the siblings could talk.

Juno has to break the tension and bluntly states they know he is mad at them, but they could really use their big brother right now.

Percy is taken back stating that he isn’t mad.

Juno demands to know why he was being so distant.

He shyly hands them a data slug.

They plug it in and it has blue prints and plans for cribs, toys, alarms, etc for the sparkling.

He just wanted to take some load off Juno’s shoulders.

Perceptor is pulled in the biggest and tightest hug he had ever received from a crying Juno. Perceptor pulls from the hug. Perceptor: “There is one thing I must ask from you.” Juno: “What is it?” Perceptor: “Do not name the sparkling Hot Rod.” Juno cracks a smile. Perceptor: “Promise me Juno.” They give him a cheeky smile. Perceptor: “I mean it Juno!”

4. The habsuite

Juno and Rodimus taken on themselves to re organize the habsuite to fit in their newest member.

They would all share the habsuite until the sparkling was a bit older to handle sleeping in a habsuite alone.

Rodimus wanted to repaint the room.

Juno agreed and decided to reorganize some of their lighter things.

Rodimus gets mad if they even try to touch something heavy.

When word gets around that the pair was remodeling their habsuite, there are some bots who show up to lend a servo.

They all get the room repainted and reorganized with the sparklings things in record time.

Juno spots a box with some data pads. They try and pick it up but Nautica picks it up. Nautica: “Didn’t Rodimus say for you to sit down?” Juno: “Its just a small box Nautica, I think I can handle it.” Juno tries to take the box. Rodimus suddenly appears from behind. Rodimus: “Juno!” Juno: “ACK!” Rodimus steadies them before they slip on a rouge marker. Rodimus: “Sorry about that—hey why aren’t you resting?” Juno has a servo over their spark and tries controlling their vents. Juno: “You know, sitting sounds really nice right now…”

5. Sparkling shower

It was now about halfway into the pregnancy when Juno finally gave in and gave Rodimus the green light to throw a party for the bitty.

They had refused to do a party in the beginning, mainly because they didn’t feel comfortable.

Rodimus whined a bit but respected their wishes.

Once he gets the word, on the condition that Magnus, Megatron and Ratchet would inspect it, he takes off.

Magnus does a double take when Rodimus actually fills out a form CORRETCTLY with minimal mistakes and errors.

Now if he could only do this with his regular work…

Rodimus gets Swerve and Drift involved in the party planning.

After a couple of changes by the three mechs, the party is a go.

It was a small group that came in after hearing that no engex was going to be served at the bar.

Juno had made it clear they did not want any drop of engex being served, the smell made them purge their tanks.

Thankfully the group consisted of most of their friends.

Gifts were brought to the party.

Rodimus hands Juno a gift box. Juno: “This one is from… Whirl?” Whirl raises his cube on energon. Whirl: “That’s mine alright!” Rodimus looks at the box cautiously as Juno opens it. They take out a sparkling carrier. Juno: “Aww, this is adorable and handy! Thank you Whirl!” Whirl: “Read it!” Juno looks closer at the small writing on the back. Juno: “PILF?” Whirl: “That’s Parent I’d like to—” Perceptor, Magnus and Cyclonus quickly try and shush the copter bot. Tailgate: “Cyclonus what does that mean?” Juno: “I’m with Tailgate, what does that mean?” Rodimus just laughs loudly while covering their audials. Rodimus: “You don’t need to know that!” Juno: “Roddy? What—” Rodimus: “You don’t need to know that!”

Guess which cat is Juno and Rodimus...

#maccadam #transformers x reader #bot buddy #mtmte x platonic reader #mtmte x reader #juno x rodimus

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sheriffaxolotl · 2 days ago

Text

Bleed, Survive, Remember (Chapter 11) Arthur Morgan x Reader

Summary:

“Not takin’ lip from you,” you shot back, tossing a piece of carrot his way. He caught it easily, his grin widening. “Ain’t givin' any lip, woman,” he said, taking a bite and chewing casually, his eyes meeting yours.

Chapter 11: A Stranger Among Strangers

︻デ═一・・・・・・・一═デ︻

Over the next few days, as your strength returned and you grew more comfortable moving around camp, you found yourself gradually being drawn into its small community. Everyone had their role, their quirks, and their routines, and while some welcomed you more easily than others, the fabric of the camp was undeniably close-knit.

You couldn’t help the way you feel out of place.

Abigail and Jack were among the first to notice you once you ventured out of Arthur’s makeshift setup. You’d been by the camp’s washing line, fumbling with a bucket of water that Susan had insisted needed moving, when you caught sight of a young boy darting through the tents. Jack was chasing a wooden stick, laughing as it bounced across the dirt.

“Careful, Jack!” Abigail’s voice called, warm but firm. She looked up from a pile of laundry near the fire and caught sight of you, pausing for a moment before offering a small, welcoming smile.

“Feelin’ better?” she asked, her voice light as she set down a shirt she’d been folding.

You nodded, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Getting there. Still feels like I’ve been kicked by a mule, but I’ll live.”

Abigail chuckled softly. “Well, that’s something, I suppose. If you need help gettin’ settled, just holler. Lord knows this place could use a few more decent folks.”

There was an ease to her demeanor, a subtle kindness that made you feel just a little less like an outsider. It became quickly apparent that Abigail was a busy woman, her time split between watching over Jack and tending to whatever needed doing around camp.

Jack, on the other hand, was pure energy wrapped up in a small frame. As you started to walk away, he darted toward you, clutching his stick like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“Is it true you’re a lady gunslinger?” he asked, his big, curious eyes locking onto yours.

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden question. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Uncle says you’re some kind of sharp-shooter,” he said proudly, puffing out his chest as though sharing some grand secret.

“Uncle says a lot of things,” Abigail interjected, shaking her head but smiling fondly at her son. “Don’t go botherin’ her, Jack.”

“He’s not bothering me,” you said quickly, smiling down at the boy. “But I think Uncle might be stretchin’ the truth just a bit.”

Jack tilted his head, clearly unconvinced, but before he could press further, Abigail ushered him away with a promise of a snack. You watched them walk off, the warmth of their interaction settling over you as you turned back to your task—determined to haul the bucket of water across camp without aggravating your side.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

John, on the other hand, wasn’t so quick to strike up conversation. You first spotted him near the horses, sitting on an overturned crate while cleaning one of his pistols. The metallic click of the gun parts echoed softly, blending with the background hum of camp life.

You’d been passing by, carrying some firewood to the supply wagon, when his voice stopped you.

“You’re the one Arthur dragged in, huh?”

His tone wasn’t unkind, but there was an edge to it, like he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of you yet. You turned to find his sharp eyes studying you from beneath the brim of his hat.

“That’d be me,” you replied evenly, setting the firewood down and brushing off your hands.

John nodded, returning his focus to the pistol in his hands. “He don’t usually go outta his way for folks he don't know.”

You weren’t sure if that was meant as a compliment or not, so you simply shrugged. “Guess I owe him, then.”

“Guess you do.” He glanced up again, his expression softening slightly. “Arthur’s got a good read on people, though. If he thinks you’re alright, you probably are.”

The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he turned his attention back to his work, effectively ending the conversation. You didn’t linger, sensing that John wasn’t one for long talks, and you won't one to push. Still, the mention of Arthur stayed with you, lingering in the quiet moments as you made your way back into the woods around camp to gather more branches. Thoughts of him—his steady gaze, the quiet moments shared—kept surfacing, weaving through the soft rustling of leaves and the gentle crunch of twigs beneath your feet. The camp buzzed in the distance, but for a while, it felt like the forest held only your own musings.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

Sadie, though mourning—which you found out when talking to Abigail—seemed like she was holding herself together by sheer force of will. The pain of her loss was still raw, visible in the stiffness of her posture and the faraway look in her eyes. You’d seen her sitting near the edge of camp one morning, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she stared out into the trees.

You’d been passing by on your way to fetch some water when your footsteps crunched on the gravel, drawing her attention. She glanced up at you, her expression briefly unreadable before her lips curved into a faint, almost reluctant smile.

“Morning,” you offered, unsure if you should say more.

“Morning,” she replied, her voice quiet but steady.

Her eyes lingered on you for a moment, and you had the distinct feeling she was sizing you up—not in an unkind way, but as if trying to determine who you were.

“You need any help with somethin’?” you ventured cautiously, shifting the bucket in your hand.

Sadie shook her head, her grip tightening briefly on her arms. “No. I’m fine.”

There was an edge to her words, not cold, but distant, like she wasn’t ready to let anyone in just yet. You nodded, not pushing further, but as you turned to leave, she spoke again.

“Thanks, though,” she added, softer this time, and when you glanced back, you thought you saw the faintest flicker of gratitude in her expression.

She didn’t say more, and you didn’t linger. Sadie was grieving, and she needed space. You respected that, though you hoped, in time, she’d find a way to let others help her when she needed it.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

Javier, by contrast, was easy to talk to. You remembered him from Valentine—the bar fight in particular. He had been charming the saloon girls before it, or well, before Arthur showed up. In camp, you noticed he was often by himself or with a small group, strumming his guitar under the shade of a tree.

The first time you approached him, it was late afternoon, and the warm notes of his music carried across the camp. You’d been gathering some firewood nearby, drawn by the gentle melody. He glanced up as you neared, his dark eyes meeting yours with an easy warmth.

“You play?” he asked, nodding toward the guitar in his lap.

“Not a note,” you admitted with a small laugh, setting down your bundle of wood. “But I can appreciate good music when I hear it.”

Javier chuckled, his fingers still plucking at the strings as he spoke. “Well, stick around. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

You sat a few feet away, watching as his hands moved deftly over the instrument. The song was unfamiliar, but there was something comforting about it, a rhythm that seemed to blend seamlessly with the natural sounds of the camp.

“You were in that fight in Valentine, weren’t you?” you asked after a moment, a grin tugging at your lips.

He glanced up, a playful spark in his eyes. “Ah, sí. A wild night, that one. And you—you were the one Arthur dragged into it, no?”

“Dragged is a strong word,” you teased, crossing your arms. “I held my own, thank you very much.”

Javier laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

The two of you exchanged a few more stories about that chaotic evening, and you found yourself relaxing in his presence. Javier had a way of making you feel at ease, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to some of the camp’s louder personalities.

As the sun dipped lower, he played another tune, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the camp disappeared. It wasn’t until he stopped to retune the guitar that he glanced at you again, his expression thoughtful.

“You’re fitting in well here,” he said simply, his tone sincere.

“Trying to,” you replied, lowly.

Javier nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. “Keep at it. This place... it’s not always easy, but it’s good.”

His words stayed with you long after the music ended, thinking them over.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

Uncle, on the other hand, was impossible to avoid—and not always in a good way. His eccentric behavior and strange humor made him a permanent fixture of the camp’s oddities. He’d wander around aimlessly, cracking jokes that didn’t always land, laughing too loudly at his own remarks, and regaling anyone who’d listen with dubious tales of his youth. At first, you found his antics bewildering—how could someone so seemingly lazy and nonsensical have a place in this camp? But there was a certain charm to his unpredictability, and, when you least expected it, he’d surprise you with a moment of genuine insight or a kind word.

One morning, you caught him reclining near the fire, hat tipped over his face as if he were sleeping, but as you passed by, he suddenly spoke up. “Y’know, all these serious folks around here could learn a thing or two from a little relaxation.”

You paused, unsure whether to engage. “Is that what you call it? Relaxation?”

He tipped his hat up and grinned at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I call it livin’, darlin’. You should try it sometime.”

It was hard to tell if he was being sincere or just trying to get under your skin, but the exchange left you shaking your head and smiling despite yourself. For all his flaws, there was something oddly endearing about Uncle, even if you’d never admit it to him.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

By that afternoon, as you passed by the camp, Bill was sitting against a tree, polishing his rifle. His eyes followed you as you moved past him, the look in his gaze far from friendly.

“You know,” he drawled, spitting a stream of tobacco into the dirt, “shouldn’t be messin’ with things you don’t understand. That bucket’s too heavy for you. Might as well save yourself the trouble.”

You didn’t stop, keeping your steps steady, but the edge in his voice stung. “I manage just fine, thanks,” you muttered under your breath.

Bill let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Suit yourself. But you’re just gonna slow things down, making a mess of things. Women always do.”

You bit your tongue, but something about his smug tone made you want to throw the bucket over him.

But you didn't, maybe next time though.

When you were coming back from another lap you realized he’d silently shifted a pile of gear out of your way, as if to make your task easier without drawing attention to it.

Odd.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

And then there was Molly. You had caught glimpses of her from Arthur's tent, finding you watched her a bit during your recovery. She carried herself with an air of sophistication that felt at odds with the rugged, chaotic life of this camp. Her laughter rang out across camp like bells, light and musical, though it was rare for her to direct it at anyone in particular. Molly had a certain charm—quick-witted and sharp-tongued when she wanted to be—that you had seen and heard from the conversations you overheard between her and Dutch or other camp members.

She often fussed over her appearance, brushing her hair or adjusting her dress, her movements delicate and deliberate. You caught yourself feeling a twinge of envy for the way she always seemed so put-together, no matter the circumstances. She carried herself with a confidence that stood out, always impeccably dressed despite the rough conditions, a reminder that she had a life outside all this—a life she seemed to miss terribly, or so you assumed.

Your interactions were few and brief, but she always seemed polite enough. When you had passed by one evening, she had looked up from where she was sewing, her hands deftly working a needle through fabric. “I don’t know how you keep up with all this running around,” she had remarked lightly, a faint smile on her lips. “I’d be half-dead after a single day.”

You’d simply shrugged, not sure what to make of her. She wasn’t unkind, but there was a distance in her words, as though she wasn’t entirely interested in getting to know you—or anyone else, for that matter.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

Once you felt well enough to graduate from hauling buckets of half-filled water from the stream nearby, you decided it was time to take on more substantial chores. The camp had taken you in when you needed help, and you weren’t about to let anyone think you were a freeloader. Determined to prove yourself useful, you set your sights on helping Pearson in the makeshift camp kitchen. It seemed simple enough—a little slicing, stirring, maybe seasoning here and there. How hard could it be?

The trouble started almost immediately. Pearson, ever the gruff perfectionist, launched into a tirade about the “right” way to prepare vegetables before you even had a chance to get settled. You barely had time to roll up your sleeves before he shoved a knife and a pile of carrots in your direction, muttering about how “greenhorns can’t even hold a blade right.”

Still, you tried to follow his lead. You had steady hands, trained for far less domestic tasks, but Pearson’s constant grumbling and pacing turned the simple act of slicing carrots into a nerve-wracking ordeal.

“Too thick,” he barked, leaning over your shoulder. “You trying to choke everyone? This ain’t some fancy saloon stew!”

Flustered, you adjusted your grip, only for the knife to slip and nearly nick your finger. “I know how to handle a knife,” you snapped, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Pearson raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered, returning to his stew pot with a shake of his head.

You were about to snap back that you were doing just fine when a shadow passed by the corner of your vision. You glanced up, and there was Arthur, strolling through camp with a freshly hunted buck draped effortlessly over his shoulder. He moved with the kind of confidence that drew attention, his boots crunching against the dirt as he approached. Sweat glistened on his brow, and his sleeves were rolled up, revealing muscular arms that flexed with each step. His shirt, damp with sweat, clung to his frame as he walked.

The sight of him momentarily knocked the focus right out of you. You didn’t even notice how still you’d gone until he stopped near the kitchen and set the deer down with an audible thud. He glanced your way, a teasing grin spreading across his face as he leaned on a nearby crate, watching the chaos unfold.

“Well, look at you,” he drawled, his voice warm and laced with amusement. “Right little kitchen hand, ain’t ya?”

His tone was lighthearted, but the way his eyes lingered made you feel like he was enjoying this a little too much. Heat crept up your neck, and you gripped the knife tighter, trying to regain your composure.

“You gonna stand there all day, or you gonna help?” you shot back, trying to match his teasing tone, though the quiver in your voice betrayed you.

Arthur chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. “Don’t look at me. I don’t reckon Pearson’d trust me near his stewpot either.”

Distracted, you almost didn’t notice when the knife in your hand slipped, the blade grazing far too close to your fingers. Your breath hitched as you froze, your heart skipping a beat.

Pearson’s bark came immediately. “Dammit, woman! You tryin’ to maim yourself? I don’t got time to patch up fools!”

You flinched at the sharpness of his tone, frustration and embarrassment flaring up inside you. Arthur, still lounging against the crate, raised a brow and tilted his head as if deciding whether to intervene.

“Easy, Pearson,” he said finally, his voice calm but with a trace of humor. “Don’t reckon she’s lookin’ to take your job.”

Pearson grunted, clearly unimpressed, and stalked off to check the stewpot, leaving you and Arthur alone for a moment. You exhaled slowly, shaking your head as you set the knife down carefully.

“Not a word,” you muttered, glancing up at him.

Arthur held up his hands in mock surrender, the smirk still tugging at his lips. “Didn’t say nothin’. You’re doin’ fine, really. Could use a little less blood in the stew, though.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. His teasing was maddening, sure, but there was something in his tone that made it clear he wasn’t really judging you.

“Not takin’ lip from you,” you shot back, tossing a piece of carrot his way.

He caught it easily, his grin widening. “Ain’t givin' any lip, woman,” he said, taking a bite and chewing casually, his eyes meeting yours.

You quickly looked away, cursing internally at the weight of his gaze. “Maybe next time I’ll let you handle the carrots,” you muttered under your breath, earning another chuckle from him.

As he turned to leave, his voice carried over his shoulder. “Just try not to take a finger off, alright? Camp’s got enough excitement without that.”

You huffed, brushing stray hair out of your face and muttering under your breath, “Impossible man.”

Still, as you looked down at the pile of half-sliced carrots, you realized you were smiling despite yourself.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

After Pearson’s scolding, you tried to keep your frustration in check. He wasn’t wrong, of course, but the sting of his words lingered. You didn’t want to be seen as the camp’s walking disaster—not after everything they’d done for you. Maybe returning to your previous chore, like fetching water, would give you a chance to redeem yourself—or at least avoid further humiliation.

Huffing softly, you grabbed a pair of empty buckets from beside the wagon. Normally, you’d only take one, but your mood had you feeling determined, or maybe just stubborn. Two buckets would show everyone, including Pearson, that you were capable of pulling your weight.

The walk to the stream wasn’t far, but the sun was rising steady, and the buckets seemed to grow heavier with every step. You clenched your jaw against the dull ache that crept into your side—a lingering reminder that you weren’t entirely healed yet. Still, you pressed on, ignoring the discomfort as best you could. The soft trickle of the stream came into view, and you knelt down carefully, the cool water flowing over your hands as you filled each bucket to the brim.

When it came time to lift them, the real challenge began. The moment you stood, a sharp, searing pain lanced through your side, forcing a hiss from your lips. You paused, gripping the handles tightly and trying to steady yourself.

“Damn it,” you muttered under your breath, shifting your grip and attempting to find a way to balance the weight.

“Need some help?”

The unexpected voice made you startle slightly. Turning, you found Jack standing a few feet away, watching you with wide, curious eyes. His small frame and bright expression seemed out of place in the rugged wilderness, but his presence was oddly comforting. You hadn’t even noticed him approach.

“Jack,” you said, forcing a smile despite the ache in your side. “What’re you doing all the way out here?”

He shrugged, kicking a pebble into the stream. “I was exploring. Mama says I shouldn’t go too far, but I wanted to see what you were doing.” He tilted his head, looking at the buckets. “You don’t look like you’re doing too good.”

You huffed a laugh, adjusting your grip on the handles. “I’ve got it under control. Just... a little heavy, that’s all.”

Jack stepped closer, peering at the buckets as if assessing the situation. “I can carry one,” he offered, puffing out his chest in an attempt to look more grown-up. “I’m strong, you know.”

The idea of Abigail’s son hauling water buckets was enough to make you shake your head. You could already imagine her reaction if she found out. “That’s sweet of you, Jack, but I think your mama might have my head if she saw you out here doing my work.”

Jack frowned but didn’t argue. Instead, he squatted down by the stream and picked up a smooth stone, rolling it between his fingers. “You don’t need do it all by yourself,” he said quietly, his tone thoughtful. “Uncle Arthur says it’s okay to ask for help.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his words. For a boy so young, Jack had a way of cutting straight to the heart of things. You crouched down beside him, wincing slightly as your side protested the movement.

“Mister Morgan said that, huh?” you asked, smiling faintly.

Jack nodded, his face serious. “Uh-huh. He says even strong people can’t do everything alone.”

His earnestness was enough to ease the tension you’d been carrying since leaving camp. You ruffled his hair gently, making him giggle. “Well, sounds like Mister Morga’s a smart man. Maybe I’ll take his advice.”

Standing slowly, you glanced at the buckets, then back at Jack. “Tell you what. How about you keep me company on the way back? That’ll help more than anything.”

Jack grinned, clearly pleased with the compromise. “Okay!”

As the two of you started back toward camp—Jack chattering about all the animals he wanted to see and you nodding along—you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. The buckets were still heavy, and your side still ached, but somehow, it didn’t seem quite as bad.

Maybe you should tell Abigail Jack had wandered quite far from camp the next time you saw her. Maybe you should offer to keep an eye on him. You mulled it over in your mind as you carried the bucket toward Pearson’s wagon.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

The next day, you decided to try something else.

Apparently, you were no good at washing clothes either. Armed with a washboard and a bucket of soapy water, you figured this was something even you couldn’t mess up. Leaning over the bucket, you scrubbed diligently, but your arms soon began to ache. Water splashed everywhere, soaking the ground beneath you, and suds clung stubbornly to your sleeves.

The final blow came when a shirt you were washing slipped from your hands, carried downstream by the current before you even realized it. You lunged after it, nearly toppling over into the water.

Nearby, Tilly and Mary-Beth sat folding laundry, their movements efficient and practiced. They exchanged amused glances before Mary-Beth’s soft laughter broke the silence.

“You’re more of a sharpshooter than a laundress, huh?” Tilly teased, though her tone was lighthearted.

You sat back on your heels, shaking your head with a rueful grin. “Guess I’m better at making messes than cleaning them.”

Mary-Beth smiled warmly, setting a freshly folded shirt on the pile beside her. “Don’t worry. You’ll find your place here. Everyone does.”

Before you could argue, they took over the washing, leaving you to sit back, damp and defeated. Still, you couldn’t help but smile despite yourself.

As you sat back, watching Tilly and Mary-Beth take over the task with effortless ease, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of inadequacy. The laundry wasn’t just clean; it was perfectly folded, stacked neatly like they’d been doing it their whole lives. You bit the inside of your cheek, glancing down at your damp sleeves and the soapy mess you’d left behind.

��Well, at least I’m good for entertainment,” you muttered under your breath, half to yourself, half to the women nearby.

Tilly glanced over with a chuckle, brushing her hands against her skirt. “Oh, don’t let it get to you. Everyone has their strengths.” She leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering her voice just a little. “You should’ve seen Karen the first time she tried baking bread. The gang had to convince her she hadn’t poisoned them.”

Mary-Beth giggled, adding, “Or the time Uncle decided to ‘help’ Pearson in the kitchen. We were picking burnt beans out of stew for a week.”

The stories pulled a reluctant laugh out of you. “So, what you’re saying is, I’m not the first disaster you’ve had around here?”

“Far from it,” Mary-Beth said with a grin, her voice full of warmth. “We’ve all had our moments. Even Arthur.”

That caught your attention. “Mister Morgan? What’d he do?”

Tilly smirked knowingly, setting another folded shirt in her lap. “Let’s just say he’s better off in the saddle than trying to mend anything. The man once stitched his own shirt to his pants without noticing.”

You barked out a laugh, the image of Arthur Morgan grumbling over a needle and thread too vivid not to enjoy. It was the first time in days that you’d felt anything close to normal.

Mary-Beth’s smile widened. “Oh, it’s true. He’s a damn good shot, but anything that requires actual patience—forget it.”

You shook your head, still chuckling. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at him the same way again.”

Tilly leaned back, tossing a completed stack of laundry onto a neat pile. “Trust me, he’d probably take it as a compliment.”

The three of you shared a quiet moment of laughter, the tension that had clung to you for days easing just a bit. Maybe you weren’t cut out for laundry, but at least you weren’t alone in your mess.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

As the afternoon sun shifted, you found yourself wandering back into camp, searching for something else to do. You spotted Charles by the campfire, sharpening his knife with slow, deliberate movements. A neat pile of firewood sat at his feet, and for a moment, you hesitated.

You’d met Charles only briefly a couple of days prior when he introduced himself. It was a quiet moment, just after you’d started walking around camp instead of being confined to bed. You’d been easing your way along the edge of camp, careful not to disturb anyone, when he’d approached with that calm, steady presence of his.

“Charles Smith,” he’d said simply, offering a hand.

You’d taken it, noting the firm grip and the quiet sincerity in his dark eyes. “Nice to meet you,” you’d replied.

“I didn’t want to bother you while you were resting,” he explained. “Figured you’d want to get your bearings first. But... if you need anything, just ask.”

That had been the end of it. No prying questions, no awkward small talk—just an offer of help, given freely. It had stuck with you, though. Something about Charles seemed grounded in a way you didn’t often see in this life.

Now, as you approached the campfire, you found yourself grateful for his earlier kindness.

“Need a hand with that?” you asked, gesturing to the firewood.

Charles looked up, his dark eyes assessing you for a moment before he nodded. “If you’re up for it. You’ll need to use the hatchet, though. Don’t think your aim’s good enough to split wood with a bullet.”

The teasing in his tone was subtle, but it was there, and you grinned. “Oh, you’d be surprised. But I’ll stick to the hatchet.”

He handed it over, stepping aside to give you space. You’d chopped wood plenty of times before, but after a few swings, it was clear your strength wasn’t what it used to be. The first log splintered awkwardly, and the second sent the hatchet bouncing off at an odd angle, nearly taking your fingers with it.

Charles reached out, steadying the log with one hand. “Here. Like this.” He positioned your grip on the hatchet and shifted your stance slightly. “Let the weight do the work. Don’t muscle it.”

You followed his advice, and this time, the blade sank cleanly through the wood, splitting it in two.

“There you go,” he said with a rare smile. “Not bad.”

For the next few minutes, the two of you worked side by side, the rhythm of chopping and stacking lulling you into a calm focus. Charles didn’t say much, but his quiet presence was comforting. It reminded you of the value in simply doing—finding purpose in the small, tangible things.

By the time the sun dipped lower, painting the camp in hues of gold and orange, you’d stacked enough firewood to keep the camp warm for days. Wiping the sweat from your brow, you leaned against the chopping block, catching your breath.

“Thanks for the help,” Charles said, his tone genuine. “Not everyone pitches in like this.”

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Figured I’d make myself useful."

Charles nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, you did good. This’ll keep the camp going for a while. Just don’t push yourself too hard.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the sound of approaching footsteps made you glance up. Arthur emerged from the tree line, his stride easy but purposeful. His hat was pulled low against the golden glow of the setting sun, casting a shadow over his expression, but there was something in his stance—tense, deliberate—that caught your attention.

“Charles,” Arthur greeted with a slight nod before his eyes flicked to you. “Didn’t know you were takin’ up lumberjackin’.”

His tone was casual enough, but there was an edge to it, like he was sizing up the scene. He leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed, watching you and Charles with an unreadable expression.

You raised an eyebrow, wiping your hands on your pants. “Figured it was better than sittin’ around doing nothing.”

Arthur’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, his jaw tightening slightly before he gave a low chuckle. “Well, you look like you’ve been put through the wringer. Hope Charles here didn’t work you too hard.”

Charles, seemingly unbothered, shrugged as he finished stacking the last of the firewood. “She held her own. Better than some of the others around here.”

“Is that right?” Arthur drawled, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Didn’t think you were the type to take on apprentices, Charles.”

You frowned, glancing between the two men. “It’s just firewood, Arthur. No need to make it sound like I’m learning a trade.”

Arthur pushed off the tree, his expression softening as he looked at you. “Just sayin’. You’re still recoverin’. Don’t want you overdo—” He paused, his eyes catching on the faint smirk Charles was giving him, and his voice shifted. “—overestimatin’ yourself.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “I’ll keep that in mind, Mister Morgan.”

Charles chuckled under his breath, grabbing his knife and giving Arthur a nod. “She’s fine, Arthur. You don’t need to keep hovering.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened again, but he gave a faint grin, tipping his hat. “Ain’t hoverin’. Just lookin’ out, is all.”

The air felt heavier for a moment, the unspoken tension between them palpable, but Charles shrugged it off as he stepped away. “Well, I’m done here. Firewood’s all set. You two enjoy the rest of your evening.”

He gave you a brief smile, then walked back toward the campfire, leaving you and Arthur alone.

Arthur watched him go, his posture relaxing slightly as he turned back to you. “He’s a good fella, Charles. Quiet, but reliable.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Seems like it. Why? You worried about something?”

Arthur hesitated, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, he seemed to weigh his words. Finally, he shook his head, his voice softer now. “Nah. Just makin’ sure you’re settlin’ in alright.”

You didn’t miss the way his gaze lingered on you, warm and steady in the fading light. For a man who could be so guarded, there was something honest about the way he looked at you now, like he was trying to figure you out but didn’t mind taking his time.

“I’m fine,” you said, your tone gentler. “Thanks for checking, though.”

Arthur gave a short nod, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “Good. Let me know if you need somethin’. Don’t need you runnin’ off with Charles to split wood all the time.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, turning back toward camp, “you’ll get used to it.”

And as he walked away, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, the faintest flicker of warmth settling in your chest.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

The camp was still bustling with evening activity—chatter around the campfire, the clink of tin mugs, and the occasional burst of laughter. You let out a breath, thinking about Arthur’s words and the strange comfort they brought.

But that peace was short-lived. You turned toward the wagon where you’d been keeping some of your things, intent on finding something useful to occupy your hands. Before you could take more than a few steps, Susan Grimshaw appeared, her sharp gaze locking onto you like a hawk spotting prey.

“Well,” she started, hands on her hips, her tone already carrying an edge, “I see you’ve made yourself comfortable, but there’s plenty more that needs doing around here.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden confrontation. “I wasn’t exactly sitting around—”

Susan cut you off with a curt wave of her hand. “I’m not interested in excuses. Everyone pulls their weight in this camp. If you’re fit enough to be choppin’ wood and chattin’ with Arthur, you’re fit enough to help Pearson with the supplies or other chores.”

Her words weren’t unfair, but they stung nonetheless. You opened your mouth to defend yourself, but something in Susan’s expression gave you pause.

“I get it,” you said, keeping your tone level. “I’ll help where I can.”

Susan’s brow arched, clearly not expecting your lack of resistance. “Good. Starting tomorrow, I’ll have a list for you. No more wandering about without purpose.”

You felt your jaw tighten, but you nodded. “Fine.”

She gave a curt nod and turned to walk away, leaving you standing there, frustration bubbling under the surface. You weren’t trying to shirk responsibility, but the constant need to prove yourself in a camp full of strangers was beginning to wear on you.

You took a moment to breathe, reminding yourself that this wasn’t about pleasing Susan or anyone else.

As you turned to head back toward your spot by the fire, you nearly ran into Abigail, who was carrying a bundle of laundry.

“She give you an earful?” Abigail asked, her tone more amused than sympathetic.

“Something like that,” you muttered.

“Don’t take it personal. Grimshaw’s like that with everyone, especially the women. She thinks it’s her job to keep us all in line.” Abigail adjusted the laundry in her arms, her expression softening. “But she means well... most of the time.”

You gave a small nod, not entirely convinced. “Guess I’ll have to get used to it.”

“You will,” Abigail said with a small smile. “Just don’t let her see you slackin’. She’s got eyes in the back of her head.”

The comment drew a faint laugh from you, easing some of the tension that had settled in your chest.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

Emotionally, you felt drained after the past few days. Talking to so many people in such a short amount of time wasn’t something you were used to. You needed space, a moment to clear your head. After a brief pause near the campfire with Abigail and Jack, you quietly slipped away, heading toward Tater.

The horse stood with an air of quiet confidence, as if she knew she’d been spoiled and cared for. Her coat gleamed under the fading light, and her saddle looked as though someone had taken the time to polish away every scuff. Tater nuzzled against you, her soft breath warm on your hand as you gently stroked her neck.

"Hey girl," you whispered, a small smile tugging at your lips, "you got a secret admirer or something?"

Tater snorted softly, swaying slightly in contentment. You chuckled, leaning against her side as you ran your fingers through her mane. The quiet moment was soothing—just you and Tater, away from the chaos of being social.

You closed your eyes for a moment, the sound of the campfire and distant chatter fading into the background. It wasn’t often you took time like this to ground yourself, to reconnect with something that wasn’t people. It was just Tater and you.

You took a deep breath, letting the cool air fill your lungs as you leaned against the horse, feeling a quiet sense of peace.

But that tranquility didn’t last long.

From the edge of the clearing, you heard footsteps approaching. Your eyes opened, and before you knew it, Arthur appeared from the trees, his long stride steady and confident. His hat was low over his face, casting shadows across his brow, with a rifle over his shoulder.

"Taking a break, huh?" His voice was calm but held an edge of curiosity. He must be coming back from watch.

You straightened, adjusting your stance. “Thought I’d give myself a minute,” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “Figured Tater could use some attention... Someone been looking after her while I've been bedridden, I think.”

Arthur studied you for a moment, his gaze lingering on Tater before finally resting on you. “Yeah, she’s been lookin’ well. Seems someone’s been takin’ good care of her…”

You shrugged, your fingers still brushing Tater’s mane. “She’s a good horse. Didn’t see the harm in it.”

Arthur’s gaze shifted between you and the horse, his brow furrowing slightly. “Not the sort to stand around doin’ nothin’, huh?”

You glanced up at him, a faint smirk playing on your lips. “I wasn’t exactly sitting idle.”

Arthur tilted his head, studying you for a moment longer before letting out a soft chuckle. “No, I guess you weren’t.” His tone remained neutral, though there was a faint glint of something you couldn’t quite place in his eyes.

Arthur cleared his throat, shifting his weight as he adjusted his rifle on his shoulder. For a moment, he didn’t respond, and the silence between you stretched again. You studied him as he watched Tater, the faintest crease of thought on his brow.

“I reckon you don’t need to keep giving up your bed for me anymore, Mister Morgan,” you said, breaking the quiet. “I’m feeling well enough now.”

Arthur shifted his gaze from the horse to you, his brow furrowing just a bit. “Ain’t a matter of needin’ to. Just figured it made more sense, is all.”

You crossed your arms, tilting your head as you studied him. “Don’t seem like you got much sense when it comes to your own rest.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t look away. “I’ll manage.”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “You’ve been sleeping on that log over there for days. Might be time to take your bed back.”

Arthur didn’t answer right away, his gaze flickering to the ground. The tension between you seemed to grow, heavy but not uncomfortable. His fingers tightened on the rifle as he shifted his weight again, posture a bit more rigid now.

“Maybe,” he finally said, his voice softer, more measured. “But if you need it, I’ll keep movin’ out of the way.”

You frowned, tilting your head, sensing the quiet resistance beneath his words. “I don’t need you to.”

“You sure about that?” His voice was quieter now, almost a murmur.

“Yeah,” you said, softly. “I’m sure.”

Arthur studied you a moment longer, his gaze lingering, as if trying to gauge if you were being honest. Then, slowly, he gave a small nod, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “Alright, then.” He mumbled as he moved closer to you, his hand settling on Tater, as he pets the horse.

“You seem real insistent on gettin’ your way,” Arthur said, his tone lighter now, almost teasing. You don't miss the way his fingers brush against your hand as he pats Tater.

You smiled, stepping closer, your voice barely above a whisper. “Someone’s gotta keep you in check, Mister Morgan.”

Arthur tilted his head, his smirk growing. “Yeah? Might be you’ve got a knack for it.”

His eyes held yours, and in that quiet, shared space, there was a flicker of something deeper. You didn’t look away.

"Maybe."

Arthur’s smile lingered as he let his hand slide down Tater’s neck, fingers brushing against yours just a little longer. The tension between you hung in the air, thick and heavy but not unpleasant. He didn’t seem in any rush to break the quiet moment.

After a beat of silence, Arthur shifted his weight, clearing his throat softly. “You always this quiet, or am I just not sayin’ the right things?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was something more to it now—a hint of curiosity.

You took a breath, letting the smirk play on your lips deepen just a fraction. “Maybe you’re not asking the right questions, Mister Morgan.”

His eyes sharpened, narrowing just slightly as he studied you. “Is that right?” His voice dropped a notch, smooth and measured.

You shrugged, your gaze steady. “Might be.”

Arthur stood there a moment longer, his expression unreadable, as though he was trying to figure out whether to lean in or back off. But instead of moving away, he shifted a little closer, his presence enveloping the space between you like a slow, deliberate pull.

He wasn’t pressing, not yet, but the heat of his stare and the quiet understanding passed between you was impossible to ignore.

His hand grazed yours again as he shifted his rifle to his other shoulder, the touch barely there but enough to make the hairs on your arms stand. “You always this bold, or am I gonna have to drag it outta you?”

You smiled faintly, stepping a fraction closer, the distance between you shrinking. “Maybe it’s not about being bold,” Your voice was quieter now, almost a whisper, like the moment itself was fragile and precious.

Arthur exhaled, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “Maybe it ain’t.” His eyes searched yours for a moment longer before he let his hand drop from Tater neck, letting it settle nears yours.

For a second, neither of you said anything. The camp around you felt distant, the firelight casting long shadows across the clearing as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

“Maybe we’ll see,” he said finally, his tone low and contemplative. His gaze remained fixed on yours, steady, the faintest flicker of something softer behind his eyes.

You didn’t look away. “Maybe.”

Arthur stood there, his expression softening further as he let the quiet stretch between you. The weight of his gaze was intense but not uncomfortable. He adjusted his hat slightly, his fingers brushing the brim, before finally speaking again, his voice low.

“Call me Arthur,” he said, his tone steady. “No need for all that ‘Mister Morgan’ business.”

The sound of his first name on his lips sent a small shiver down your spine. You hesitated for a moment, letting the weight of what he’d said sink in. Arthur. Simple, quiet, familiar. Perosnal.

You met his gaze and offered a faint smile. “Alright… Arthur.”

His eyes flicked down to your lips for a split second before returning to yours, that smirk still there but softer now, more genuine.

“Just Arthur,” he repeated, more to himself than to you, before letting his eyes hold yours once again.

Arthur took a slow breath, his gaze still locked on yours, as though he was trying to say something more, something deeper, but the words hung unspoken. The weight of the moment stretched out, the quiet settling around you both. You could almost feel the space between you narrowing, as though he was leaning closer, even if just a little.

But then, just as the silence was beginning to feel unbearable, Tater gave a low nicker, her ears twitching as she turned her head. The soft nudge against your side broke the stillness, and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at the absurdity of the timing.

Arthur blinked, pulling his gaze away from yours, his smirk returning, albeit more subdued now. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “seems someone’s got a better idea of what’s important than we do.”

You shook your head, chuckling softly as you patted Tater. “Looks like she’s not one for quiet moments.”

Arthur sighed, adjusting his hat as he looked at the horse. “Guess not. Can’t seem to catch a break when you’re around, can I?” His tone was laced with humor, though it still carried a thread of seriousness.

You smiled, feeling the tension shift but not entirely dissipate. “Can’t help it if I’m good company.”

Arthur let out a low chuckle, the sound more genuine now. “You keep tellin’ yourself that.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, letting the quiet settle back into the space between you. Tater stood contentedly between you both, her presence grounding, as though reminding you that the world beyond this moment still existed.

But something lingered beneath the surface.

“Well,” Arthur said at last, his tone lighter. “I should get back. Don’t wanna leave the camp without a watch.”

You nodded, reluctant to break the connection, but understanding the need to pull away. “Yeah. Guess I’ll head back, too.”

Arthur tipped his hat, the corner of his mouth tugging into that faint smirk again. “See you around, darlin’.”

As he turned, his footsteps fading into the distance, you watched him go, a strange mixture of relief and longing settling in your chest.

Tater stood beside you, softly nuzzling your hand once more, as though sensing something had shifted. You let out a slow breath, brushing your fingers through her mane, lost in thought.

Maybe this wasn’t the end of whatever it was brewing between you and Arthur. But for now, all you could do was wait and see if the quiet tension would ever return.

You sighed, shaking your head with a small smile. “Awful timing, Tater.”

︻デ═一・・・・・・・一═デ︻

I really should be working on my assessments 📚, but I couldn’t resist writing another chapter now that the setting has reached camp 🏕️ and the gang 🤠. I hope you enjoyed this chapter !

#arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fic #slow burn #romance #cowboy #sheriffaxolotlwriting

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gyorouis · 2 days ago

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── ✦ winter things.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⋆ synopsis⸝⸝ my baby's in town and we're gonna do some winter things.

꒰ genre⸝⸝ fluff, chaos, winter magic pairing⸝⸝ bf!soobin x afab!reader wc⸝⸝ 1.08k warning⸝⸝ extreme coziness, marshmallow casualties tune in⸝⸝ ariana grande — winter things ୨ৎ ꒱

“soobin, i think we’re cursed,” you announced dramatically, dropping your phone onto the couch.

he looked up from where he was setting down two mugs of hot chocolate, a marshmallow already melting into his. “what happened now?”

“the cabin canceled on us. snowstorm, apparently.” you flopped back onto the cushions with a sigh.

“you’re kidding,” he groaned, setting the mugs on the coffee table. “we planned this for weeks!”

“i know! i was so ready for hot tubs and snowy mountains and… not this,” you said, gesturing vaguely at the apartment.

soobin stared at you for a moment, then crossed his arms. “okay. new plan. we’re bringing the winter getaway here.”

“here? soobin, this is a 600-square-foot apartment.”

“and it’s about to become the coziest winter wonderland you’ve ever seen,” he declared, grabbing a blanket and tossing it over his shoulder like a cape.

two hours later, your living room looked like it had been taken over by a holiday enthusiast with no sense of restraint.

“soobin, why do we have twelve blankets out?” you asked, struggling to keep the fort you were building from collapsing.

“because comfort is key,” he replied, balancing a pillow on top of the blanket pile.

“this isn’t comfort; this is chaos,” you muttered, though you couldn’t help smiling.

he stepped back, surveying the structure. “it’s not chaos—it’s art.”

“it’s lopsided.”

“you’re lopsided,” he shot back, sticking his tongue out.

you threw a pillow at him, which he dodged with an exaggerated gasp. “violence in my own home?”

“you started it!”

“and i’ll finish it,” he said, launching himself into the fort, which promptly collapsed on both of you.

later, as you lay side by side under the remains of the fort, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“this is actually kind of nice,” you admitted, your voice soft.

“see? i told you i’m a genius,” soobin said, sipping his hot chocolate.

“don’t push it,” you warned, nudging him with your elbow.

he grinned, his dimples making an appearance. “admit it—you’re having fun.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t deny it. “okay, maybe a little.”

soobin’s next idea was “fake snow.”

“where did you even get this?” you asked as he pulled out a bag of white fluff.

“the craft store,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“i wanted it to be a surprise!”

the two of you spent the next hour sprinkling the fluff over every available surface.

“this is ridiculous,” you said, watching him carefully place a pile of snow on top of a bookshelf.

“this is festive,” he corrected, tossing a handful at you.

you gasped, grabbing your own handful. “oh, it’s on.”

what followed was a fake snow fight that ended with both of you laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe, fluff stuck in your hair and scattered all over the floor.

“you look like a snowman,” you said, picking a piece of fluff off his head.

“and you look like someone who lost the snowball fight,” he teased, his grin smug.

“oh, please. i let you win,” you shot back, though your cheeks were warm from the laughter.

the next scene started with soobin raiding the kitchen cabinets.

“what are you doing now?” you asked, watching him stack various snacks on the counter.

“making s’mores,” he said simply.

“soobin, we don’t even have a fire.”

“details,” he said, holding up a lighter and a fork.

“this feels illegal,” you said as he skewered a marshmallow and held it over the tiny flame.

“it’s innovative,” he argued, rotating the marshmallow carefully.

you leaned closer, inspecting his work. “you’re going to set the apartment on fire.”

“not if you keep distracting me.”

somehow, he managed to toast the marshmallow perfectly, and soon, you were both sitting cross-legged on the floor, assembling makeshift s’mores.

“this is a mess,” you said as chocolate smeared onto your fingers.

“it’s a delicious mess,” soobin corrected, biting into his creation with a satisfied grin.

you laughed, shaking your head. “you’re impossible.”

“and yet, you’re still here,” he said, leaning over to wipe a bit of chocolate from the corner of your mouth.

later that evening, the two of you sat in front of the fireplace, which was really just a space heater with a digital flame effect.

“this wasn’t the plan,” you said, leaning against soobin’s shoulder.

“no,” he agreed, resting his head against yours. “but i think it’s better.”

“better?”

“yeah,” he said softly. “it’s just us. no distractions, no fancy trips. just... this.”

you looked up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “you’re kind of sappy, you know that?”

he laughed, his cheeks turning pink. “only for you.”

“you’re lucky i like sappy,” you teased, though your heart was warm.

“good,” he said, reaching for your hand. “because i think i’m going to be like this for a while.”

before bed, soobin had one last idea.

“we need music,” he announced, grabbing his phone.

“what kind of music?” you asked, watching as he scrolled through his playlist.

“something cozy,” he said, settling on a soft acoustic track.

the two of you sat in silence for a moment, the gentle strumming of the guitar filling the room.

“dance with me,” he said suddenly, standing up and offering you his hand.

“soobin, there’s no space to dance,” you protested.

“we’ll make space,” he said, pulling you to your feet.

you laughed as he twirled you around the small living room, narrowly avoiding the coffee table.

“this is ridiculous,” you said, though you couldn’t stop smiling.

“it’s perfect,” he said, his voice quiet.

as the song ended, he pulled you into a hug, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“thank you for putting up with me,” he said softly.

you closed your eyes, leaning into him. “always.”

the glow of the makeshift winter wonderland wrapped around you like a hug.

it wasn’t the snowy getaway you’d planned, but as you looked at soobin, his eyes sparkling and his dimples on full display, you realized it didn’t matter.

sometimes, the best memories weren’t about where you were or what you were doing—they were about who you were with.

gyo's note: hi, i don’t even know what this is, but i was in my winter feelings, and soobin being soft just felt right. i hope this feels like a warm hug or at least makes you smile a little. lmk what you think if you want, no pressure. okay, bye. ⛄if you made it this far, thank you! (,,>﹏<,,) you will be loved, xoxo!

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softblesses · 2 days ago

Text

Part 2.

When Neal awoke, the sky had fallen dark outside, and he had temporarily forgotten where he was. . . It was warm wherever he was, and there were a lot of soft blankets. Two distinct voices could be heard whispering nearby and as his eyes eventually focused, he sighed quietly. The Burkes’ house. Warm, comfortable, and safe. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, and apparently, he had been making quite the noise of effort, as there were two pairs of concerned eyes trained upon him afterwards.

“Neal!” Elizabeth’s voice. “How’re you feeling?”

What was meant to be an answer, came out as something that resembled a hoarse squeak. Neal cleared his throat, but that only created the sensation of needing to cough. A glass of water was soon being handed to him, and he reached out with a shaking hand. The drink helped the burning in his throat, but it felt vaguely like swallowing shards of glass, and the ache persisted even when the glass was empty. Next, a hand touched his forehead, and Neal frowned, instinctively flinching away.

“Can you fetch the thermometer, Hon? He feels warmer than before.”

The voices sounded distant and out of focus, muffled, somewhat. It took a while for him to properly sit up, and Peter handed him the water again. Some Tylenol tablets were placed into the palm of Neal’s hand, and when he’d taken those, he saw El coming back with a thermometer in her hand. This was a lot of fussing — something Neal wasn’t used to. He was much more used to just “cowboy-ing up,” as Peter would put it. If he got sick, he’d usually wait it out on his own.

Deep down, he hated people seeing him like this, with his guard down, and his vulnerabilities on full display. Normally, he preferred to keep an upper hand in social situations, to present himself as capable and charming. This. . . wasn’t right. To lose control and render oneself so useless. But, Elizabeth and Peter most likely weren’t letting him leave anytime soon, and he was much too tired to even try and act somewhat well.

“Can I put this under your tongue, sweetie?” El’s soft tone distracted Neal from his thoughts, and he paused before shaking his head.

“Neal, please, it’s impor—“

“Hhh—isCHht,” Neal turned away, elbow pressed to his face.

“Oh. Bless y—“

“Wait, Honey. He’ll do it again.”

“Hhh’eiShoo.”

“Bless you,” Elizabeth finished saying, waiting patiently for Neal to resurface.

He sniffled, lowering his elbow and frowning over at Peter. “What, you’re studyimg mby sneezi’g patterns now?” the CI grumbled, and it took a lot for Peter not to chuckle at Neal’s horribly congested tone. It was hard to take him seriously, talking like that.

The thermometer was being moved towards him again, and maybe Neal’s nose was just really against having his temperature taken because he felt himself about to sneeze yet again. Ducking out of the way of El’s hand, “hhe’isHch—chh!” Keeping his face firmly buried into the crook of his arm, Neal continued to sniffle, until El gently nudged his arm and offered him the tissue box.

“Bless you, and bless you.” El chuckled slightly, still patiently waiting. “You done?”

Neal balled up the tissues in his hand and shrugged at her question. He felt too awful to even grasp at an ounce of false pretence toward how he felt. It was no use to even try and put on an act — his nose was red, his eyes were watering, and the incessant sniffling wasn’t exactly the picture of perfect health either. He let Elizabeth check his temperature and chose to ignore Peter’s questions about his latest sneezes. It just. . . happened like that sometimes, especially when he got sick.

The beep of the thermometer made him open his eyes again, and Neal watched his caretaker look at the reading. “A low-grade fever,” she announced. “But, I can imagine it might get worse. Are you hungry, Neal, honey? There’s risotto on the table, or I could make you some toast?” She reached out and gave his shoulder a small squeeze.

“Toast, maybe?” Neal murmured and sniffed thickly. He was still at the stage of almost constant nose running, yet the congestion had settled a lot more than it had done this morning. So, it was the worst of both worlds, really. He got the message when El held out the tissue box again, casting a sympathetic glance his way. It was never very glamorous or graceful, but he supposed blowing his nose would help for a few minutes, until the congestion got worse again.

He pushed himself to stand after a moment and was a little shocked at how fast Peter suddenly appeared at his side. “What’re you doing?” The man inquired, steadying Neal by wrapping an arm around him.

“Gotta go to the trash can.” Neal sniffed, holding a ball of used tissues in his hand.

Peter could only pray for a miracle that he didn’t catch this damn, awful cold. “Sit. I’ll go and get one.” He carefully guided his CI back to the couch and tucked him up under the blanket. Neal soon had a small trash can by the couch for his own convenience, and a plate of toast set upon his lap. Not much of the toast was eaten before the sensation of the food scraping his throat started up a small bout of coughing — which was new because he wasn’t coughing earlier. A mug of tea was soon placed in his hand, and Neal felt. . . Cared for. Too cared for, almost.

“You don’t have to do all of this,” he had muttered, voice hoarse.

“I know we don’t,” Peter remarked simply. “But, we want to.”

“Why?” Neal found himself asking before he could process that the word was leaving his mouth. “I mean,” he hastily added, “it’s really sweet of you guys. I’m just, uh, kinda surprised you’re going to all these lengths. It’s just a cold, y’know? I’m not exactly on death’s door or anything.” He forced a slight chuckle to further attempt to play off the strange sensations swirling in his heart.

“You want the short answer or the long answer?”

“Short first, I guess?” It was evident in his tone that he wasn’t entirely certain if he really wanted to know.

“You look like shit, Neal.” Well, then. The bluntness earned a look and a nudge in the side from El.

“Gee, thanks, Peter,” Neal monotoned blankly. “Dare I ask about the longer version?”

“Look, you do seem to be kinda knocked on your ass by all of this, but, truthfully? Didn’t really seem like you had much else to go to and El brought up that she thought you hadn’t really ever been…” He trailed off for a moment, fighting the instinct to avoid talking about such emotionally vulnerable things. “Taken care of, I guess.”

“Oh.” Neal exhaled sharply in some in-between of a laugh and a sigh. “Is it too late to go back to the short answer?” he joked, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes like it usually did, and warm tears threatened to spill down his fever-flushed cheeks.

“Awh, Neal, sweetie,” El hummed, moving to sit next to him and casually moving his plate of toast aside to the coffee table. “How about I make you some tea, hm?” she offered, heart breaking a little in sympathy.

“Sure, thanks, if you want to,” Neal replied, quickly drying his eyes with his sleeve.

“You want chamomile, peppermint, ginger? I think any of those should be pretty good for your sore throat.”

“Chamomile is always a classic,” he decided, embarrassment only growing as he watched Peter follow Elizabeth into the kitchen, no doubt to leave the awkward tension or to discuss how sad his childhood was. No, perhaps he was just being too paranoid.

“… Should I not have brought up how sad his childhood was?” Peter asked in a hushed tone as soon as they entered the kitchen.

“It’s… a complicated situation, you’re doing your best, honey.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“It’s not a no,” she insisted, “there’s just no perfect way to go about it. It’s sort of a messy situation, one with a lot of history and emotions and—” she hesitated upon hearing a muffled sneeze from the living room. “And tissues. Could you grab him another box while I finish up with his tea?”

“Yeah, I got it,” he agreed, heading out of the kitchen.

“Neal? You want honey and lemon?” El called over.

“Yes, please!” came the somewhat strained response, followed by some coughing. Pursing her lips, Elizabeth added extra honey and lemon to his tea before bringing it out.

Neal had fallen asleep again shortly after finishing his tea, and this time his snores were a lot more congested; he kept jolting himself awake with a cough here and there, or a particularly uncomfortable breath inhaled. He eventually seemed to fall into a deep enough sleep around midnight, but even that didn’t last for long — tossing, turning, and quiet whimpering began to rouse Peter from the nap he’d fallen into, whilst staying up with Neal, in the armchair close by. Usually, he was a pretty heavy sleeper, but without Elizabeth by his side, he never slept as well.

“Neal?” Peter’s voice was quiet, and he was quick to rush to the other’s side. . . Despite bumping into the coffee table on the way. His hand gently settled on the CI’s chest, and he really didn’t like how much heat was radiating from underneath the pyjama shirt; nor how his breathing sounded laboured. But, it was no use. No matter how much Peter tried to carefully coax Neal awake, he continued to writhe and mutter incoherently for the next few minutes. It wasn��t until he cried out for Kate, that he was finally torn from the dream that plagued him, and sat upright so fast that he almost collided with Peter’s face.

“Woah, woah, woah. . . Take it easy. It was just a dream, Neal. Just a bad dream.” He could see the anguish upon his friend’s face, and the tears that had already spilled over against fever-bright cheeks. Peter took Neal by the shoulders, trying to reason with him, but all of the distressed exclamations and strained sobs were quick to send Neal into another bout of coughs; this particular fit sounding a lot more painful than any before it. Peter rubbed his back, not surprised when Elizabeth’s footsteps could he heard hurrying down the stairs behind them, while he tried to calm Neal as best as he could.

El was quick to take action, bringing over a cold compress and gently pressing it against Neal’s forehead. “Hon, he’s burning… Neal? Neal. Try to take a breath, sweetie — you’ve got yourself all worked up. Satchmo’s worried about you.” She told him as gently as possible, the family pet whining somewhere beside them.

After what felt like an eternity for the two Burkes, Neal stopped coughing enough to take a few sips of water; and took a few long, deep breaths. He seemed lucid enough to remember his surroundings at that point and began to quietly apologise to them both. Elizabeth dabbed at his face and dried away his tears, offering him some tissues for his nose afterwards. He gripped it in his hand, haphazardly wiping at his nose and almost dropping it as he was hit with a sudden shiver.

“I’m going to get you some more Tylenol,” El stated, her voice laced with sympathy and concern. “Peter will be right here, okay?”

Neal exhaled a shaky sigh and leaned back against his makeshift bed. “Peter?” He whispered through the darkness, beginning to chatter his teeth together.

“I’m right here,” the other man answered back, reaching out to pat Neal’s ankle, but he stopped as soon as the CI flinched. “Does it hurt?” He questioned, brow furrowed as he was careful to lift up the blanket. Sure enough, Neal’s ankle, around where the anklet is secured, was all red and scratched up, even bleeding slightly.

“They. . They tried to take it off. They tried to. . . Peter, Kate was… They got to her, and they want to get to me. I told them — I told them you’d be real mad if they took it away.” Neal’s feverish ramblings spilled from his mouth almost too fast and too raspy for Peter to understand, but he caught the gist of it all. Neal must have had a nightmare involving his anklet almost being removed, and clearly, Kate had been there, too. In his panic, he’d done quite a number on his ankle; and he couldn’t imagine being feverish has helped the redness around it, either.

Peter gently covered him back over and got up to stand. “I’ll be back in a minute, alright? El’s coming back with the medicine. Try to drink some more water.”

“Okay, Peter.” Came the simple mumble of a reply, followed by a small series of sniffles. It was clearly serious if Neal was agreeing to something without even the slightest hint of an argument or some sort of jokey quip back at him.

When he returned, Peter had the electronic key to Neal’s anklet in his hand. He was careful to lift the blanket, but when he got close enough to take Neal’s ankle into his hand. . . It wasn’t the best idea.

“No—!” Neal shouted, almost kicking Peter directly in the face with the force he’d flinched away. “Peter’s gonna be mad! I can’t — I can’t do that!”

The agent took a large step backwards, away from the couch. “Neal, it’s me. Peter. Peter is taking off your anklet.” He said slowly, still staying put for the moment. He watched as El crouched down by the couch, taking Neal’s hand into her own and using her much better bedside manner in trying to calm him down again. Turns out a feverish Neal Caffrey could be quite the patient.

“Peter’s not mad,” she told him softly, giving his hand a squeeze. “See? He’s trying to help you. Nobody’s making anyone mad.” Elizabeth stayed quiet until Neal looked at her, and she smiled.

“You’re safe. It’s just me, Peter and Satchmo.” She chuckled slightly, gesturing for her husband to turn on one of the lamps. It lit up the room, and Neal immediately had to shield his eyes from the sudden burst of light, turning away and pulling his hand out of El’s in quick succession.

‘Hhuu—chh’chhkt!’cchHht.’

. . . “Ow.”

“Bless you, bless you, bless you. Wow. You with us, Neal? Can Peter help you out now?” Elizabeth’s voice called out again, with all its warmth and softness, finally getting through to his fevered mind.

A slow blink, a series of sniffling, and a very slow nod. “Peter’s taking off the anklet?” Neal finally seemed to have understood, and then he searched the room for Peter. “You? Why?” Clearly, his mind wasn’t quite lucid enough to form the usual well-spoken sentences he’s known for.

“Uhuh. Your ankle is sore. I’ll take off the anklet, and I’ll find something to make it hurt less. I’ll put the anklet back on when you’re feeling better, don’t you worry.” He exhaled in relief, taking a small and tentative step back towards him again.

“Okaaaay. Will you turn off the light, now?” Neal murmured, rubbing at his reddened eyes and hiding from the light source underneath the blanket. Peter made a mental note to wash that blanket thoroughly when Neal had recovered. Elizabeth smiled, feeling just as relieved as her husband before she stood and granted the request. When the anklet was off, he wriggled his ankle around a little, frowning at the stinging pain it caused. But, that was the least of his issues right now. His throat felt like he’d swallowed glass, and his sinuses didn’t feel much better. Maybe. . . Maybe if he closed his eyes, he’d fall back to sleep, and it would feel better. But, falling back to sleep meant more nightmares, and more nightmares meant more bad memories of Kate.

Despite the hesitancy to dream again, Neal yawned, and the action caused Peter to do the same. “Hon, go upstairs to bed. . I don’t mind sitting down here for a little while.” El reassured, walking over to her husband and embracing him. “We don’t need you to get sick, too. I’ll wake you if anything gets worse, I promise.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and after a few moments of consideration, Peter hesitantly agreed.

Once Peter was gone, and El was sure that he was in bed, she turned back to Neal. “Can I check your temperature?” She asked quietly, reaching over to where the thermometer lay against the coffee table.

“I guess,” Neal replied quietly.

“Can I turn on the light?”

“I’d rather you didn’t…” he murmured, already closing his eyes in preparation.

It took Elizabeth a moment, but she smiled. “Okay, I won’t.” She promised, fetching the thermometer and placing it in Neal’s mouth; and this time, there was no hesitation from him. Not that he’d meant to hesitate the first time. She took a step back, observing him for a moment. “Does the light make you sneeze?” She asked, tapping her foot as she waited for the thermometer to beep.

“Sh’mtim’s—“ Neal mumbled, voice distorted by the thermometer still being in his mouth. When it beeped, and El removed it, he spoke again. “Just when I’mb sick, really. Mbesses up by senses, or something. But, it hurts my head too.” He sniffled, sighing.

“Well, your fever is still prominent. . .” El spoke, looking up at him again. “How about you get some proper rest? I’ll get you a cold compress, some cream for your ankle, and you can take the guest room — the door will be open, so you can call out if you need anything.”

“Can I have a few more minutes down here, first?” Neal asked quietly, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t… I can’t go back to sleep yet.” He caught his bottom lip in his teeth, trying his extreme hardest not to cry again. But, it was no use. The fever was toying with his emotions and he couldn’t fight it any longer.

El took a seat beside him, resting a careful hand on his shoulder. “I always cry when I get a fever, too.” She murmured, rubbing his arm. “It’s annoying, isn’t it? Always gives me away.” She chuckled a little, and Neal managed a small smile, despite the tears tumbling down his already flushed cheeks.

“Oh, Neal.” Elizabeth sighed softly, offering out her arms for a hug. He hesitantly leaned into them, a slightly awkward side hug being initiated. But, it was nice. Nice for someone to be there for him… to want to sit up in the middle of the night. He wasn’t used to this, and it only seemed to toy with his emotions even more.

“Sorry,” he managed to choke out eventually, having fully given in to the comfort now. Elizabeth’s arms were keeping him safe, grounded. He didn’t want her to let go.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she reassured, rubbing his arm. “Do you wanna watch some old movies? Might take your mind off everything. I’ll make you some ice water.” El hummed, carefully leaning back and using the back of her hand to dry some of the tears on his flushed cheeks. He nodded at her, and after pressing a little kiss to his forehead, El went to gather the drink from the kitchen.

Soon, Neal was sitting watching a black and white movie that El’s father used to let her watch when she was sick, and he sipped from the straw in his drink as his eyes somewhat focused on the screen. The ice water helped his throat, and having Elizabeth sitting on the floor (she had insisted) with Satchmo, directly below the couch, was even more comforting. He’d started to doze off after a while, and El reached up to take his water before he dropped it, and gently touched his shoulder.

“Neal? Why don’t we get you upstairs? The bed will be much more comfortable.”

A small murmur came out of his mouth, but not much more. El was right… but, he felt like moving was a lot of effort and he just wanted to stay here and stop feeling awful.

“I’ll help you,” Elizabeth’s voice interrupted his inner dilemma, and he looked up to see her hand held out. Smiling softly as her offer was taken, she helped the poor man to his feet. He stumbled a bit, prompting her to wrap an arm around him and support his weight more than either of them had initially realized would be necessary. “Oookay,” she breathed out in exertion, “I’ve got you. C’mon.”

Fortunately, by the time they got to the staircase, Neal had woken up a little more and used this newfound sobriety to walk a little faster and more stably, though El still held onto him just in case. Finally, they reached the guest room and Neal crawled groggily into bed with Elizabeth tucking him in.

“Do you want more pillows or blankets or anything, Neal?” she asked.

“Hmmh?” he hummed drowsily. “Mhmm, maybe… ‘nother blanket… please…” He brought one of the two pillows on the bed into his arms to hold onto.

“Yeah, of course! I’ll go get one,” she chirped.

She returned with two blankets, just in case—some of the softest and warmest she could find, one in navy blue and one a pale cerulean, both not unlike a clear, cloudless sky at different times of day. When she pulled the door open, she was immediately glad she had done so quietly, since her patient had already fallen back asleep, congested snores softly filling the room. With a fond, sympathetic click of her tongue, she spread the darker blanket across the bed and left the lighter one folded at the end of the mattress.

“Awh, sleep well, Neal. Really hope you feel better,” Elizabeth whispered, mostly to herself, before silently closing the door on her way out.

•••

Peter was stirred awake at around 7am, by the sounds of coughing coming from the guest room. El was usually a light sleeper, but she’d been awake helping Neal during the early hours and Peter didn’t have the heart to wake her up again. He quietly closed the bedroom door, and peered into the guest room. “Neal?” Peter called, walking in. The CI was lying in the bed, tangled in the sheets and shaking with each cough.

“Neal, c’mon. Sit up for me.” He reaches under Neal’s arms, pulling him upright and patting his back until finally, the coughing subsided. “Wake up, Neal.” He murmured, rubbing his back; but Neal only fell back against him. He was burning up again.

“Tylenol?” El’s voice sounded at the door, and Peter made a mental note to pay her back with the best dinner date when all of this was over.

They got some Tylenol into Neal, and El pressed a cool cloth to his forehead. Peter got busy with making tea and breakfast, and El sat up with Neal, until his fever slowly reduced down again. He sipped the tea that Peter had brought him, staying quiet as the couple watched him.

“That’s kinda creepy, you know that, right? Just staring?” Neal rasped, looking back at them.

“Can you blame us?” Peter replied, as El chuckled softly. “You’re pretty sick, Neal.”

A long pause. “I’m pretty.” Neal mumbled, closing his eyes and drinking more of the tea. He’d resorted to breathing through his mouth now, as even trying to breathe through his nose would be a pointless activity. He reached for a tissue, holding it to his nose with a quiet groan, feeling the tickle in his throat start to bother him yet again.

“Hey, Hon, why don’t you steam the bathroom and I’ll remake the bed.”

It took Neal’s exhausted, feverish mind a minute to fully process those words and the sound of footsteps fading away. Ohh. Yikes, even. Perhaps not his brightest idea, because it took a lot of energy — that Neal didn’t exactly have — but he had to shower, before Peter turned the bathroom into a sauna for him. He felt uncomfortable and he looked just as gross as he felt. He had just about managed to dress into a new pair of pyjamas, before needing to sit down. The bathroom floor was as good a place as any.

“Neal?” Peter called. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, door’s unlocked,” Neal replied from inside, muffling another rumbling cough into his sleeve as the door swung open.

“Ah, you beat me to it,” Peter noted, gesturing towards the hot shower still running and starting to leave the room warm and steamy. He closed the door behind him.

“You know me,” he muttered hoarsely, “not so good at waiting.”

Peter sat down beside Neal, glancing sideways at him. The bathroom was steamy now, and it should help him to breathe better. “You’re feeling really crappy, huh?” The Agent said quietly, still looking at him.

“I’ve felt better,” Neal mumbled, opening his eyes to look at Peter. “A lot better.”

“Is the steam helping?”

He shrugged slightly. “I think so.”

El was right to suggest the steam, because Neal had stopped coughing, and the uncomfortable wheezing noises he’d been making in bed had subsided. He ended up leaning against Peter’s arm, closing his eyes and lightly dozing for a little while. A little while, however, turned into almost an hour. Elizabeth had come in and turned the shower off, and eventually opened the windows a little — it really was becoming a sauna in there. Neal eventually stirred, as his breath caught in his throat slightly, causing a small bout of coughing to ensue.

El was sitting on the edge of the bathtub. “Feeling a little better?” She asked Neal, her voice soft.

It took Neal a minute to come around, and realise that he was tucked under Peter’s arm. He sat up, stretching. Peter makes a good pillow. “I think so,” he eventually answered Elizabeth, and scrunched his nose.

“How about we meet you downstairs, huh? Give you a few minutes to freshen up and clear up that congestion.”

Now, Peter was going to leave the room, but when Neal stumbled just from standing up, he was quick to catch him. It was clear that Neal wanted to be alone, but he wasn’t going to get his wish. Peter sighed, stepping back. “Neal, I’m an FBI agent, if I was grossed out by someone blowing their nose I don’t think I’d be cut out for my job.” He muttered, running a hand down his face in frustration.

Neal muttered something to himself, waiting for Peter to turn away, before doing as he’s asked. “Itd’s nodt worki’g, Peder.” He coughed, still holding the tissues to his nose.

“Sounded like it was to me.”

“Still cad’t breathe.” The CI huffed, and replaced the tissues to try again. It was clearly no use, and he was only making himself dizzy. Neal flushed the toilet, stumbling slightly. “. . . Uh oh.”

“Uh oh? What’s ‘uh oh’? We don’t like uh — oh.” Peter turned back around, faced with Neal gripping the sink for support with one hand; the other held over his face and dripping crimson. Very ‘uh oh’ warranted. He grabbed more toilet paper, and held it to the other’s nose, after he’d moved his hand. After guiding Neal to the floor again, Peter exhaled heavily. “Lean forwards a little more, take this and pinch your nose.” He stood up, rinsing his hands under the tap.

“‘M sorry. Your pyjamas…” Neal looked down, to where the assumed spatters of blood were now drying.

“El can get that out, there’s nothing to be sorry for. The shirt is red, anyway.”

“I guess so…” Neal agreed halfheartedly, still struggling to meet the other’s eyes out of embarrassment. An uncomfortable beat of silence passed.

“Y’know, a few years ago, I had this one case go wrong,” Peter began with that smirk and glint in his eye he always got when telling a story. “Not just a little messy, but real bad. I’ll save you the details, but the guy came away with a few good scrapes and cuffs around his wrists. I came away with a lot worse—turns out the bastard had a knife on him.”

“Oh, shit,” his CI breathed out in concern.

“Nothing too deep, nothing too important got hurt. First responders patched me up nicely and sent me home. El was worried sick, of course, but I said I was fine, that I was honestly more upset about my brand new suit getting torn up and stained.”

“Man after my own heart,” Neal remarked with an amused scoff, having had the same reaction on many an occasion.

“Next day, I wake up, get some coffee, and see my suit is folded on the table, good as new.” Although it had been years since the incident, he still chuckled in astonishment. “I don’t know how she did it, but the point is that El’s worked her magic on much worse than a few drops of blood. And I’m used to my clothes getting stained out in the field. So, unless you’re planning to burn my pyjamas into ash, I think we can handle it.”

“Don’t know if I can promise that, but I’ll try not to,” Neal joked with a grateful smile and that warmth in his eyes returning once more. “But point taken. Thanks.” Peter returned his smile and gave him two reassuring pats on the shoulder.

After another minute of a now comfortable silence, Neal’s nosebleed stopped, and they headed back downstairs. Peter stayed behind Neal as he descended down the stairs, waiting to catch him if he were to stumble and fall. He watched as the CI shivered once on solid ground, and smiled as Elizabeth was quick to assess the situation; she really was the most caring person Peter had ever had the pleasure to know. She gently pressed the back of her hand to Neal’s forehead, and this time he didn’t flinch away.

“No fever. Are you cold?” Elizabeth asked quietly, frowning up at him. “Your hair’s still damp. We’ll fix that — go take a seat, sweetie.”

“Hon, can you wash this? We had a code red — bloodied nose.” Peter holds out the bundled up shirt in his hand, casting a glance over to where Neal’s curled up on the couch. He had an idea, but Neal wasn’t going to like it.

After the stained pyjama shirt had been dealt with, Elizabeth returned with her hairdryer, and brought it over to where Neal was sitting. “No matter how sick you feel, it’s nice to still take care of yourself. I can imagine Neal Caffrey would like to keep his appearances up.” Elizabeth hummed, plugging the device into outlet and picking up one of her hair products; rubbing some into Neal’s damp curls.

It was comforting, and the warm air from the hair dryer was warming him up nicely. In fact, it was so comforting, that Neal started to drift off where he sat. When Peter came out of the kitchen with his coffee, he smiled at the picture before him. He walked towards his wife, putting his coffee down, and kissing her on the cheek. “You know he’s asleep, right?” He told her quietly, and chuckled as she checked.

“Aw,” El whispered, turning off the hair dryer. “Well, leadt I know if event planning doesn’t work out, I’ve got a potential career as a hair stylist.”

There was a pause after that, where El wrapped her arms around Peter and sighed. “I think he should see a doctor soon.” She murmured, looking up at her husband. “Have you ever seen him sick?”

Peter considered this for a moment, holding her in his arms, chin rested atop of her head. “Once,” he recalls. “A week or so after he’d first gotten the anklet. But, we didn’t exactly have the best relationship back then. He holed up in his apartment after I’d found him out, but when he got back he still wasn’t quite right. Don’t think he was as sick as this, though.” He mused, looking over to where Neal was snoring, his cheeks starting to flush again already.

“Will he even let you take him to a doctor?”

“Probably not… but, I think I know how to bring one to us.” He replied. “I have a plan, Hon.”

As if on cue, Neal startled in his sleep, his breath catching in his throat; triggering him to cough. El was quick to crouch down by his side, help him sit up and rub his back. She looked across at Peter as their house guest struggled to breathe, still half asleep as he seemed unable to stop coughing.

“How quickly can you put your plan into motion?” She turned to her husband, still patting Neal on the back.

. . . 2 hours later.

Peter was correct in assuming that Neal would not want to go to an urgent care clinic, and it wasn’t like the situation was ER level just yet. His compromise was pretty smart, if he did say so himself, and he was now answering the door to put his very smart plan into place. Christie and Diana walked into the living room, greeted with a half asleep Neal… who did not look pleased.

“You said no Doctors,” Neal muttered, glaring at Peter.

“Technically I said no taking you to a Doctor. I’ve brought one to you.”

“And Diana.”

“Because Diana wanted to know you were okay,” Christie smiled, her voice warm. She took a seat opposite Neal, placing her bag on the floor for a moment. “She won’t admit that, but it’s true.”

“Hey, what happened to that doctor-patient confidentiality, babe?” Diana teased dryly, folding her arms despite mirroring Christie’s smile—it was more contagious than whatever plague Neal had managed to catch.

“You’re not my patient right now, Di,” Christie countered with a bounce of her eyebrows before turning back to Neal. “Preeetty sure it’s this one over here. Speaking of which… how are you feeling, Neal?”

Sparkling blue eyes stared back at her for a moment, unblinking and fever bright. A shrug came next, and he simply sunk further back into the couch he was lying on.

“Thought as much,” Christie hummed, reaching down to pick something out of her bag. A thermometer was soon being pushed towards him, and into his ear. Being poked and prodded was not Neal’s favourite pastime… well, not in this way.

“Hmm… 103.8°F. Quite the fever you’re running there, Mr. Caffrey.”

“Thanks, I made it myself,” Neal joked.

He buried his face into the crook of his elbow a second later, muffling a quiet but hoarse sounding; ‘hnn’eisHuUu, hei’tsxXcHoo.’ Sniffling thickly, cheeks a little red with embarrassment (and fever) as he came back up for air.

“… ‘scuse mbe.” He cleared his throat, aware of how awful he sounded.

A chorus of ‘bless you’s echoed around after that, and Neal felt like he wanted to disappear in that very moment. Maybe he could hide under the blanket and everyone would go away, and he could lament in his suffering in peace. Peace, and sneezes. But, no. Everyone was there, and staring at him, and Christie was asking him to say ‘ahhhh’ and his voice was breaking unceremoniously and nobody was laughing at him, but it felt like the world was. He was tired, and achy, and words were being said to him at a pace that he couldn’t quite keep up with.

He somewhat registered the phrases ‘throat infection. . .’ And ‘pharmacy,’ but that was about it. Neal closed his eyes, because focusing hurt and it seemed like someone else could take on the act of listening for him. Neal heard Peter’s voice chime in next, and Elizabeth’s; then somebody was gently tucking the blankets closer to his chin, and Diana’s voice sounded closest. His eyes didn’t open, despite the twitching of his nose and tickle in his throat. He coughed a few times, trying to shift and get more comfortable, despite the pain it caused in his joints with each movement.

The next thing he knew, Diana was handing him a box of tissues, and Christie was behind her, ready for round two of medical pokes and prods. She listened to his chest, looked in his ears and took his blood pressure readings and oxygen levels.

“Okay,” Christie began with a slight sigh, standing up straight. “I’m done taking a look over things. Thank you for being patient with me, Neal.”

“Hey, thanks for coming over here in the first place,” Neal countered with a small laugh. “Give it to me straight, Doc.”

“Well, I can’t do that exactly, I’m a lesbian,” Christie joked.

“Can confirm,” Diana deadpanned with a smirk.

“Yeah, I sure hope so by now, honey,” Christie replied with a chuckle. Then, she cleared her throat and refocused onto the situation at hand. “Anyways, um… you most likely have a bad viral infection that’s particularly settled in your throat and sinuses. I’m going to write down the names of a few over-the-counter medications I’d recommend you take. If you don’t start improving and feeling at least a little better in 2-3 days, I would strongly suggest going to an urgent care clinic, okay?”

Despite the twist of hesitation and dread in his stomach at the prospect of having to go to a clinic, Neal nodded and agreed. “Got it.”

As Christie listed the options for medicine that seemed best suited to his situation, his eyes grew heavier and he began zoning in and out of the conversation. The discussion put him at ease, hearing how attentive and caring everyone was for his well-being. Feeling comfortable and protected—that his health was safe in their hands—he finally drifted off to sleep.

•••

What Safe Feels Like.

This fic has been a long time in the making! I have partnered with the talented bean, @rosieknows to create a lovely W/hite Co/llar, N/eal C/affrey centric fic for the winter season <3. The events that take place consist of our favourite conman getting lots of tender care at the B/urke's residence.

Part 1.

Word Count: Just under 5k.

CW: illness, snz (duh), contagion, a little later on in the fic. A tiny bit of mess, medical talk/topics.

Don't reblog to non-kink blogs. 18+ only, thank you! <33

Earlier in the week, Peter Burke had told Neal Caffrey to start wearing a coat outdoors — “weather’s changing,” he’d said, “you’ll catch a cold!” And, obviously, Neal had informed him that fact was merely a myth. Besides, the autumn sun was still shining two days ago and he was only walking a short way to the coffee shop and back. How bad could it really be…?

Perhaps the universe picked favourites that day, and, for once, Neal’s charm couldn’t save him. It could have been much worse, certainly, but as much as Neal tried to focus his mind on that belief, he couldn’t quite get himself to fully deny that it was very, very bad.

It was as if the second he’d gotten far enough away from the bureau, the heavens had opened above him and soaked him from head to toe before he’d even arrived at the coffee shop door. Which, by the way, was closed for the first time ever. And, so, Neal had to hurry across the street to another. The icing on top of the cake, though, was the taxi that drove through a puddle and splashed him when he finally reached the other side.

To say Peter got amusement out of all of this later on would’ve been an understatement.

Neal had been forced to wear some ancient-looking FBI training clothes for the rest of the day, and the scowl on his face didn’t falter for quite some time. He had eventually dried off and warmed up — Peter even started to feel a little bad, and gave him his suit jacket as a blanket at one point. When the day ended, the sun was shining and Neal felt right as rain again. Although, the same couldn’t be said for the morning two days later.

The first sensation that struck him was how utterly cold he felt, even wrapped up in his own bed and blankets, which he sleepily pulled tighter around himself. Perhaps the fickle autumn weather had turned for the worse during the night as it was so prone to do. The next feeling he was able to process was pure weariness like gravity had decided to be particularly insistent that his limbs stay firmly on the bed and lashed out in punishment when they did attempt to move. Perhaps he hadn’t slept well or had worked himself harder the previous day than he realized.

The third — or, well, the third, fourth, fifth, and so on for quite a few — sensations Neal felt were the nail in the proverbial coffin. An urgent, almost burning tickle budded in his upper sinuses, causing him to blink in irritation. Soon enough, the itch found its way to spread through the entire reaches of his nose. His eyebrows knitted together in slants, his breath caught in his throat, and his soft lips fell open before —

“Hihh! Hehhdtschh’uh! Hahh… hiht-ktschhh—tschhh!… Ugh, god,” he sneezed, ducking forward sleepily into his blanket since he had neither the time nor alertness to cover with anything else. Sighing in a mixture of relief and dread, he came to the conclusion that he was likely getting sick. Maybe if he was tired enough, felt cold enough, and pouted long enough, the cold would just take pity on him and leave. Unfortunately, to no one’s surprise, he still felt sick, which meant it was time for Plan B: work through it because it was a busy week and hope it didn’t get any worse. And, most importantly, hide it from Peter.

The warm shower seemed to help a little, but it didn’t take long for the aches to start creeping back in and for his sinuses to grow irritated again. Once he was dressed, with his hair styled and shoes tied. . . Neal was ready. Ready as he’d ever be, at least. Besides, he felt fine, for the most part. Downing some water should help his throat, and a couple of Tylenol should stave off the headache that he could feel brewing behind his eyes. Peter should be here any minute to pick him up, and Neal placed his hat — one of his favourites, both for comfort and in the hopes that looking well-dressed or put together enough would dissuade any suspicion — upon his head with a sigh. He can do this.

“Morning, Neal,” Peter greeted in his usual tone, toying with the heating in the car. “‘S cold out. I told you the seasons were changing!”

“Morning,” Neal muttered, climbing into the car and buckling up. “Y’know, you really missed your true calling as a weather boy.”

“That’s funny,” Peter remarked back, beginning to drive now. “But, I think my assets are best settled within the FBI. Criminals are more predictable than the weather if you know what you’re doing.” He chuckled to himself.

Neal stared out of the window at the passing cars and orange and yellow leaves on the trees that rolled by. He was still tired and quieter than usual, Peter noted mentally, watching him unbeknownst to the criminal consultant himself, who was still focused on their outdoor surroundings. He gave a slow blink, directing his attention to the heating that was uncomfortably too warm all of a sudden. Pushing the vent closed, he glanced sideways.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just quiet, that’s all. Quiet usually means up to something.”

“I can be quiet. It’s early. I thought you liked quiet, anyway,” Neal retorted, shifting slightly in his seat. He couldn’t get comfortable despite moving, crossing and uncrossing his legs.

The rest of the journey was left without questions, and they made it to the parking garage without any more issues. Neal got out of the car, rubbing at his nose whilst Peter couldn’t see him. He paused. This really wasn’t the time, but he’d have to play it off somehow because this discomfort wasn’t going to let up. Reaching down for the leg of his trousers, Neal stifled a well-silenced sneeze.

“Are you coming?” Peter called out, and as Neal raised his head again, he sniffled.

“Patience is a virtue, Peter! My anklet was stuck in my trouser leg. Appearance matters, you know.”

“Everyone here knows you’ve got the ankle jewellery, Caffrey. I’m sure you wouldn’t cause mass hysteria with a flash of your leg.”

“You’d be surprised,” Neal grinned mischievously, keeping up with Peter as they made their way toward the elevator.

The agent only rolled his eyes in response and pressed the button for the elevator, still none the wiser. For now. Neal had let Peter step in first, scrunching up his nose behind him, and then — somehow and with great difficulty — he managed to resist the urge to sniffle the entire way up to their floor. When the elevator dinged to a stop and Neal exited it, he was immediately hit by everything all at once: the brightness of the lighting, the overlap of voices, and the general sounds of the morning bustle. Usually, it was like white noise to him, but today it hurt his head, and the lighting did nothing to relieve the itch in his sinuses.

He pressed his wrist against his nose, haphazardly managing to prevent another sneeze before he followed quickly behind Peter. “I’ll be right there! Just grabbing something from my desk,” Neal called across the bullpen, ducking down behind his desk as if he were looking for something.

But, instead. . . “Hh—ushcht!” He buried his face into the crook of his elbow, frozen for a moment longer. “Hheh—htchht!” Followed by a series of long sniffles.

“Lost something, Caffrey?” Diana’s voice interrupted his small recovery period, and Neal flinched so hard in surprise that he bumped his head underneath his desk with a small thud. Damn it. He paused for just a second before swiping a pen from his pocket. Then, he stood up straight again, flashing the pen in her general direction, with a scowl crossing his features.

“Dropped my pen. Not a crime, last time I checked,” he muttered, placing it safely back into his pocket. After straightening his hat, Neal moved past her to get to the conference room.

Peter looked up at the sound of footsteps and silently wondered what Diana had said to the CI to make him look so disgruntled. “Nice of you to finally join us,” he dared to jest, waiting for Neal and Diana to sit before starting his talk for the day; they had to find a new case, as well as complete the paperwork from their last one. Of course, Neal wasn’t exactly amused by the briefing topic. Yet, he didn’t seem to audibly complain for nearly as long as he usually did. Huh.

Neal simply took the selection of case files that Peter slid towards him across the tabletop and found the one that he had to finish up. He opened the file slowly, tapping his pen against his forehead. He stared at the page for so long that he barely noticed Peter watching him from across the room.

“Neal. . . You good?” His voice snapped the CI from his daze, who was quick to shake himself out of it and flash a signature smile the agent’s way.

“Always. You know how much I love paperwork!” Neal responded, sarcasm evident in his tone.

“Wonderful, you’ll have plenty to enjoy,” Peter retorted with a dry smirk, placing another file in front of his partner. “Focus up; we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“How do you sound so happy when you say that?” the younger man groaned, leaning back in his chair with folded arms.

Still, focusing was easier said than done in this situation. Despite his best attempt at listening attentively, his mind felt fuzzy. Additionally, his nose still itched, causing him to scrunch it up slightly. He rubbed at it with the back of his hand in what he hoped was a casual gesture. Unfortunately, the touch seemed to be ineffective at best and intensifying at worst. Either way, he quickly tipped past the point of no return and crumbled forward into his fist with a sneeze, stifled into near silence as usual.

“Hihh—kKTtsh!” After a few blinks, he dared to peek at his coworkers’ reactions, hoping that the others had been as distracted as he was himself. For a moment, he thought he was lucky enough.

“Bless you, Caffrey,” rang a deep, feminine voice. Damn it. Diana was perceptive even in the most hectic of times, so it was only natural that she would notice a disturbance — slight as it was — during a particularly slow and dull meeting.

“Thanks,” Neal muttered softly, if a bit shyly. He saw Peter’s gaze flick to Diana and back at him. Clearing his throat, he examined the documents in front of him intently to prompt the continuation of the meeting.

Peter continued to talk about the writing they had to do, but Neal stopped listening some time ago and was mostly focused on trying not to sneeze again. He glanced at his handler every now and then to keep up the facade that he was listening, and turned a few pages of the file in front of him. As soon as Peter had finished talking and a small hubbub started up, Neal saw his chance, standing up and using the file as a shield to hide his face.

‘HnnKxt. . Heh’ngxt.’ Well, at least he’d gotten away with that one.

He even almost made it to the door without anyone saying anything about it until Peter spoke up from behind him. “You going somewhere?” He questioned, and Neal stopped. So close.

“To my desk…?” Neal replied, thankful for the fact that his voice barely sounded congested for the moment. “You can’t deny that I’ll get distracted in here.”

Peter frowned slightly before nodding. “Alright, but don’t try and get out of this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Neal murmured, hurrying to his desk; his nose was beginning to run, and he didn’t exactly want anyone to witness that. He pressed his silk handkerchief to his nose after sitting down, keeping his head held low and sniffling quietly. He went to the men’s room a minute later, waiting until it was empty so that he could blow his nose and splash some cold water on his face. This was going to be a damn long day.

He kept a low profile for as long as possible, dismissing Peter’s questions when he’d come over to see how he was doing and sneaking off to the men’s room whenever he could; by lunchtime, the congestion was worsening, and he had to keep sniffling to stop his nose from running too much. He barely even noticed Diana wandering over.

“Caffrey?” Her voice made him flinch slightly in surprise, but he managed to pull it off as a stretching motion.

Neal glanced up, blinking a few times. “Hm?”

“You’ve usually begged Peter five times to go on a coffee run by now… it’s already lunchtime.” Her eyebrows raised. “What gives?”

The CI shrugged, turning back to his papers and picking up his pen. He’d barely done anything yet, but he needed to keep up appearances.

“So, are you gonna go get some?”

“Huh?” Neal just really wanted her to go away because he wasn’t really listening, and his head was starting to ache.

“The coffee — Neal, are you okay?”

He plastered on a signature smile, hopping up to his feet. “I’m just messing with you, Diana. The usual drinks?” Neal asked, reaching for his coat on the back of his chair.

He made his way to the doors, turning when Diana called his name again. “Caffrey, do you want a sandwich? From that place down the block? Jones is buying!”

“No, thanks! I’ll get something at the coffee place.” Neal called back, only somewhat lying. He was getting something, and that something was coffee. Or maybe tea, actually.

•••

He was gone for slightly longer than usual, but nobody was going to question it. Neal ensured it didn’t take too long, however, or Peter would start to get antsy and probably call or text him a few times. He got everyone’s drinks and opted for green tea for himself — he could feel the buzzing in his sinuses worsening, not to mention the congestion was starting to properly settle in and clog up his nose now. Going outside hadn't exactly made it any better, either, and he was sniffling in the elevator the entire way up.

He carried the drinks into the conference room, setting them down on the table and exhaling slowly through his mouth as he stepped away. Nobody seemed to pay much attention to him — they were all busy eating their food, and Neal had to stop himself from audibly gagging. Did he really feel that bad all of a sudden? His hand reached forward to grab his cup whilst everyone else began helping themselves to their drinks. It wasn’t until he took a sip that he realised he hadn’t taken his own cup at all, and from Peter’s confused expression, he’d gotten the tea.

“Neal…” his voice started, and the CI wasn’t quite sure what would come next, so he butted in with a quick, haphazard excuse.

“Hey! You said it yourself, the weather’s changing. Tea will do you good.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the little white lie seemed to satisfy him for now, and everyone got back to what they were doing. To keep up appearances, he sipped the coffee for a while, trying to ignore the way it made his stomach turn. After around five minutes, he snuck out of the door and headed back to sit at his desk; if anyone were to question it, he’d make up the same excuse about needing to concentrate. The coffee was thrown into the trash the second he sat down, and a heavy sigh came afterwards.

•••

“God damn it,” Peter grumbled under his breath as he looked around the office. “Diana, Jones, have you seen Caffrey anywhere? It doesn’t look like he’s even so much as glanced at any of his work today.”

“Not in a while, no,” Jones answered, looking behind him to verify the absence, though if the CI had simply been standing in the middle of that open hallway, he probably would have been noticed by now. “He seemed kind of tired, though. Maybe he went home early?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Something feels off. I don’t think he’s just slacking off again,” Peter dismissed, forehead wrinkled in those signature frown lines and lips pressed firmly together in a mixture of concern and disapproval.

“Peter, your blood pressure’s high enough as it is,” Diana deadpanned, earning an offended head tilt from the man in question. “Go back to what you were doing; I’ll find your missing dog,” she reassured, already standing up without waiting for a response.

“I… all right. Thanks, let me know if you find him,” Peter relented.

“You gonna put up fliers?” Jones joked with an entertained smirk as he watched Diana beginning to leave.

“Nah, not yet. If I don’t see him, I think I’ll start with treats to draw him out. Maybe a nice Bordeaux,” she quipped in turn with a thoughtful expression. The clicks of her heels against the firm carpet seemed to echo more than usual as if the room felt emptier and quieter somehow. Though she tried to play it off, she had to admit to herself that she was worried; she’d felt that sour twist in her gut far too many times in her work and personal life to ignore it. She hoped he was all right, particularly since he wasn’t responding to texts or calls, and that she’d be able to find him soon if not.

It took less than 15 minutes, not due to any detective skills as an FBI agent either. While the office was large, it didn’t really take long to traverse, especially if you were familiar with it enough to avoid getting lost. Besides, the floor plan was quite open, and the majority of rooms had large glass panel windows, so they were easy to check. It was an older conference room, though, one without any indoor-facing windows or glass doors, where she found him.

“You good, Caffrey?” Diana asked, the light from the open door illuminating the scene before her just enough to see the CI in question asleep, lying on his back in the centre of the long, rectangular table. Seemingly, to cushion the otherwise flat, hard surface, he had rolled his suit jacket into a makeshift pillow to rest his head on. “Caffrey,” she called again.

“Hmmn?” Neal hummed groggily, stirring at the sudden noise. “‘M sorry… ‘s still on…” he mumbled almost entirely incoherently, fumbling around to pull his left pant leg up enough to reveal his anklet.

“Neal, you’re dreaming,” she offered in a gentler tone, heart twisting in concern. Fortunately, that seemed to bring him past the threshold into the waking world.

“Oh, hey, Diana,” he muttered, rubbing at his bleary eyes and blinking them open.

“We were looking for you,” she began, finally flicking on the ceiling lights of the room. “Are you—”

The sudden influx of light directly above him sparked a buzzing sensation deep in his sinuses that caused him to immediately crumple forward into his elbow. “Ehdt-ktschhh! H-huhh… ihdtsch! Heh’tischhh—dtschhh! Ugh…” Sniffling pitifully, he sat up properly and got off the table.

“Jesus. Bless you?” Diana said, scanning him over with her eyes.

“Thangks. Sorry, it’s, uh, the lights,” he replied sheepishly with another wet sniffle.

After a moment, she pulled out a travel pack of tissues from her pocket and handed them over to her coworker with a soft “here.” He flashed her a grateful smile and blew his nose quietly. “You, uh… get too tired to head home?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You could say that, I guess,” he muttered in embarrassment before the next words caught in his throat, sending him coughing into the tissues in his hand.

“You know you could just go home sick, right?” Diana prompted with folded arms.

“Yeah, sure, if I was sick, but I’m not, and we have work to do. Just needed to rest my head for a minute,” he insisted with his usual winning smile, though it didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes as much as it typically did.

“World’s greatest conman’s off his game, huh?” Diana prompted, folding her arms. “Do you really think that sounds believable?”

His lips opened with a lie about his health on his tongue, but he sighed in defeat instead. “It wasn’t that bad earlier, but it kinda just hit me all at once… sorry for disappearing out of nowhere.”

Diana hummed in acknowledgement before asking, “You have a fever?”

“Uh… probably a mild one? I’m not 100% sure,” he replied, touching his hand to his forehead and neck despite knowing it would be a fruitless examination.

“All right, c’mere,” she beckoned, though she closed most of the gap herself and began to feel his forehead for fever with the front and back of her palm.

“Heh-hh…” Neal’s breath caught softly, blinking before pressing his knuckles up against his nose.

“If you sneeze on me, I swear to god,” she warned.

“Hh-huhhh… hh!!” The pressure was quite clearly not enough to suppress the reflex any longer, so he turned as far away from her as he could—her taking a step back was likely still a wonderful decision—and ducked into the crook of his arm. “Hihhtschh! Huhhhhkdtsch! Ugh…”

“Bless you.”

“Thangks,” he replied, swiping a tissue under his running nose again and discarding it in a nearby trash can. “So, what’s my prognosis, Doc?”

“You feel warm.”

“If your career in the FBI doesn’t work out, you should really think about going into the medical field.” Neal sniffled, scrunching his nose in a poor attempt to stop it from running.

“Watch it, Caffrey. One doctor in the house is enough already—not that it would take years of medical training to know you need to go home and rest.” Diana pointed a finger at him, spending a moment assessing the situation. “Don’t move. I’ll be back.” With that, she simply turned around and left.

“Okay? I-I thought we both wanted me to go home right now? Diana?” The confused, half-hearted reply was not granted the slightest form of acknowledgement, except for the door closing behind his coworker.

Neal blinked slowly, unsure of what to do for a moment, before hopping down from the table and, noting how horrible standing up felt, taking refuge in one of the spinny chairs. She said to wait, so… something in him took the instruction to heart. Still, he was impatient to the very end and soon curled up in the chair for comfort, eyes blinking slowly and heavily, and maybe just having them shut for a moment would be nice—

“Did you fall back asleep again?”

The rhetorical question was from Diana, he was pretty sure, but he only really registered the presence of the words, not processing much else. Regardless, it quickly roused him from his short-lived respite of slumber, prompting him to sit up straight and rub at his drowsy eyes.

“Hmmn?” Neal mumbled with a small yawn, “Um, I might have dozed off a little?” He took another second to think about it. “Probably, yeah.”

“No shit,” Diana monotoned.

“Sleeping on the job, eh, Caffrey?” Peter teased.

“I doubt he’s been getting much work done with whatever plague he picked up from cold and flu season,” Diana shot back.

“Hey, I’m right here, you know?” Neal pouted. “It’s just a little cold, I’m fine.”

“If this is just something little, then I’d hate to see you with a full-blown flu,” Diana muttered, looking from Neal and then to Peter. “Peter’s taking you home.” She added, watching as her Boss’ expression turned to one of confusion.

“I am?” A pause. A ‘look’ from Diana. “I. . . Am.” He looked at Neal, properly looked this time. He did look pretty awful, and it was doubtful even the best of con men could manage to hide whatever it was he’d managed to hide up until now; his nose was red, he looked exhausted, and his cheeks were starting to flush. Not to mention how uncharacteristically unkempt he was looking.

“C’mon, Neal.” Peter stepped forward, holding out his hand.

It took them both a lot longer than usual to get downstairs and into the parking garage because a feverish Neal had decided to press multiple elevator buttons at once… and then tried to get into the wrong car once they finally did arrive, but they were eventually buckled in and ready to go.

“Never a dull day with Neal Caffrey around, huh?” Peter muttered, mostly to himself, as he started up the car engine.

“Never a dull… day with P’ter Burke… and his car..” Neal mumbled, sniffling and leaning to toy with the radio.

“Hey, no touching. Sit back and don’t meddle.” He began to drive towards the exit, ensuring to press the child lock button. Just in case.

No sooner than they were out of the building and driving into the sunshine, Neal shielded his eyes with his wrist and groaned.

‘Nnn’gxChht… xXchhht—oo.’ He sneezed into the wrist previously used to try and hide his eyes and sniffled thickly.

“Gesundheit,” Peter muttered, already stopping in a slight queue of traffic.

Neal didn’t answer, leaning his head against the window with a heavy sigh. Now that he was caught, he couldn’t pretend he was fine, and he hated the sense of looking… weak. Especially to Peter, which was a whole thing to analyse in itself. He just wanted to be alone, but he couldn’t now, and Elizabeth certainly wasn’t going to let him. Of course, he was grateful to have people in his life who cared about him like that, but it was new and it was different, and Neal Caffrey liked it when things went his way.

“You know you’re allowed to call in sick, right?” Peter spoke up again as the traffic started to move.

“You’re allowed to call in sick.” Neal sniffled, still leaning his head against the window.

There was a pause whilst Peter thought about Neal’s behaviour throughout the day. He was pretty good at hiding things. But…

“Did you even eat anything today?”

“Mhm.”

“And, I’m guessing the tea you brought me was not for me…?”

“Wow, real FBI agent over here,” Neal grumbled, lifting his head slightly to glance at Peter, only to be once again blindsided by the sun.

His handler sighed as they stopped at another red light. “There’s sunglasses in the dash,” Peter said after a moment, “they’re El’s. Blue eyes are more sensitive, right?” He questioned, watching Neal shrug out of the corner of his eye. The CI placed them on, seemingly relaxing a little more.

“Thanks,” Neal mumbled, leaning back against the seat and closing his eyes.

As Peter started driving again, he knew he wasn’t going to take Neal back to June’s. He’d only hide himself away and pretend everything was fine — while making himself worse in the process. Nope. Neal Caffrey was about to experience Elizabeth Burke’s expert bedside manner and Peter’s on-point tea-making skills.

•••

“Honey, is that you?” Elizabeth’s voice rang out from the kitchen, “You’re home early; it’s only three o’clock! Is everything—” The footsteps came to an abrupt halt as she joined the pair in the living room. “— oh.” The moment she laid eyes on Neal, she immediately understood why her husband had come home so soon.

Peter gave a sort of glance towards her that clearly said, “Help me,” and El chuckled softly. She pointed at Peter before leaning in to kiss his cheek. “You, kitchen. And you,” she paused to tap Neal’s chest with her index finger. “Upstairs. Let’s get you something comfortable to wear.”

He just sort of looked at her, crystal blue eyes a little glazed over. “Hi, Elizabeth. Peter’s supposed to take me home, but he took a wrong turn,” Neal mumbled, watching his handler walk away.

“I think he took a very well-planned turn. Come on, honey, upstairs.” She ushered him towards the staircase, following behind. “You go to the bathroom to blow your nose, and I’ll get you some clothes. Neal, don’t give me that look. You sound terrible, and you can’t pretend you don’t.” Elizabeth sighed, reaching to help him with his suit jacket. “All that sniffling will give you a headache,” she chided gently. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She fetched some of Peter’s pyjamas, a blue plaid set he only tended to wear during particularly cold weather, and placed them outside the bathroom door. “I’m going to get you some blankets for the couch, okay? I’ll be downstairs; the clothes are right here. Neal?” Elizabeth frowned, reaching to tap against the bathroom door, awaiting an answer.

“Mhm,” came the stuffy, sleepy reply.

It wasn’t long before the CI was curled up on the Burkes’ couch, wrapped in blankets and resting his head against a pillow. He looked exhausted and much more dishevelled than Neal Caffrey would ever dream of looking in front of someone else. Both El and Peter stood by, watching as their house guest snored and exhaled congested breaths; he’d fallen asleep just minutes after resting his head down. Turns out that masking your symptoms all day was pretty tiring work.

“You can’t deny that he looks adorable like that,” El whispered, resting her head against her husband’s arm.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Peter muttered back quietly, wrapping an arm around her waist. He sighed.

#n/eal ca/ffrey sickfic #snz scenario #w/hite co/llar #snz #sneeze #snzfic #sneezeblr #part 2 out of 4 #poor bb n/eal

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