#neither of them are ready to leave the nest

[aquamarineb1tch]

JUNO

summary; watching dean work with some kids on a case leads you to an interesting realization.

warnings! established relationship, canon-typical violence, talk of pregnancy, smut!, praise kink, breeding kink (oops), soft sex, but it kinda unintentionally turned nasty, unprotected p in v (stay safe!)

CASES WITH KIDS WERE ALWAYS HARD. you had a soft spot for kids, especially little ones, even with their sticky fingers and clingy hands.

you had always thought about having kids, but once you became a hunter, you threw that idea out the window. hunting was no life to raise a kid in, god knows you only barely survived in your late teens.

when you met dean, you fell fast and you fell hard. it was difficult to resist his charms and good looks, but your case of lovesickness only grew as you and the elder winchester grew closer. he slowly opened up to you, allowing you to peel back the layers of toughness and defense that he had built up over the years, letting you see the real him.

that only made you fall more in love.

luckily, the feeling was mutual, for as soon as dean had set eyes on you, he was gone. he instantly knew you were the most beautiful thing he had ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes on, and as soon as you opened your pink lips to greet him─cussing him out for hijacking your hunt actually─he was completely done for.

neither of you had said anything for a long time, letting the feelings and tension build up over the years until it all came to a boiling point after a hunt almost gone wrong. you had barely had time to take a breath after almost dying before dean's roughened hands were on your face, grabbing you and crashing your lips to his.

you had been together ever since, and although the thought of having kids occasionally popped in your head, you figured dean would never want that. he was a hunter through and through, he could never leave the life, and if you were to have a kid, you could never raise them the way you and him had been raised.

so you pushed those dreams deep down, happy to live your chaotic life with dean, content with just the two of you.

but then you ended up in oregon.

♡ ♡ ♡

the case was a pain in the ass, a couple of rogue vampires taking kids, 'training' them to become a part of their nest.

finding the bloodsuckers was easy enough, they had been holing up in some old farmhouse off the highway, posing as new townsfolk and greeting the neighbors to scout their next victims. it only took the boys and you a day to find the farmhouse and pile into the impala, rumbling off to save the day once again.

the three of you had charged in after a quick surveillance, machetes in hand and dead man's blood at the ready as you crept in, trying not to wake the vamps. unfortunately, they were still up and at 'em, and suddenly ambushed the three of you before you could even process it.

there was only two of them and three of you, but with their enhanced strength and skills, it was pretty much a fair fight. sam and you had been fighting off one of them, dean grappling with the other, when the situation had grown more complicated.

the fight managed to be pushed into one of the other backrooms of the farmhouse, which just happened to be where the vamps were holding the kids. you noticed first, telling sam and calling out to dean before swiftly turning back to your own fight.

"i got 'em!" he calls back, kicking his vamp straight in the chest and sprinting over to where the three kids were tied up, tears streaking down their dirt covered faces.

you manage to get the jump on your own opponent, knocking the monster down. movement out of the corner of your eye catches your attention, and you look up to see the vamp dean had been fighting pushing himself up from the ground, fangs bared and snarling at dean, whose back was turned as he untied the kids.

"hey, ugly!" you call, a quick nod from sam assuring you that he had the other creature handled. the one snarling at dean turned in your direction, pausing for a moment before his lips curled again, baring his rows of sharp, deadly teeth at you. you just gripped your machete tighter, bracing yourself in a fighting position. "come and get it."

the creature hissed and charged at you, but you were one step ahead. you noted the flimsy floorboard in front of you and you waited until he was a few steps away before raising your machete over your head, bringing it down hard on the shaky board.

the impact of the blade further destabilized the wood, and as you stepped back, the vamp stepped on that floorboard, his leg crashing through, leaving him stuck. he cried out and growled, hissing and flailing his hands around, trying to reach for you, but before he could even call out to his buddy, you raised your machete again, swinging it around and cutting the bloodsucker's head clean off.

the creature's skull thudded against the wood as it fell, and you stood there for a moment, catching your breath before you lifted your head, trying to find sam. a proud grin spreads across your face as you see him standing at the foot of the other vamp, it's head cut off just like the other one. he meets your gaze, and you both turn to head towards the exit, cleaning off your machetes on some nearby hay bales.

you walk behind sam to the impala, pleased to have come out of the farmhouse with minimal blood staining your skin and clothes. you hear dean's voice before you see him, and as you round the car to greet him, you cut yourself off as you take in the scene in front of you.

the three children are leaning against the door of the imapala, their heads barely reaching the bottom of the window, faces dirt stained and tear streaked. the sight would break your heart if you weren't so distracted by dean, who was crouching in front of them, an easy, comforting smile on his lips as he spoke to them softly.

"see? i told you we'd get 'em for you," he tells them, and the gentle tone of his voice makes you melt a little. "you guys were so brave, doin' exactly as i said and helping each other get out. you guys are real superheroes."

the little boy in the middle, the youngest of the three, looks at dean with wide eyes, still glistening with tears, but there's no more trace of sadness other than the tear tracks on his dusty cheeks. "like batman?" he asks, his small voice slightly wobbly.

dean grins wider at that, and you can practically see the sparks in his eyes as he nods at the little boy. "hell yeah, exactly like batman," he assured the boy. "he'd be so proud of how brave you were, all of you. i mean seriously, i was so scared, but you guys were totally badass."

all three of the children's faces lit up at that, the two girls on either side of the little boy looking at each other and giggling softly before looking back at dean.

he pretended to be confused, cocking his head and looking between the two girls. "what's so funny?" he asks, his lips twitching as he fights off a smile.

"you said a bad word," the girl on the left says, giggling at dean's face.

dean pretends to be offended, quipping something back at the girl to make all three of them laugh again, but you don't hear what, because suddenly you're picturing doing that with another kid.

your kid.

images flash through your head of dean, a little girl in his arms, a sweet smile on his lips as he rocks her gently. dean and a boy with his eyes and your hair standing side by side as he teaches him how to fix up the impala. you and dean side by side as you watch the milestones of your child's life, the look in dean's eyes as he holds them for the first time.

you bite your lip as you watch him with the kids, your heart warming in your chest. but the heat doesn't stop there, it travels through your chest, pooling quickly in your core as you suddenly picture yourself pregnant, dean's hands on your stomach, your sensitive breasts, hips and all over as he takes care of you.

the movement of dean standing up snaps you out of your fantasy, and with a soft smile, you help him and sam load the kids into the impala, offering to sit with them in the back, dean driving and sam in the passenger seat.

the drive back into town wasn't short, but you honestly were content to sit in the car for a couple hours as the kids eagerly conversed with you. they were smart, and you were surprised at their range of vocabulary as they told you about themselves.

you learned that the two girls were sisters, maia and ruby, that they were six and eight, and had a cat named max that they loved to death. the little boy's name was logan, and he didn't talk as much, oddly staying quiet as the girls chatted away at you, but once they turned into talking amongst themselves, he started telling you about all of his favorite superheroes.

eventually, exhaustion dragged the poor kids under, maia and ruby curling into each other, your heart warming when you felt the weight of logan's body leaning into yours. you let him lean against you, gently lifting your arm and resting it over his shoulder, holding him to you.

not so long into his slumber however, logan began to squirm against you, catching your attention as a small, heartbreaking cry left his lips. the poor boy was having a nightmare.

gently, you gripped his shoulders, squeezing lightly as you tried to wake him up. "hey, shh, hey, logan it's okay," you whisper, your heart clenching as another soft cry leaves his lips.

dean's eyes snap to you in the rear view mirror, the cry breaking his concentration on the road. "he okay?"

"he's having a nightmare," you say, meeting dean's eyes for a second, before a pained gasp draws your attention back to the boy next to you. his eyes snap open, brimming with tears as they meet yours, his trembling lips parted like he's trying to say something, but nothing comes out. "hey, hey, buddy, it's okay, you're okay."

you're shocked when he suddenly surges forward, crashing into you with a sniffle. as soon as he does though, your instincts kick in, your arms wrapping tightly around him, one hand cupping the back of his head to you as you shush him softly.

"shh, s'alright honey, you're safe, you're okay," you whisper, tilting your head down to press a kiss to the top of his head, continuing to murmur soft reassurances into his slightly matted hair.

what you didn't see was dean watching you in the rear view mirror. his eyes stayed glued on you and the little boy until he absolutely had to look back at the road, doing so just long enough that he didn't crash, then his gaze returned to you.

something about seeing you with the kids, the way you interacted with and entertained them the whole ride, and especially now, watching you hold and care for this little boy you didn't even know, it did something to him. it started with a pull in his chest, squeezing at his heart, but it moved lower and lower, sparking a heat in his stomach as images flashed in his mind.

you, barefoot and your soft stomach swollen as you grew his child inside of you. you, holding his child in your arms, just like you're doing to little logan right now. a life out of hunting, the life he's always secretly dreamed of, white picket fence and all. dean thinks about how you'd feel, the way your body would change, how he'd be able to mold it with his hands, how sensitive you'd be as he drags his fingers over your skin, up to your chest, making you moan his name.

he's abruptly brought out of his thoughts as a soft melody reaches his ears. he lifts his eyes to the mirror again, and he swears if he was standing up, he would've swooned.

you've got the little boy cradled to your chest, one of your hands cupping the back of his head to hold him to you as you rock gently, your lips pressed to his head, but he can still hear your soft voice.

singing.

dean had never heard you sing before, but he decided then and there that screw his pride, he was gonna ask you to sing for him.

later, after maia and ruby had been dropped off, not going before giving dean a crushing hug, the impala rumbled over to the other side of town to logan's house.

you hoisted the sleeping boy higher in your arms, holding him securely against your chest and covering the back of his head as you step out of the impala, nodding to sam and dean in silent assurance before walking up to the small house.

dean just watched you through the window, his eyes glued to you as you knocked on the door, careful not to wake logan. his anxious tapping of the steering wheel slows to a stop, a contrast to the beat of his heart, which rapidly speeds up as the front door opens, his eyes glued to you as the hysterical parents graciously thank you. his gaze never leaves you, eyes zeroed in on you as you hand over the sleeping boy, his racing heart swelling as you smile at them, leaning down to press one last kiss to the sleeping boy's head before bidding them goodbye.

sam clears his throat next to him, snapping dean out of his daze as you turn to head back to where they wait in the impala. dean tears his eyes from you to glare at sam, who has a knowing smirk on his face.

"what?" dean snaps, a flush crawling up his neck at being caught staring at you.

"nothing," sam replies, shrugging nonchalantly, but the smirk never leaves his face. "just never figured you were the type."

"type?" dean asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. "type to what?"

sam opens his mouth to respond, but he doesn't get the chance to as you open the door of the impala, swiftly sliding into the backseat pausing at the looks on the brothers faces.

"am i interrupting something?" you ask, raising your eyebrows as you look between them.

the brothers share a look, doing their silent telepathy trick that you've never understood, but then dean is clearing his throat and starting the car, eyes focused through the window as he pulls out of the driveway. "nope, just ready to get back to the motel," he responds curtly, and you can sense there's more to it, but you don't pry.

the ride back to the motel is silent except for the soft hum of the radio in the background, but you don't mind. all you can focus on anyways if getting dean alone in your motel room.

when you finally do arrive, you practically drag him out of the car, ignoring sam's roll of his eyes as you hastily unlock the motel room, stumbling in with more force then necessary and closing it behind you.

"what's the rush?" dean questions, the signature winchester smirk on his lips as he shrugs off his jacket and flannel, tossing them onto a nearby chair. "didn't know you got hot and bothered over killin' vamps."

you normally would respond with a roll of your eyes, quipping something back at him, but right now you're too focused the way his plain black t shirt is stretched over his chest, his biceps practically bulging in the sleeves making you almost salivate. you bite your lip as your eyes rake over him, lingering on his arms as the images of him gently cradling your child creep back into your head, making a familiar heat curl in your stomach.

he notices the lack of response, taking a step closer to you, ducking his head slightly to try and meet your gaze. "uh, hello? you gonna tell me what's got you all worked up or are you just gonna keep starin' at me like i'm a fresh piece o' pie?" he asks, snapping you out of your daze, your eyes flicking up to meet his.

your face heats up, a flush painting your cheeks as you avert your gaze sheepishly, slightly embarrassed at the thoughts running through your head.

"s'nothing," you mumble, dropping your eyes to your feet, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.

dean tuts at you, stepping closer, close enough that the tips of his boots come into view where your eyes are stuck on the ground. "ain't nothin' if it's got you flustered like this, sweetheart," he drawls, lifting a hand to your chin, cupping it and raising your head to meet his gaze. "so, i'll ask again. what's got my girl all worked up?"

you bite your lip again, your thighs involuntarily clenching together at the low timbre of his voice, the heat in your core starting to outweigh your pride. "i just..." you start, feeling the anxiety bubble up in your chest as you start to ramble. "you were really good with the kids today and i know its stupid, and i know you don't want kids but i saw you with them and it just really got me goin' for some reason and-"

"woah, woah," dean cuts you off, both of his hands moving to cup your cheeks, keeping your eyes focused on his, his thumbs stroking your cheeks gently like he could slow your rapid heartbeat through your skin. "slow down, baby, take a breath."

he just stares at you for a moment and you get the hint, taking in a slow breath, exhaling and letting some of the tension flow from your body. "good girl," he murmurs, tucking some of your hair behind your ear gently. "so, from what i heard, you are all worked up, thighs clenchin' and everything because of watchin' me with the kids?"

you don't answer with words, anxiety too tight in your throat as heat creeps up your neck, so you just nod your head in his hands.

"use your words, pretty girl," dean corrects, but there's something deeper in his voice, and you swear you can see his eyes darken as his grip on your face tightens just slightly.

"yes," you breathe out, swiping your tongue over your dry lips before pulling the bottom one between your teeth.

"oh, that's it, huh?" he asks, his voice lowering to a rumble that sends a shiver up your spine. "you wanna make me a daddy? let me fill you up and make you a mama?"

your eyes widen in surprise at his reaction, and you feel a flood of arousal drench your panties, making you clench your thighs together harder. the shock of his words wears off as he squeezes your cheeks a little tighter, urging you to answer him.

a strangled whine leaves your throat at the images his words create in your lust-hazed brain, and when you nod in his grip, a groan leaves his lips, his pupils dilating so much there's only a ring of shining evergreen around them.

"shit, babygirl, you have no idea what that does to me.." he growls, one of his hands slipping from your cheek to grip your hip tightly. he pulls you flush against him, and you can feel the heat of his body, along with the hardness that is pressed into your stomach, making your knees weak. "i was thinkin' the same about you all damn night long."

"you were?" you ask, your voice turning into more of a squeak when he dips his head down to nip at your neck.

"uh huh," dean mumbles into your skin, sucking on your pulse point so hard you swear stars flash behind your eyes. "just the way you interacted with the kids, when logan had that nightmare...all the sudden i just pictured you, all barefoot 'n round with my kid."

you whimper at the image, your eyes slipping shut as his hands drag down to the hem of your shirt, tugging on it lightly before pulling back enough to tear it over your head, tossing it who knows where before diving back down to btie at your neck.

"dean..." you moan breathlessly, back arching to give him more access as he trails his hands up to deftly unclip your bra, sliding the straps down your shoulders.

"that what you want?" he growls your name, the heat in his voice so intense you suddenly feel dizzy. "you want me to fill you up? fuck you so deep it sticks, then you can go around tellin' everyone it was me who knocked you up?"

you nod desperately, grinding your hips into him, groaning in frustration when you get no friction. "yes, god yes," you pant, gripping his shoulders to push him back from you enough to look him in the eyes. "please-"

that was all it took for the last of his resolve to break.

the next few moments were a blur of belt buckles and buttons as you both tugged at each others clothes, ripping them off and tossing them onto the floor of the now disheveled motel room. eventually, you both landed on the bed, now bare to each other, dean falling on top of you and immediately crashing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss.

you moan into his mouth, arching your back and wrapping your arms around his shoulders to dig your nails into his skin, bucking your hips up into him. the what between your thighs was too much now, an almost painful ache that only worsened when his hands slipped down to grab your grinding hips, pinning them firmly to the mattress.

"dean-" you start to whine when he pulls away from ravaging your mouth, but he cuts you off with another fierce kiss, stealing your breath away before he pulls back again, his eyes burning as they took you in.

"jesus christ," dean murmurs your name, his gaze raking down your flushed skin, lingering on your heaving chest before landing on the now sticky mess between your legs. "you've got no idea what you do to me, pretty girl."

"please dean," you whine, hips wiggling under his grip. when he doesn't acknowledge your plea, your hands drag up his shoulders to tightly tangle in the short strands of his hair, tugging until his eyes are on yours. "fuck me, please."

if possible, dean's eyes darken further, the jade that you love so much almost completely consumed by lust blown black, the sight making your thighs tighten around his hips.

"can't refuse my girl, now can i?" he pants, one of his hands leaving your hip to pump himself a few times before he lines himself up with your sopping entrance. your breath hitches as his leaking head notches at your hole, fingers digging into his scalp. it only seems to spur him on, a deep groan reverberating in his chest before he pushes into you, low moans leaving you both at the feeling. "fuck, sweetheart, you feel so fuckin' good."

your jaw goes slack, your eyes going hooded as he fills you to the brim, your body hyper aware of every ridge and vein as his cock settles in your clenching walls. you both stay still for a moment, getting used to the feel of each other, before the ache in your core starts to build again.

"move, dean, move, please," you whimper, opening your heavy eyes to meet his, wriggling your hips under him.

he groans, nodding before dropping his forehead to yours, his breath fanning over your lips. he's still not moving, and you open your mouth to beg him again, but before you can say a word, he pulls out almost all the way, gripping your hips tightly, then slams back into you, hard.

you cry out, your back arching as your hands move to grip his shoulders for dear life, your nails leaving red crescent shapes in their wake. he doesn't give you time to recover before he's doing it again, then again, and again, until he's building a steady pace that has your legs wrapping tightly around his waist, your toes curling in the air.

"oh fuck- dean-" you choke, words cut off as a particularly harsh thrust has his tip ramming into your cervix with so much force that your vision goes black for a second.

"shit, yeah..yeah that's it, pretty girl," dean grunts in response, the force of his thrusts causing his nose to bump yours, your foreheads still pressed together. "let me feel ya, squeeze this pretty pussy 'round me till she gushes all over my cock."

his filthy words only push you closer to the edge, your nails dragging down his back, making him groan. "fuck, fuck," you gasp as he rubs against that sweet, gummy spot inside you, your back arching as the coil in your stomach tightens.

"mhm, right there, baby?" he growls, his words almost a coo as he angles his hips to hit that sensitive spot with each thrust. "yeah, that's it right there. c'mon, you're so close, aren't ya, pretty girl?"

you nod, clenching your eyes shut as his thrusts punch broken whines and whimpers from you, leaving you breathless. a sharp slap to your thigh has your eyes flying open, a small yelp leaving you at the stinging contact.

"eyes on me, baby," he demands, and you oblige, your mouth hanging open as you continue to fly towards the edge. "atta girl, there you go. such a naughty fuckin' girl, gettin' wet 'cause all you wanted was my cock in you, fillin' you with my cum 'til it sticks. that's what you want, isn't it, baby? to be full of my cum, waiting 'til it sticks, then being full 'n round with my kid?"

all you can do is moan, the harsh movements of his hips and the way his tip his hitting the tip of your cervix perfectly succeeding in fucking you dumb.

"yeah, that's what i thought," dean mumbles, tilting his head to nip at your bottom lip, slipping one hand between your sweat slicked bodies to rub tight circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. "cum for me, baby, squeeze my cock 'til there's nothing left, ya know you want it. c'mon mama, give it to me."

the nickname is what pushes you over the edge with a scream that you think is his name, but you're too far gone to really know. your mind goes blank as your orgasm crashes over you in white hot pleasure, back arching and legs shaking.

somewhere in the back of your hazy mind, you hear dean groan your name, and you can feel his sticky release painting your insides, the warmth making your toes curl and legs shake as you come down.

when you start to regain some of your senses, dean's head is buried in your neck, his breath hot and heavy against your skin as he brings himself back down to earth. his rough hands run soothingly up and down your sides, sliding down to your trembling thighs.

after a moment, the room silent except for the both of yours heavy pants, dean speaks up, his voice slightly hoarse.

"goddamn, babygirl, 'f i knew me knockin' you up got you so turned on i would've brought it up a long time ago," he mutters into your neck, pulling a tired laugh from your lungs.

you sigh softly, head falling back against the bed as you try to bring your heartbeat down, his words ringing in your head. "thought you didn't want kids," you mumble in response, your hands stroking gently along his back, soothing the marks you made.

"i-" dean starts, but cuts himself off, pausing for a moment before he lifts his head from your sweaty skin to look down at you. one of his hands comes up, brushing some of your damp hair away from your eyes, his thumb lingering as he brushes the digit gently over your brow. "i didn't, not really. not until you."

the words steal the breath from your lungs again, your eyes widening slightly as you stare up at him. you search his expression for any sort of insincerity, but all you find is a look of love so intense you feel like he's tearing your heart straight from your chest. "not until me?" you ask, your voice barely above a hoarse whisper.

"not until you," he repeats, his words soft. he stares at you for a moment before sighing, tilting his head as he continue to admire you. "i never thought i would get a chance at the apple pie life, hell i didn't even really want to think about it, but then i met you, and everything changed."

his words, so heartfelt and so real, leave you speechless, your heart still pounding in your chest as you stared up at him in awe.

"you make me want all of those things, make me think i actually might deserve them," he continues, his thumb still brushing softly at your skin. "and i know we haven't...officially talked about it, but i love you, and if it really is somethin' you want, there's no one else i'd rather start a family with. if-if that's what you want, 'f course."

you don't even hesitate before you answer, a smile pulling at your lips. "yes," you breathe out, feeling your heart flutter in your chest. "there's no one i'd rather do it with."

a grin lights up dean's face, a look of boyish joy highlighting his features. without responding first, he grabs your face in his hands, cupping your cheeks and peppering kisses all over your heated face, making you giggle.

"you have no idea how damn happy that makes me," he mumbles between kisses, pressing on last, lingering kiss to your lips before dipping his head again, burrowing into your neck, his arms wrapping tightly around you. "you're gonna be the best mama."

you laugh softly, a warm feeling spreading in your chest as you wrap your arms around him in return. "we gotta get cleaned up first, then we'll continue this conversation," you mutter into his hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, but he just grumbles, burying his face further in your neck.

"later," he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your pulse point, content with just holding you in his arms. "just wanna stay here."

"okay," you whisper into his hair, relaxing into his hold. "we can stay here."

dean hums into your neck, and you can feel him smile against your skin, making your heart skip a beat in your chest. you knew it wasn't going to be easy, getting out of the life never was, hell just living as hunters wasn't easy, and raising a kid was gonna be harder. but you knew that you had dean, and in the end, that's all that mattered.

he was all that mattered.

bri's thoughts! bri write a position that isn't missionary challenge: fail. (i'm sorry i'm basic i crave intimacy) okay so here it is! finally actually finished something (the 50 unfinished works in my drafts are screaming at me rn) and now i'm gonna go to bed and dream about being on snl because it is my current obsession, especially after the 50th anniversary episode, which i recommend everybody watch! so i won't shut up about that but anyways, here this finally!

tags! @ultravi0lence14 @bluemerakis @titsout4jackles @soldiersgirl @dulcescorderitas @flormpus @star-yawnznn @Jaredpadonlyyyy @grangerously @dclover27 @chronic-fangirl-222 @stevesxwhore @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakingdom

[beloveds-embrace]

your omega simon idea makes me both soft for him and salivating at the thought of protecting such a big strong guy, urgh i love it. Giving Si and you a big forehead smooch, i love your brain😩 Very much hoping that your brain keeps thinking about omega simon so we get to feast on this damn good food too

Omega simon does unbelievable things to me 😩 and I am giving you a very big and loud smooch back!! <3 have this little Drabble that i wrote fast (so pls excuse any rushedness and mistakes ���)

The hangar was buzzing with activity as they finally touched down on base, but neither you nor Ghost paid it any mind. The moment your boots hit the concrete, exhaustion weighed heavier than any gear strapped to your bodies. Without a word, without even glancing back at the others, the two of you slipped away like smoke. Silent, deliberate, and entirely focused on one thing: rest.

Price, Gaz, and Soap barely had tme to finish unloading before they noticed your absence.

“Where the hell did they go?” Soap asked, looking around like the two of you might reappear from thin air.

Price’s eyes scanned the hangar for a sharp second before he sighed, already putting the pieces together. If anything, he’d expected this. “Probably holed up somewhere to rest.”

Gaz groaned, though he couldn’t hide the fond smile that cracks on his face. “They could’ve at least told us first.”

“They didn’t have to,” Price said knowingly. “You saw the state they were in.”

And they had. Weeks of back-to-back missions, constant stress, and frayed nerves had worn everyone thin, but you and Simon had carried it differently. Instincts that screamed for comfort, security, and stability, but the battlefield offered none of that. Now that you were finally safe, it made perfect sense for the two of you to disappear and soothe those raw, overworked instincts.

It took them almost an hour to track you down, and when they did, it was clear why you hadn’t wanted to be found.

The room was dimly lit, smelling faintly of detergent and something softer- vanilla and Simon’s deeper cedarwood scent. Blankets, pillows, and their clothes had been piled high, creating a warm cocoon against the outside world. You were curled up in the center, tucked against Simon’s broad chest, your breathing slow and steady for the first time in days. He had one arm wrapped protectively around you, his mask discarded, revealing a rare look of peace on his face- what part of it that wasn’t buried in your hair.

Soap hesitated at the door, lowering his voice instinctively. “They look…”

“Content.” Gaz supplied, leaning against the frame.

Price crossed his arms, face softening the longer he looked at the two of you. “They needed this.”

It was rare to see Ghost so unguarded, but here- with you- he looked safe, grounded in a way the others knew only you could manage. Your hand was fisted lightly in the fabric of his shirt, and his nose rested in your hair like he’d been breathing you in for hours.

“They’ll come out when they’re ready, let’s leave them to rest.” Price murmured, already turning to shepherd the others away.

“Should we leave food out for them?”

Gaz snorted, rolling his eyes, and gave Soap an amused look. “They’re not strays, Johnny.”

But the idea stuck, and before long, supplies were quietly left at the edge of the nest- water bottles, snacks, and extra blankets. None of them entered the space, knowing better than to disturb their omegas when they were finally at rest.

And when the two of you eventually emerged, bleary-eyed and loose-limbed, the pack was waiting- ready to gather you both into steady, grounding embraces. No words were needed. Just their presence was enough to reassure you that everything was okay.

You and Simon had each other, but you also had them. And in a world that demanded too much, that was enough.

[wendichester]

⋆˙⟡ always almost²,

summary. sam's had enough of you stringing him along. and you lose every part of him. so now, you're focused on getting him back right.

pairing. sam winchester x reader genre. slow angst-to-fluff

wordcount. 928

notes / warnings. heartbreak, slow emotional healing, guilt, personal growth, pining, quiet tenderness, no smut, just heavy emotional vulnerability and a slow-burn arc toward love

ᯓ★ read part 1

You don’t call him.

Not that first week. Not after the door shuts and the motel room goes still and cold like your breath got locked in with him.

You want to run after him—God, everything in you wants to run after him. But something in Sam’s voice told you that if you did, if you tried to fix it with more soft smiles and vague apologies, you’d only break it further.

So you don’t.

Instead, you sit in the quiet. You let the silence soak in, let it sting. Because he’s right. You did hurt him. Over and over, in a thousand subtle ways. Not out of cruelty—but out of carelessness. Out of fear. Because it was easier to be everything to Sam except the one thing that could actually hurt you.

His.

It takes time. Weeks. A full moon cycle, maybe more. You keep hunting. Keep breathing. You help Dean with a case up north, spend a night on Bobby’s couch, and patch up a hunter you barely know after a wendigo nearly takes his leg off.

You don’t flirt. You don’t joke. You don’t even wear the perfume you used to because you remember Sam saying once—years ago—that it drove him crazy in a way he didn’t know how to handle.

Every time you want to call him, you write instead. Tiny notes in your phone. Things you wish you’d said, things you want to say, and things you know you’ll only say when it’s right.

Like:

I see it now. What I did. I loved you in the way a coward does—halfway. You deserved all of me. Not just the parts I was comfortable giving.

You don’t send them. But you save them. Because this—what you feel now—isn’t a crush. It’s not fleeting. It’s not a game. It’s grief, yes, but it’s also a slow awakening. The realization that love like his doesn’t come twice.

You cross paths again in Sioux Falls. A vampire nest. Coincidence, maybe. Or maybe Bobby did it on purpose—called you both in without telling either one.

You’re elbow-deep in vamp gore when you hear it.

That voice.

“Watch your six.”

Sam. Calm. Sharp. Familiar.

You spin around just in time to watch him swing a machete clean through a bloodsucker’s neck.

For a second, time folds. You’re back in that motel. Back in the pain. But then he looks at you. And nods.

It’s not much.

But it’s something.

You work the rest of the case side by side, careful and wordless. Your shoulders brush once in a dark hallway and you nearly stop breathing. But you don’t speak. Neither does he.

When it’s over, you both sit on the porch of the safehouse in silence. A beer in your hand, untouched.

He breaks it, finally. “You look good.”

You swallow hard. “I’ve been trying.”

A pause. “I noticed.”

It’s quiet again.

“I’m not expecting anything,” you say softly, staring out at the stars. “I just want to… start showing up the way I should’ve before. Even if you never want more than this. Even if all I ever get is silence. I’ll still be here. Better this time.”

He doesn’t say anything. But he doesn’t leave either.

The next few hunts are coincidence too. Probably.

You text Dean sometimes—he tells you when he and Sam are working near your area. You offer help. Quietly. Without strings.

It starts small: You stitch Sam’s arm in the back of a truck bed. You carry extra coffee because you remember how he likes it—black, no sugar. You laugh when he makes jokes again, and you don’t reach for his hand.

You don’t touch him. You don’t lean on him. You don’t take anything he’s not ready to give.

And he notices.

Slowly, the air between you shifts. The guilt lifts, bit by bit. You catch him watching you in quiet moments—eyes soft, not angry anymore. Just... remembering.

It’s nearly six months later when it happens.

A small town. Poltergeist. You’re in the back of a diner after the hunt, still a little bruised and dusty. Sam’s across the table. You’re both quiet—comfortable this time. Tired. Real.

You’re talking about something dumb—school mascots, maybe—and you say something that makes him laugh. Really laugh. Loud and bright. It hits you so hard in the chest you almost tear up right then and there.

“I missed that,” you murmur without meaning to.

He looks at you, expression unreadable.

You hesitate, then reach into your jacket pocket and pull out your phone. You scroll for a second, then hand it to him.

On the screen: the notes.

All of them. The confessions. The ugly truths. The things you never let yourself say out loud.

Sam reads slowly. You watch him—your throat a live wire, your heart pressed against your ribs like it’s begging for a way out.

When he finishes, he sets the phone down.

He looks at you.

And for the first time since that day in the motel, his voice is soft.

“You still mean it?”

You nod. “Every word.”

Another beat.

Then—he reaches across the table. Takes your hand.

Your breath catches.

“I needed time,” he says. “But I never stopped loving you. I just stopped waiting for you to choose me.”

You squeeze his hand. “I’m not choosing you because I’m scared of being alone anymore. I’m choosing you because I finally see you. All of you.”

His thumb brushes your knuckle.

And this time, when you smile at him—when you say, “I love you,”—it’s not a maybe.

It’s a promise.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[neuvilette-tea-party]

｡ﾟ•┈୨ Le temps de guérir Part 2 ୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Steb x F!reader

Part 1

It's been 3 weeks sicne you Steb tried to kiss you and vanished without another word, leaving without any signs of life. You see him outside in the rain through your windows, lost with a large backpack. Where is he going?

Tags: pining, Steb definitely has guilt and PTSD, slow burn, forced proximity, movie night, domestic, tension, suggestive towards the end

Request open for Best boy Steb <3

You sip your fuming drink with delight, thunder rumbling and neverending rain hitting the glass while you read your novel, seated at the window of your small house. This is small, but it is yours. Squeezed between two larger buildings, ready to crumble, cramped but this it’s your nest. 

You turn the page with another sip as lightning tears the sky apart, prompting you to look outside, observing Piltover, destroyed but still standing. You lay your forehead against the glass, thinking about all the habitants whose houses have been destroyed during the battle and are sleeping in a shelter or on the streets tonight... You feel your throat tightening under your incapacity to help them all. 

What are you for as an enforcer if you can’t even help the population efficiently? 

The wounded population came back under control allowing you to volunteer to help the teams rebuild the city, leaving patient care to proper doctors and nurses. This week of groceries has been offered to you by a market gardener whom you helped rebuild the shop. You would have been content with a simple “thank you” and shaking hands, but free food is free food and you do not have the paycheck to pass such an offer. 

Your eyes travel your street, seeing the people walking hurriedly under the rain, with an umbrella or not. A stray cat rushes past the corner of the street to disappear farther into the tighter streets of the poorer neighborhoods of Piltover.  

Not that yours is rich by any measure... 

You sigh. You have not taken time to rest since the end of the war as you feel like there is still so much to do, making all your previous efforts and accomplishments feel... insignificant. Discouraged you let your head rest against the window, letting your gaze get lost... 

You frown, is that Steb in the street down there?  

You press yourself against the window and focus on the silhouette... That is definitely him! Why is he here? You have not seen him since that day he tried to kiss you and then... vanished.  

You’re relieved to see him in... arguably better health than when you dressed his wounds, but you feel a bit angry at him! 

He seems to be searching his way with a bag on his back... 

Without any second thought, you jump on your feet, running down your stairs to your door, and open it with difficulties against the wind. You run to him. His ears perk up at your steps and he turns to face you. 

“What in the seven hells are you doing alone in the rain like that, Steb?!” You shout for him to hear you over the thunder and the rain. 

He looks at you up and down in surprise and his gaze rapidly comes back to your face. His ears and cheek scales shake. You lower your eyes to look at yourself, realizing you left your house with almost nothing on your back: short pajamas, and a thin dressing gown. 

Neither are meant to sustain the rain. 

You growl and slap his arm for even looking, making him frown, offended. 

“Why are you out during your remission Steb? Why are you... Nevermind! Come here!” You grab his arm and pull him inside your little house, not leaving him the choice. 

You growl as you force your door close shut! Stupid old house! You sneeze hard, wet and cold, but inside! Steb remains still like a cone in the entrance, dripping on your carpet, but more warmly clothed in his Enforcer uniform.  

He looks around with polite curiosity, detailing the passed wallpaper; the old-style mirror, the shoes on the ground; the huge dresser taking place in the cramped entrance… He is almost too tall to stand straight inside. 

You sneeze again, prompting him to turn to you with worry in his gaze, but you’re the one who should be worried about this... IDIOT! You take his hand and pull him into the small living room, releasing him to pull a tissue out of a box, and sneeze once more. 

Steb takes some steps in the living room, observing the pictures on the wall, the small, cold open fire, the plants, the used sofa, the rickety bookcase, and the table with four chairs next to your kitchenette. Your little nest... 

“Steb...” You call, making him turn to you, “Where did you go wounded like that? I ran through all the camps of Piltover. You were nowhere to be found!” 

He lowers his gaze to the ground, his cheek scales waving once as he presses his lips tight. 

“I was worried sick!” You continue, “I thought... I thought you did something really stupid!” You feel your voice crack as tears build up behind your eyes realizing how truly mad you were at him! 

He raises his gaze back to you, filled with sorrow and regret. He hesitates and takes a step toward you, reaching out with his hand but you slap it away. 

“I am MAD at you Steb!” You grit your teeth. 

He lets his hand fall back to his side and you have a gut-wrenching feeling of deja vu. You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath. 

Calm down... 

“You have some explaining to do, Mister! But first...” You open a closet, rummage through it, and throw him a large towel that he expertly catches. “You will take a warm shower! You’re wet to the bone!” 

He cocks his head at you with a raised eyebrow before repeating his error of looking down. He immediately turns his head away, fins and ears vibrating, and a delicate rosy shade spreading on his cheek. 

You grumble and snap your fingers. 

“To the shower, Mister!” You order. 

He obediently nods and climbs the stairs to enter the bathroom. 

You lower your gaze and gasp in shock! 

The fabric leaves LITTLE to the imagination once wet! Thank the Gods you have undergaraments! 

You instinctively cover your breast, alone in your living room, seething with embarrassment! 

You take another towel and rush to your bedroom to wipe yourself dry and put on more modest clothes. You leave dry male clothes before the bathroom door for Steb to find. 

You go back down and put some milk on a low boil. When Steb reappears you are pouring the thick hot chocolate in two cups that you put on the small table. You stop dead in your tracks when you see him 

He looks 10 years younger in those relaxed clothes ... 

He looks at you interrogatively, pulling on the collar of the white shirt. 

“I think it’s my cousin’s.” You explain, trying to comfort him. 

Comfort him? What’s it to him if those clothes belong to one of your sex friends anyway?! You mentally berate yourself as he nods silently. 

“I put your bag on the Sofa.” You notify him, “Are the clothes okay with the gills?” You suddenly worry. 

He nods once more, approaching the chairs. You push a cup to him and you both sit down, holding your own cup, both pairs of eyes glued to the table. 

Embarassed. 

The memory of the missed kiss replays in both of your minds, putting you on edge. 

“Where did you go?” You finally ask, “I was terrified...” 

He blinks his third eyelid, clearly not proud of himself before signing. 

“The barracks? I did not have time to go there, indeed...” You nod, pressing your lips in a thin line. 

You’ve been running between patient beds for three weeks and then go straight to helping the construction teams, you did not even have time to take your own stuff from the barracks for your current leave. 

Your hands tense up around your cup. 

Steb just signed. 

He never signs for very short sentences... He always made an effort to speak despite the pain. 

But not this time. 

“Your wounds?” You inquire with a calm tone, but inside you shake like a leaf. 

You nod as he informs you they are almost completely healed up, it is only a matter of days now. He signs a thank you for dressing them. 

“Don’t mention it, you would have done the same for me.” You affably smile, “Where were you going at this hour under the rain, Steb?” 

He stands up to open his bag, taking out a folded sheet of paper that he hands you, sitting back down. 

“A shelter?” You raise your eyes to him, tension visible on your face, “Why would you need to go to a shelter?” 

His shoulders lower slightly before explaining. 

“Oh... No. Steb I am so sorry for your house... Is your family okay at least?”  

He blinks at you, interrogation in his eyes. 

“You spouse? Your siblings? Parents?” 

He shakes his head, moving his hands. 

“I... always thought you were married.” You admit, biting your lower lips as you feel a bit stupid. 

He gives you the same interrogative expression again. 

“I don’t know. You look like a man who has his life sorted out, I imagined you coming home to your family once the evening came...” 

He shrugs. 

Evidently, he came home to an empty house once his shift was done. Just like you... 

“And now that your leave has come, you cannot stay in the barracks...” You put two and two together, massaging one temple before sighing, “You should remain here. It’s a bit cramped for two but we should manage.” 

He immediately frowns and shakes his head. If you did not know him you would thought he took offense to your proposition, but knowing him he must worry about you first, a single woman inviting a simple colleague to live with her like that... 

“Steb, the shelters are full to the brim, aren’t properly heated, and have difficulties providing three meals a day right now. I am not letting you go back into the streets like that! I have a sofa bed, it’s not the high of luxury but I would feel better knowing you have a real roof over your head.” 

He gulps, not really on board but evaluating his options.  

“Plus you will need a workstation if you want to join the insurance for your house and shelters don’t have those.” You hammer home. 

He closes his eyes, like he is about to make a decision he will regret, looks back at you, and nods. 

“Great...” You nod weakly, “Good...” You finish your cup in one go and slam it on the table, “I need to grab something.” 

Steb silently observes you skirting the table and leaving the room as you rush up the stairs. You close the door of your bedroom and lay against it, pressing your hand against your eyes. 

‘The fuck are you doing, you idiot?’ you ask yourself. 

You reject him and then invite him to live at your place for a time? 

But you could not just leave him like that! What kind of friend would you be? You tap your cheeks repeatedly and take a big breath. 

It’s just for a short period, you rationalize! It’s gonna be weird but it will be short!  

You reenter the living room and discover Steb cleaning the cups in the sink. He turns to you as he hears your steps, wiping a cup with a dish towel. You look into each other’s eyes for several seconds before you both turn away, embarrassed.  

You feel your cheeks heating dangerously as his ear tips shake... 

“I’ll open the couch for you.” You clear your throat. 

You turn the screws for it to unfold but when you pull on the sits you pinch your skin between metal bars, making you yelp in pain and surprise. Your finger is now bleeding! You try to shake it to numb the pain but Steb arrives at your side, taking your hand gently in his to observe more closely. 

“I pinched my skin.” You explain, baffled by your clumsiness. 

He takes a box of band-aids out of his bag and you refrain from chuckling! You’ve been doing the exact same since you became an official Medic: boxes of band-aids in every bag and pocket! 

He wraps your finger cautiously and considers it for a small moment before raising it to his lips and gently kissing it like he would console a child. 

Like it just down on him, he takes your hand away hurriedly with a shocked expression, the rosy shade spreading again while you open your mouth slightly agape, a tight knot in your stomach. 

“Thanks, Steb...” You finally manage to speak “I... You can finish the bed while I cook us a quick meal? There are pillows and sheets in this closet.”  

He gulps and nods, releasing your hand entirely. 

You slightly tremble as you cut the vegetables, remembering his tall, half-naked body against yours under that tent...  The fire between your legs and the utter confusion in your head. 

He looked so lost... 

You shake your head. Steb was wounded and in shock and you were most likely the first person to extend your hand to him at that moment and he simply forgot himself!  

Your desires and silly dreams do not matter, you should focus on offering him a solid shoulder to lay against! His recovery should be your sole focus!  

You turn toward him with a wide smile and a voice full of enthusiasm! Too much to be honest... 

“I hope you are hungry!” 

He looks at you a bit confused as to where this sudden energy comes from all of a sudden! You pour your stew into two large plates, add a bowl of diced cheese, and one of chips, and bring the tray to the sofa bed. 

“Apparently this is a special soiree, they broadcast only old B horror movies tonight on the third channel! Tempted?” You ask Steb with a little grin and a beating heart.  

Steb cocks his head, interested. 

------------------------------------------------ 

The fire burns gently as you snack on the cheese, while Steb eats his stew slowly with small spoonfuls, watching the classics of the genre. He slowly relaxes, laying back, combing his fingers through his hair, and tilting his head to the curious creature's designs. You hand him the chips bowl, that he refuses, shaking his hand. 

“The remasters aren’t that good! For those results, they should let us enjoy the queerness of the originals!” You comment, making Steb slightly chuckle and nod in agreement.  

The movies are old but the grains have been forcefully smoothened and the restored sound rings bizarrely. 

Steb lays back, picking cheese dice from time to time, both focused on your old TV post. You comment from time to time at the absurdity of the scenarios, earning a chuckle from your former mentor. You realize he is a movie enthusiast and knows a lot about all those movies, telling you how they made that effect, why they chose this instrument for this scene, etc... 

At some point, you are more looking at him signing than the screen, kicking your feet with a smile, hypnotized by the Vastaya! It is pleasant and you cannot help yourself but look at his gorgeous face illuminated with amusement. 

Too lost in the enthusiasm your hands brush inadvertently when you try to pick some cheese.  

You both look at each other, frozen before you take off your hand while Steb looks a bit confounded. 

“Sorry.” You clear your throat. 

He gently shakes his head and resumes watching, stopping his info dump but ears shaking a bit. 

You focus hard on the movies, you cannot look at him, too embarrassed. 

You try to be relaxed but he is just so close to you, and each time he enters your vision you have a flash of his lips right above yours, patiently waiting to press them tenderly together. 

You craved it childishly for two whole years... 

You mentally slap yourself. 

The next movie is... an experience, that’s for sure. 

‘Creature from the Black Lagoon of the Shadow isles.’ 

That’s a mouthful. 

You’ve never seen the movie but Steb is familiar with the synopsis, it dates back to the very first Vastayas, when the rest of humanity was not prepared for them and looked at them with some fear and suspicion. 

In this one, a first-generation Aquatic Vastaya captures a woman after getting smitten with her.  

A B movie through and through.  

But Steb explains to you this movie was in fact created by a Vastaya ally and wanted to show them in a new light. 

Still with the baggage and bigotry of the times, you cannot help but notice as the creature appears for the first time... You Steb explains that it was a pioneer of the genre and Vastaya’s held it long likea conerstone of their movement for equality, and it is still dearly regarded in his community. 

“Do you still to watch it then? Since you already know it?” You ask. 

He nods frankly informing you that he never watched in its entirety before. 

You cringe several times at some dated and now offensive jokes but Steb just... starts laughing. You look at him hiding his mouth behind his hand as his shoulders shake, holding his side. He lets himself fall down on the sofa-bed as his chest trembles with clear laughter. You look at him curious before he starts to sign, his hands still shaking. 

“Oh, the design of the creature is wrong!” You understand, looking back at the weirdly shaped Manfish, “That much?” you turn to Steb again. 

He nods, trying to catch his breath with a deep sigh. 

“I mean, it’s true you do not look alike at all. You are way more elegant and-” You almost say handsome but bite your lips into silence before putting your foot in it! 

He raises his head, looking at you with the remnant of his laughterstill shaking his shoulders and questions in his blue eyes. 

“I didn’t say anything.” You pretend, ostensibly turning towards the TV post. 

He raises back in a sitting position, way more relaxed and jovial once again, his face much looser and with a tight mocking smile. He is way more interested in this movie than the other. You observe him with a side glance, how he shakes his head with playful disagreement, and how he giggly winces. 

At least one of you is pleased.  

You devour your chips bowl as more and more misadventures happen to the scientific crew researching the Fishman until he gets his hand on the woman. 

When he catches her in his cave, the ambiance changes drastically.  

Is it the change in the lighting, the way the actress crosses her legs in this tiny bikini, the music much more subdued and lascivious, but suddenly you are not watching a horror movie anymore... 

But a completely different genre! 

You clear your throat as the creature stands proud before the woman, towering like a predator over her. But she does not look frightened, she smiles, a cheeky grin, brushing her naked legs together suggestively as an oriental flute starts with slow percussions. 

What... What are you watching exactly? 

Steb tilts his head slowly to the side, as lost as you are as the Fisman approaches his victim, his hands gently parting her legs open and delicately caressing the skin from her ankles to her thighs. 

“Huuuuuuuuh...” You let out, a bit frightened by what you are seeing on your tv. 

The music picks up as the Vastaya plays with the hem of the bikini, letting it slap the skin of her stomach while she chuckles playfully. 

You frown more and more, petrified. Should you be watching that with Steb next to you? 

When did the transmission change from old duds to erotic tapes? The creature waves over the body of his partner, as she arches her back in an almost pornographic way, making you dig your nails into the small pillow you are holding, your breath escaping you. 

The Vastaya’s clawed hand brushes the neck of the woman who throws her head back, lowering to her breast, pulling the top, threatening to tear it apart like paper. 

You’re about to scream when the Fishman starts pulling the panties off but the post suddenly cuts to black. Your scream is blocked in your throat, wondering what just happened when you hear a quick respiration next to you. You turn your head to Steb who lowers his hand holding the remote, taking deep breathes, as confused as you are.  

His large chest rises up and down in an impressive fashion while his fins tremble, proof of inner turmoil and raging emotions. 

“Good idea, Steb. It is very late, we should be sleeping already!” You declare jumping on your feet to tidy up the plates and exit the room rapidly. 

You cannot look at each other, you would implode under the tension. You throw the plates in the sink and hurry to the door as quickly as you can. 

“Goodnight, Steb!” You throw, litteraly fleeing the scene.  

You run to the upper floor, putting as much distance between you two as you can before taking a deep breath at the top of the stairs. 

You will give it to the movie, they did sensual and intimate way better than a ton of pornographic content you had the occasion to consume!  

But it had to be this film! With these characters! With him next to you! 

You suddenly wonder if a deity just decided to play with your nerves and put you in situations for their own enjoyment. 

You sigh entering your bathroom to freshen up, splashing water to your face. When you reopen your eyes, you notice Steb’s uniform hanging in the back to dry. You approach to admire it, his higher rank plake shining on his chest with... medals?  

You squint, taking a closer look. 

Steb earned a medal for his actions during the battle, and while you will never take that away from him, you cannot help but admire the irony of the situation 

Steb the decorated hero is in the streets, without a roof over his head because his house was destroyed. 

You sniff, Piltover fell so low! It is infuriating! 

And dishonoring for him! 

You should keep your head on your shoulders and focus on helping him instead of dreaming like a child! 

That said, it was hard to keep the memory of that day under the tent at bay, knowing that the man of your dream in sleeping in your living room. 

Still feeling the ghost of his touch on your skin... 

------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Steb sighs deeply, trying to calm down the beating of his heart. 

He had to stop the movie, he could not watch a second more, not so close to you! It was beyond him! 

He often wondered why his parents always cut the film when he was around in his childhood. He does not wonder anymore, and he would have liked to discover it on his own and not pressed against your warm body, when each of his breaths is filled with your scent, getting to his head. 

He sighs again, wondering where all of his self-control went... He just loses it around you. 

He had time to think about his actions, about that day... 

He was not in his normal state and was desperately searching for a gentle hand. 

He found you. 

He berated himself a lot during those three weeks, he was convinced he deeply shocked you that day and that you were deeply angry at him for trespassing the limits of your relationship. Hr first thought it was shock speaking and he would have tried with anyone else. 

But 

But he caught himself thinking back at the softness of your skin in his hands, the plump of your parted lips he wanted to taste at least once... Memories of your training under his tutelage coming back to him, comforting his shaken heart full of doubt. 

At least you 

At least you were all right 

He did not lose everything in this senseless war. Someone was still at his side, even if you were mad at him.  

He buries his nose under the cover you provided him. This too smells just like you... 

It pierces his heart a million ways, but he likes it deep down. 

He brushes his cheek against the fabric, letting the scent invading his lungs gently... 

He closes his eyes, surrounded by your reassuring and warm presence, in some form of peace for the first time in weeks... 

☆TagList☆

@aecarstairs @wiltyard @sanktastuff @mahirublue @chocalycake @rositabluemoon @blackwoodwinter @archangel1206 @marshallowy @crimson23capricorn @m0na-lis4 @chjopchjop @editedjeans @joshuhaos @dulcecita-luzita @cyberneticfrk @nottherealamber @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching

[untolduttering]

I’ve Got You

Summary: Reader, terrified of needles, injures themself badly enough to need stitches, and does what they can to avoid getting them. Sanji, however, would never let you suffer so.

Tags: Sanji x gn!reader, established relationship, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, blood, medical needles, open wounds

Word count: 4.4k

I made one for Law ages ago, and thought it’d be fun to write a version for Sanji, (you all should thank @yourboyhack for encouraging me <3 <3 <3)

Several mistakes were made on your part. First, you had let yourself stray from the rest of the group. You weren’t one to get lost easily, and so when you wandered farther than everyone else, it didn’t raise any alarms. You yourself were confident, and there hadn’t been any clear threats. It was an uninhabited island like any other, the forest like any other. But that had been your second mistake. You underestimated the terrain. A cursory glance left you thinking you could venture out without any real equipment. It was a simple walk. But the air held that earthy scent that meant it had just rained, the earth loose beneath your feet. The third was just not taking anyone with you. A second set of eyes would have pointed out the drop, or at least have caught you when you slipped. Instead, you threw your arm out behind you, desperate to grab any sort of branch or root, or even the ledge, but you found purchase in neither.

The drop wasn’t that far. It was the sort of fall that would have merely been embarrassing, only leaving you disgruntled because of the mud in your clothes and your own stupidity, if it weren’t for the rock jutting out. You hit it on the way down, thigh catching and tearing along the jagged edge. The breath left your body as you hit the ground, and you laid there for a moment, completely still, to breathe deep and try to reorientate yourself. You dreaded the bright pain that was building in your leg, not wanting to know the extent of the damage. When you finally brought yourself to do it, a hiss slipped between your clenched teeth. It was difficult to know how deep the gash was with all the blood that had already welled up and began to drip, but you knew it was bad. Your stomach turned at the thought of what it’d take to heal it, your mind touching and recoiling away from the thought of stitches.

You hurried to stand, ready to prove that it was not that bad. Your legs shook as you stood, but less from pain and more from the shock. As you started your search for a way out, you found it difficult to put too much weight on your injured leg, but it was manageable. What kind of Straw Hat were you if you couldn’t? You were fine, you told yourself. You could suck it up and fix it.

The little gap in the earth you had fallen into wasn’t all that deep. You couldn’t even call it a ravine, really. The little hill up and out to leveled ground was close and short. It made it all the more easier on your part, but also more irritating. This, out of all things, was what had caught you unawares? It was not something you were going to be eager to explain.

You hobbled your way back. It took longer than your way in, but at least you knew the path there. You kept a hand pressed to your wound, an effort that wasn’t doing much but making your hand a sticky mess, but you didn’t have much else to do for it. In this one instance, you were relieved to find the ship empty when you made your way back. Carefully, you climbed the gangway and stopped on the deck, listening. There wasn’t a reaction from the crow’s nest, nor one from the upper decks, which meant that whoever must have stayed behind was busy in one of the rooms or below deck. It meant you had to tread carefully.

Usually, you would head straight for Sanji and let him tend to you. It was a ritual at this point. One of you got hurt and offered themselves to the other, relishing the admonitions to be more careful and the skin to skin contact. The trust and love required to allow the other to dirty their hands as they helped them in such a vulnerable state. But this time, you hesitated. You’d never been hurt like this before. And it wasn’t that you didn’t trust Sanji to help you this time. He was more than capable and would be more than willing. His soothing hands and sweet words were all you wanted at that moment.

It’s that you were afraid. The threat of a needle and thread loomed over you. You didn’t know if it was something that Sanji could do, but his skill wasn’t the worry. It was the needle going in and out, slicing through and dragging the thread through your skin, an intrusion that wouldn’t be removed for a while.

You trudged ahead to the bathroom. You could handle this. Sanji was busy anyway, wherever he was; it would have been rude to interrupt and ask him for help over something as simple as a cut. It wasn’t all that deep. Blood had made a fine layer on your leg, but that’s what blood did. Like most wounds, blood made it look worse than it actually was. There was a simple first aid kit that sat in the cupboard of the bathroom, and that was all you would need.

You moved as quietly as possible, as the bathroom was behind the kitchen and getting to it required walking atop it. You hoped that the gentle sounds of water lapping at the hull would mask the creaking of the wood beneath your footsteps. When you made it near the kitchen, you could hear the sounds of Sanji cooking, and cursed your luck that it had been him to stay behind. It made sense, as he would be making lunch for a voracious group of pirates that would be tired from their ventures. You hoped that you could be cleaned and fixed by the time you saw him again. It would make it easier to brush it all away. You kept your steps light as you continued, praying he would not notice. But Sanji had keen senses, and a radar that was attuned specially for you.

Dread became a terrible weight in your stomach at the sound of the voice calling out behind you. You’d reached the door of the library, and quickly shoved yourself behind it in case his head popped up.

“Y/n! Is that you, my love? Lunch is almost ready!” Sanji yelled.

“Yeah! I just need to go to the bathroom real quick. I’ll be right down.” You shut the door and scurried up to the bathroom before he could answer.

It made it more difficult now that he knew you were there. A timer had been set. If you took too long, he was going to come and check.

You stripped down to your underwear, your clothing a dirty mess and now a hindrance. You grabbed the first aid kit and a towel, and settled yourself on the tiled floor, facing the door you’d locked. The trek had left you exhausted and woozy. The task at hand was beginning to feel insurmountable and the sudden feeling of hopelessness washed over you. Sanji’s pampering had left you soft. You wanted his hands on you more than ever, for him to take the weight of responsibility and take complete care of you. But you just couldn’t let him.

First, you used the shower head to rinse all the blood and dirt off, biting hard into your lip as you flushed out the wound. You tried to dry the water off afterward, but it was difficult when the blood wouldn’t stop flowing. You pressed the towel down, waiting for a bit as the blood soaked into the fabric before trying again, but it simply was not working. You had to close it before trying to get any cleaner. Flipping open the kit, you rooted around for butterfly bandages. You were able to apply two before your skin was too slick for the bandages to stick. You grabbed the towel and tried to wipe away the blood with a clean patch, but it smeared it more than anything. Your head was starting to swim and the blood was getting everywhere, all across your thigh, leeching onto your other leg. All over your hands and under your nails. In some spots, it’d dried down and become sticky. The rest left you too slippery. One side of one of the bandages you placed popped up. Your eyes started to burn with frustration.

And then there was a knock at the door.

“Y/n? Is everything all right? You’ve been in there a while,” Sanji asked from the other side.

“I’m fine! Just getting cleaned up.” You hoped you sounded normal, that no strain peeked through.

“Cleaned up? Did something happen?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual grime from hiking.”

“Ah, do you need any help, my dear? I could scrub your back for you.” His voice took on a sultry, flirty tone.

“No!” You said it too fast, too aggressively, and tried to fix it immediately. “It’s just a quick one, no need for help.”

It was wrong. You knew it as you said it. Normally, you would have said yes, ready to take full advantage of an empty ship, or if not, you would have at least flirted back or teased him. But it was hard to think of the right thing to say at the moment.

“Oh.” The dejected tone of his voice sliced right through you, worse than the rock had. “Have I done something wrong?”

Of course he would ask. Of course he would think himself at fault. Why else would you reject someone you loved so dearly, craved so constantly? You didn’t know how much longer this would take. You could send him away, but he’d come right back if you didn’t leave soon after. And the clothes and the towels, what would you do with those? And the wound itself, just how the hell were you supposed to keep that hidden? It would hurt him to know that you didn’t come to him for help.

“No, no, of course not. I just…” You trailed off. The throb of your leg and the tangy scent of blood and the wetness of the floor was making it hard to think. The light was too bright and yet its sharpness didn’t make fixing your wound any easier. You kept moving in a helpless circle of wiping blood and trying to get the butterfly bandages to stick.

Maybe a little truth could help. “I got a little scrape and wanted to handle it myself. I’ll be out soon, I swear.”

“What? Are you alright?” The door handle jiggled. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

Fuck, why did you think that would help? You had just told yourself how it wouldn’t help to tell him. “You were busy. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Sanji knew, though. He always knew. You loved to distract him in the kitchen, doing anything to keep his attention on you. “Let me help you. I’m not busy now.”

He was never going to let up until he got a look at it himself, to at least assuage his own worries. You would want to do the same for him.

“I can’t—“ No, that wasn’t right. “It’s fine.”

“If it’s fine, then let me see it, baby.”

Shit. Shit shit shit. Say no, and it would confirm suspicion. Say yes, and you had to let him in. And you were in no state to find a better way around it. You snatched some gauze, pressing them to the wound, and started wrapping your leg. “Y-yeah. Just a second more.”

“Y/n,” his voice was serious, the closest to stern he could get with you, and dripping with concern. The door handle was jiggling again, now like he was doing something to it.

“Just a moment, I swear.” Lifting your leg to move the wrapping under it hurt and you harshly sucked in a breath, fingers shaking. A few tears snuck their way down your cheeks. Why, why, why was it so damn hard?

The door swung open and all you could do was feel the fear and shame that flooded your body. You were like a child caught doing something naughty, and your mind reeled with how you could defend yourself. The gasp that Sanji let out rang against the tile, and made even louder to your ears by your panic. You looked up, hair hanging in your face.

On Sanji’s end, only one eye poked through that curtain of hair, the rest of your face hidden. It was wide, red-rimmed, and filled with threat. You were a feral animal, back hunched and body tensed, ready to sink your teeth in. Blood was smeared across every available surface, and all over you. Mud still clung to your skin, bits on your shoulders, arms, and ankles where you hadn’t cared to clean yet. If it were anyone else that had stumbled upon you, they would have backed right out from fear. That look in your eye and the redness that surrounded you would have set off alarm bells, the scene making it seem like it was not your own blood you were coated in. And that you weren’t going to stop at one victim.

But it was Sanji, and it was you. You could be crouched over a corpse, soaked to the elbows in another’s blood, an organ pressed to the mess of your mouth, and he would still approach you. Cradle your face and wipe a thumb across your chin and ask if you needed anything else. And so he lept towards you.

“Oh gods, my baby—”

“Don’t!” It was a shrill, ugly noise. You lifted your hand, palm out and fingers spread wide to keep him at bay.

He froze, unable to disobey any command from you. But it pained him to do so, for you to ask that of him. “What happened?”

“I fell. It’s fine, though. It’s not bad. The blood just makes it look bad. But it’s not.” The words came out in a rush.

“Y/n, it looks very, very bad.”

“It’s not! It’s not. I don’t need anything more than bandages.”

Sanji swallowed and slowly crouched down. “Can I look?”

“N-no. Because it’s okay.”

He only looked at you, eyes squinted and eyebrows furrowed, his lips pressed together and the corners tugging down. He looked so worried, so scared. A pain twisted in your chest.

“I don’t need stitches,” you whispered, trying to reassure him.

And then he understood. He understood your sneakiness and your panic and your refusal. It wasn’t exactly him you were rejecting.

“Oh, oh baby,” he said as he reached towards you.

Unconsciously, you flinched away from those hands. The softness of his voice let you know that he knew the root of your fear, that your words had been an admission, which meant he would do what he could to make those stitches more bearable for you. But you didn’t. Need. Them.

“Stop it. I’ve got it,” you snapped.

Hurt flashed across his face, but he stopped reaching for you. Instead, he sat down and rested his elbows on his knees. Softly, he said, “It’ll go faster, smoother, if you let me help you.”

You bit down on your lip and hunched your shoulders. You knew he was right, but you didn’t want him to be. Tears started to well in your eyes again and it made your stomach burn brighter with anger and shame. “I don’t need your fucking help.”

“It’s okay to be afraid,” he continued. “We all do things while scared all the time. And I’ll hold you through this one the whole time. You know I’ve always got you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, wanting to hand yourself over to him so, so badly. But you could see it so clearly, the needle breaking your skin and diving in. Dragging itself so painfully through and out, emerging red with your blood. And the thread that followed, prolonging the pain as it dragged through as well. And the dipping and tugging and pulling that followed, again and again. Your throat felt dangerously tight.

“I don’t want to,” you cried.

“I know. I know, I know, I know.” You felt the slightest brush of skin along the ankle of your uninjured leg, and when you didn’t flinch or pull away, he wrapped his fingers around, rubbing soothing circles. “But you have to. And you can do it. I know you can do it.”

You shook your head, back and forth, back and forth. You tried to tug your leg away but he held firm, and you hadn’t tried all that hard in the first place.

“My baby, my lover, my heart, please?”

His plea broke through it all. Fear could be so tiring. Exhaustion made it harder to fight, to keep your eyes open. Sanji’s words washed over you again and again, always a balm to the worst pains. You wanted him to whisk away all your problems, but this one you had to sit through. However, you’d be in your lover’s embrace, and couldn’t that mean that you could tough it out?

“I’m gonna go get Chopper, yeah?” he asked.

You didn’t answer, instead leaning back and letting your head fall to the side. You sluggishly shrugged one shoulder.

He pressed a kiss to your knee before leaving. In his absence, the fear slowly coiled its way back, the anticipation making it return. You pressed your palms to the tile and tried to push yourself up to run away, but your body was disobeying you. You just couldn’t get your legs beneath you, which meant there was no way they’d hold your weight. Your stomach flipped at the sound of footsteps and hooves clipping.

“Oh no! Oh, Y/n!” Chopper’s little voice exclaimed. You started to curl in on yourself, dragging your injured leg in and away, opening your mouth to snarl, but then Sanji was there, wrapping his arms around you. He pulled you close and you shoved your face into the crook of his neck, a move of pure want and instinct. You inhaled his scent and it left you feeling a little more steady.

He buried his nose in your hair and rubbed your arms as he said, “You’ve got this. You don’t have to look, just sit like this. It’s nice, right?”

“I’ll be able to numb the area, but it does mean I’ll have to inject it with a syringe. You won’t feel any pain from the stitches though!” Chopper explained.

It was nigh impossible to fight back now. Out of all people to snap and bite at, could you really make it Chopper? You would really feel like the villain then. “Okay,” you croaked.

“Okay. I’m gonna start now, first by cleaning up the wound.”

Your blood had gone tacky in the time it took to fetch Chopper, and so the gauze being peeled off your skin left you tensing your muscles. You gripped a handful of Sanji’s shirtfront, tugging it towards you.

“Breathe, my sweet, breathe,” he cooed as he petted your hair.

Both boys inhaled sharply at your fully revealed gash. You didn’t turn to look, quickly frankly sick of looking at the damn thing. Sanji’s hold on you tightened and you felt guilty at all the anxiety you were causing him.

You tried to be as still as possible as Chopper cleaned, but it was difficult not to twitch at every sting. There was a silence when he finished, only interrupted by the sounds of Chopper rifling through his supplies.

“Now for the numbing. Are you ready?” Chopper asked.

“Go ahead,” you said, trying to get your voice to cooperate, to sound steady. It wobbled anyway.

“Lunch is sandwiches, if you’re still hungry after. If… it’s still there, actually. I’d thought you would come out sooner, so I left it in the kitchen with everyone else’s, and you know how Luffy is, that insatiable asshole. Hopefully the others keep it from him, but with him, it’s always a fight.” Sanji’s rambling caught you off guard, and in trying to pay attention to what he was saying, the needle went in and out without bothering you much. Your breath hitched a little at the fluid entering your muscle, but you were too distracted thinking about Luffy stealing your food to give it more thought. You didn’t really have an appetite at the moment, but it was your sandwich that Sanji made for you. And you each had a favorite, one specific to each of you, so Luffy knew better.

“He better not,” you huffed.

“If he did, I’ll kick his ass,” Sanji answered.

You let out a little huff of laughter at that.

“I’m still deciding what dinner is, though. Is there anything you’ve been craving?” he asked.

It was hard to think of what you’d want. “I don’t know. Maybe something with pasta?”

He hummed. “Red or white sauce? Or maybe something different?”

“Um, probably white. Or something more cheesy?”

“Ooo!” Chopper butted in with. “I want something more cheesy.”

The conversation went on just like that. Sanji’s hand roamed, kneading and rubbing at your arms, then your hips, then upper thighs, all in an endless circle. You could feel the stitches, the needle entering and exiting as Chopper worked, but you never felt any pain. It was an odd sensation, like it was more the idea of it than the reality. Sanji’s other hand never left your head, either cupping your cheek and pressing you to his chest, or running his fingers through your hair. Each time you turned your head, wanting to maybe steal a glance, he’d push you right back, knowing that letting you look could send you reeling all over again. His thumb would softly trace your jaw after he did, or his fingertips would ghost over your cheekbones. It was grounding, and safe, to be so engulfed by him.

“All done!” Chopper said after a while.

You pushed off of Sanji’s chest, swatting away the hand that protested it. Your gaze bounced off your thigh, only catching it in your sight for a second before grabbing Chopper and pulling him in for a hug.

“You’re the greatest doctor to have ever existed. Thank you, Chopper,” you told him.

He giggled and wiggled in your grasp. “Aww, you’re just saying that. You can’t flatter me.”

After you put him down, he reached for fresh gauze and bandaging to finish helping you, but Sanji butted in.

“I can do that later, Chopper. For now, they still need a bath.”

“Alright,” he answered. “I’ll be out on the ship then. Make sure to not submerge their wound, though!”

Sanji gave him a thumbs up. “Got it.”

After Chopper left, Sanji slipped out from behind you, slowly and gently as he could so he wouldn’t jostle you. He started up the bath and then turned back to you, kneeling between your legs, so that he could remove the rest of your underwear.

“Think you could lift your hips for me, sweetheart?” he asked.

You were stiff from sitting so long, and now the pain from the other bumps and bruises from your fall were making themselves known. It took you a second, but you were able to do as he asked.

“My poor, poor baby. I’ve got you, though. I’ll take good care of you,” he cooed.

When Sanji lifted you up, you couldn’t help the little whimper that came up and out of your throat. Immediately, he apologized and kissed all over your face as he lowered you into the bath. He started with your injured leg first, beginning with the mud caked to your foot and ankle and then worked his way up, removing the remaining crusts of blood. His fingers barely brushed your skin when he cleaned your injury the best he could, his eyebrows twitching and apology ready at every flinch and hiss. He massaged you as he scrubbed and rinsed, trying to remove the aches and hurts from your body. Every so often, he pressed kisses into your skin, long and loving. You were fully limp by the time he washed your hair, only emitting a satisfied sigh as his fingers worked through your locks. When he finished rinsing, you reached up and pulled his face to yours, and kissed him.

“Thank you, my love. You’re much too good to me,” you said.

He tutted. “I only give you what you deserve, and even I’m not fulfilling that properly; you deserve so much more. You are my everything.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, and that I pushed you away. I’m sorry that I snapped and swore at—”

He cut you off with a kiss, this one more urgent. “You have nothing to apologize for. Ever. I’m the one who should be sorry. I failed you.”

You sat up straighter. “What? How could you have failed me?”

“I should have been there for you, but I stayed behind. I should have made sure you weren’t alone, or been selfish enough to ask you to stay.” He ran his thumb over your cheekbone, his face full of regret.

“No, no. You’ve done more for me than you could ever imagine. You made me feel safe, you always make me feel safe. It was my own stupid mistake, not yours.”

Sanji’s mouth twitched upwards only a little, and you could tell he was still beating himself up, that no matter what you said, a small part of him would always blame himself. He would just never know how truly amazing he was.

You sighed and kissed him softly, on his mouth, his nose, his cheeks and then his mouth again. “Will you lay with me?”

“Of course.”

“For a long, long time?”

“Yes.”

“For however long I want you too?”

“There is not a single demand of yours that I would ever deny.”

You were being needy, taking more and more of Sanji than you should have. But it was impossible not to when he made you feel like heaven. You were ready to let him dress you and coddle you for a lot longer, and looked forward to a cuddle session that lasted hours.

With Sanji around, there wasn’t ever anything to worry about.

[kiame-sama]

Harpy!Neige would be so cute and sweet towards Reader the Human, cooing, cuddling, lightly pecking/nuzzling her neck, trying to preen her hair, handing her soft materials for her to build a nest, etc (He may or may not try to regurgitate his food to give to Reader, as that’s a sigh of affection)

Mourning Doves will, apparently, mourn their deceased mate and show depression and anxiety over their loss (For Neige maybe he feels sad when he has to leave his new human friend for long periods of time, only to chirp and coo happily when he sees her again)

Meanwhile Vil’s feathers are ruffled and looks ready to attack Neige (Peacocks are very territorial) and poor Rook has to hold him back

- Neige is so sweet and gentle as he coos for this soft Human. He's so happy he got the chance to finally meet them after hearing all about them from Che'nya. The little wing flutters and way he can't seem to help but press close to this soft Human, unable to stop himself from reaching out to gently scratch and rub at the back of the warm Human's neck, trying to preen their fluffy fur-feathers (He's not quite sure why humans have such fur like feathers, but it is pretty like a lion's mane and he loves it). He isn't sure why he is acting this way, but he really likes this new Human quite a lot! Look at all these soft downy feathers he's brought for you! Maybe you can put them in a pillow or a blanket? Is it strange they're his feathers? He hopes not becuase he just loves the idea of the sweet Human using his feathers to stay warm or comfortable.

- Vil is foaming at the mouth and his feathers are all fluffed out. Rook has to use four legs and his arms and his silk to keep Vil from flying at Neige. Rook knows fighting at a school event is frowned upon (and he may or may not have extreme respect/admiration for Neige) so he needs to keep Vil back but Vil is ready to fight to the death over this. How damn well dare Neige get anywhere near Vil's precious Human?? What an absolute affront to Vil's entire existence to see such an ugly little feathered rat try so hard to win his Human over? It will be on sight next time and Rook may not be there to hold Vil back. The peacock Harpy is almost screaming and calling he is so angry, but Rook is damn good at keeping the Housewarden back that neither Neige nor the soft Human realize how upset Vil is.

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 95, Part 1

Downstar’s mangled tail takes her final life. Oilstripe journeys to StarClan’s Shrine with Troutpool to receive her nine lives. She doesn’t feel ready, but goes regardless.

[Image ID: Oilstripe sits in front of Downstar, who is curled up in a nest. Troutpool stands behind Oilstripe as the latter says, "I won't leave until she stops breathing, Troutpool."]

Downstar was old. While StarClan had healed her wounds from the SlugClan battle, the shock of it clung to her body. It wasn't ready for the fight with LynxClan. There wasn't much more the clerics could do for Downstar, save give those she loved time to sit beside her and say goodbye.

Sunset bounced off the wall of the medicine den behind Oilstripe as she sat beside her sleeping leader. Downstar laid stretched in her nest, tail tightly wrapped in bandages. Her claws peeked in and out as she dreamed her death dream. She'd barely been able to eat over the last few days, leading her ribs to press against her skin. She already smelled of vigil herbs; lavender and mint. Even though Yarrowclaw had a nest in the medicine den, treating a deep slash along the back of her ankle, she left the deputy to her early vigil.

"Nine lives," Oilstripe muttered. She brushed her tail against Downstar's frail side. "It must have been painful. I hope this feels better." Darkhounds, crazed leaders, humans, blizzards… and she lost her final life to LynxClan cats stealing crabs. Crabs. A leader like Downstar deserved a grander death, deep in the heart of a fearsome battle. Or perhaps a quiet one, where she drifted off in her nest. This was neither. This was… just sad.

"Mom?" Oilstripe looked back to see Troutpool standing just inside the medicine den. Behind her, RippleClan shared tongues, quietly waiting for the moment their first great leader left them for Silverpelt.

"She doesn't have long," Oilstripe sighed, turning back to Downstar. "I don't think she's in much pain."

"I know." Silence itched the back of Oilstripe's neck. "I was talking with the other clerics. It will be dark soon. We think it would be better if you and I… started the trip to StarClan's Shrine. You'll need your nine lives." Oilstripe crouched in front of Downstar's muzzle. Her soft breath stirred the small fibers of the moss underneath her.

"I won't leave until she stops breathing, Troutpool," Oilstripe said. "It wouldn't be right." Oilstripe nuzzled Downstar's muzzle. The tortoiseshell leader did not react.

"She'll go at any moment," Troutpool groaned softly. "You can only get your lives at night. And… I know you've noticed her."

Yes, Oilstripe had seen the spirit sitting just beside the den wall, watching Downstar closely. Duskkit stared at her mother, still as a hunter. With the true dusk shining through the thinnest gaps in the wood, Duskkit seemed not like a glowing spirit, visible only to Oilstripe and Troutpool, but a normal kit, a juniper-wearing black tabby waiting for her mother.

"There are a lot of cats waiting for her," Duskkit said. She moved closer to Downstar's sleeping body, peering at the gray fur lining her muzzle. "I want to be the first face she sees when she wakes up." She turned back to Oilstripe and added "She'll see you there, Oilstripe. It's alright." Oilstripe's throat closed. This was really happening. StarClan, she was going to become RippleClan's leader. Fear tightened her shoulders and pushed out her claws.

"I still need to prepare a travel mixture," Troutpool said softly. "That would give you a little more time." When Oilstripe did not respond, Troutpool slipped around her mother and to her stores. She quietly plucked drying herbs from their shelves and placed them in a stone bowl for grinding, worn to a deep dip over moons of artisanal pressure. As her paw pressed the herbs against the stone, transforming them into powder and paste, Oilstripe moved around Duskkit and Downstar. The ginger deputy placed her chin on Downstar's thin chest. Despite the end creeping close, her fur was as soft as ever.

"Maybe your gift to me will be a soft pelt," Oilstripe muttered. Duskkit giggled and trotted to Oilstripe's side. She placed her paw, half the size of Oilstripe's own, on Downstar's back. To Oilstripe's shock, Duskkit's ghostly paw did not phase through.

"That's a sign that she's close," Duskkit explained softly. She stared up at Oilstripe and asked, "What do you think she'll look like in StarClan? I try to look as old as I can, but I know most cats like looking young."

"I'm sure she'll be like you remember her," Oilstripe sighed.

"It's ready, Mom," Troutpool gently called. She placed a lid back on a small jar of water and put it back on her shelves. The herbs inside the stone bowl floated and congealed in the water.

Troutpool lapped up half of the mixture. Her face curled as she swallowed. Oilstripe groomed Downstar's neck, filling her nose with the scent of lavender. She joined Troutpool as the cream and white cleric stepped back and processed the taste of the mixture. Oilstripe's whiskers curled as she leaned down to the bowl. She tried to imagine it was a bowl of honey. She drank the strengthening slop as quick as she could. She gagged at the powerful taste. Was this what the clerics ate before their half-moon trips? Oilstripe forced herself to drink the rest of the mixture. When she was done, Troutpool placed the bowl back in its spot in the corner and nuzzled Oilstripe's neck.

"We can go if you're ready," Troutpool said. Mother and daughter, living, looked back at mother and daughter, dying and dead. Duskkit's pelt shimmered with stars and anticipation as she stared deep into Downstar's closed eyes. Oilstripe forced her mind to still. Downstar deserved to greet her daughter in private. Oilstripe nodded to Troutpool. The pair walked out of the medicine den and through the dimming camp.

Oilstripe focused on the exit. Troutpool waved off Clanmates as they stood, anticipating an announcement of the end. There were two cats, however, that wouldn't let themselves be ignored. Slushtrail and Tallowheart sat in front of the exit, catching Oilstripe and their older sister before they could leave. Slushtrail adjusted the crown of juniper needles that decorated her head as she hurried in front of Oilstripe.

"Is she gone?" Slushtrail gulped.

"Soon," Oilstripe sighed. "We're going to StarClan's Shrine. Keep Rattlepelt and your mother company while we're out."

"You can count on us, Mom," Tallowheart said, brushing against Oilstripe's pelt. "Good luck." Oilstripe touched noses with her son and youngest daughter. She licked each of their ears, breathed love into their fur, and led Troutpool out of camp.

They were not alone as they journeyed toward the border. As they pushed further and further into the forest, starry figures danced in the red shadows. Oilstripe recognized some of the figures. Ripplefern jumped from root to boulder to hilltop, eagerly racing back and forth. Puddlespeckle's blue eyes watched silently from the crook of a yellow birch. Harvest led Robinkit down a deer path, almost dancing as they went. When the sharp scent of the border hit Oilstripe's nose, most of the figures she saw were cats she couldn't recognize. The whole forest seemed to glow with the presence of a hundred glittering pelts.

"Are you always accompanied like this?" Oilstripe whispered to Troutpool.

"I think this is a special occasion," Troutpool gulped. Her head followed a pair of ghostly apprentices leaping across the branches overhead, daring each other to reach StarClan's Shrine first.

Oilstripe didn't know how to each StarClan's Shrine alone, but StarClan guided her paws in the most literal sense possible. As night overtook dusk, spirits waved her forward, directing her and Troutpool along the WheatClan border until they reached SlugClan. Troutpool's path shifted off the border and along a well-tred stretch of dead grass. The thicker hills and cliffs that marked the harsher, more rugged terrain of SlugClan bloomed around them, giving StarClan spirits more places to look and watch the cleric and deputy on their journey.

When Troutpool was an apprentice, she had eagerly described the cave that housed StarClan's Shrine to Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle the day after her first half-moon meeting. As the cave, emerging from a slowly rising cliff, appeared through the trees, Oilstripe realized her daughter described it perfectly. An unlit fire sat outside the cave. Paint smeared the walls of the cave, depicting daring figures and dramatic shapes. Some of the art was so faded, Oilstripe had to squint, but other areas had fresh paint smearing the rock. SlugClan took their responsibility of maintaining the shrine seriously, it seemed.

The StarClan spirits stopped well before they reached the cave. As Troutpool guided Oilstripe into the thick dark, the deputy couldn't help but look back at her starry companions, wishing they could continue to light the way. But if the stories were true, she would see them again soon enough.

The paintings along the cave wall guided Oilstripe further into the dark, just as the StarClan spirits outside escorted her all the way from camp. Cats ran deeper into the cave while others built the Clans; weaving baskets, hunting, cooking, singing. This was an ode to everything the Clans were, all they stood for, all leading to the end of their lives and the start of their next.

Every kit knew about the stone that sat at the end of the cave. Half of the roof had collapsed over the years, allowing the glow of the night to illuminate the sacred sculpture. A large shape bulged from the farthest wall. While bright paint surrounded this shape, nothing dared touch the symbol itself. It was a large, five-pointed object, a symbol that historians drew in the sand to teach kits about their ancestors. It was a star. Carved by cats or carved by nature, none knew which was true, but did that matter? This was StarClan's Shrine. Their symbol led the living to the dead.

"We sleep beside the star?" Oilstripe whispered, as though afraid to break the divinity of the cave. Troutpool nodded. She settled into a soft loaf on the leather-covered floor. Oilstripe forced her stiff legs to bend and place her body beside Troutpool. Questions burned Oilstripe's throat, but she could not ask them. How could she fall asleep in such a place?

"It's easier than you think," Troutpool said, closing her eyes. "It just takes time. I'll be with you, Mom." Oilstripe copied her daughter and closed her eyes, even though the wind purred along the open roof and Oilstripe's body wanted to run.

Alright, StarClan. What did you truly think of Oilstripe?

[Image ID: Oilstar stands proud and tall with Fennelspot, Mosspounce, Weedfoot, Applepelt, Rustshade, Parsley, Clammask, Locustseeker, and Downstar's ghosts surrounding her. Troutpool and Moonpaw watch from afar. Downstar says, "We hail you by your new name, Oilstar, second leader of RippleClan. You are everything we built this Clan to be. Make it more." Under Oilstar, it says LEVEL UP! OILSTRIPE → OILSTAR, + LIVES: 9.]

Oilstripe's thoughts drifted for a while. Flashes of her Clan danced behind her eyelids. Downstar, dying in her nest. Carnationspeckle, pledging to be Oilstripe's mate as long as she would have her. Rattlepelt, calling her Mom for the first time. Troutpool's birth, then Slushtrail and Tallowheart. In so many ways, Oilstripe had never lost a single friend, while in others, she could never forget them. Perhaps this was why she was given her strange sight, as some supernatural preparation to lead RippleClan. Was Downstar even dead yet?

"Don't worry, Oilstripe. She's here."

Oilstripe startled, rolling onto her side. The cool leather floor of StarClan's Shrine had vanished. Sand mixed into Oilstripe's ginger pelt. A bright, cloud-dappled sky stretched above her, shining with the brilliant glow of the sunrise that burned against the ocean behind Oilstripe. The forest and the steepening cliffs beyond it lined the horizon beyond the ethereal beach. It smelled like every season at once; the warmth of summer, the colors of autumn, the chill of winter, and the growth of spring. It was home, it was RippleClan, but it wasn't. It was RippleClan at its best.

Troutpool stood beside Oilstripe and helped her mother to her paws. A sparkling white molly stood at the edge of the grass and sand, purring. Oilstripe had not seen this figure in many, many moons. Her appearances in the living world dimmed as more and more RippleClan cats quietly watched their descendants. But she had never left them, had she?

"Mom," Troutpool whispered, bowing before the white molly. "This is—"

"Moonpaw," Oilstripe purred. "It's been a long time."

"You've met our StarClan guide?" Troutpool gasped, jumping back up.

"I knew you would be leader some day," Moonpaw laughed, trotting up to the living cats. Stars trailed in her wake. "I don't just mean because I'm RippleClan's guide, either! It just felt right."

"Thank you," Oilstripe sighed, dipping her head. Suddenly, Moonpaw jabbed her nose against Oilstripe's forehead. Her nose was cold, like diving into the ocean.

Oilstripe's life flashed before her eyes. Literally. She saw WheatClan's camp from the eyes of a kit at Sunstrike's side, Rustshade beckoning her close. She saw RippleClan's shipwreck for the first time and spotted the little brown kit waiting within for her mother. She saw Moonpaw for the first time, saving her from an early demise. She saw Troutpool at Carnationspeckle's belly, she saw her Clan grow, she saw Weedfoot's spirit nod in approval, she saw death and battle and birth and love. Her life collapsed into a single moment of unending memories.

Oilstripe's legs buckled as Moonpaw stepped away. Troutpool threw her head under Oilstripe's chin, helping her back to her feet.

"What did you do?" Oilstripe gasped, reminding herself she could still breathe.

"A few things," Moonpaw said with a chuckle. "I'm RippleClan's guide. I have to make sure they have a good leader. Very official." She cleared her throat and stood a bit taller. "I have taken your old life from you, Oilstripe. Your body is no longer breathing. It now has room for nine new lives to guide RippleClan through the seasons to come. I have searched through your life, and I approve of your right to rule." Oilstripe nodded dumbly. She knew this would happen; stories of past leader's ceremonies made up more than a few legends. The process was known, even if the details were kept secret until a leader's final passing. But to actually have that happen…

"What now?" Oilstripe gulped. Moonpaw looked back to the forest.

"Now Troutpool and I settle down and bear witness," Moonpaw purred. Moonpaw bunted Troutpool's shoulder like an old friend. Troutpool stumbled to the side, eyeing Oilstripe as Moonpaw shoved her away. Oilstripe breathed slow as she stared into the trees. Downstar wanted this. StarClan wanted this. It would be alright.

The first life-giver's golden eyes peered from underneath a giant pine. He emerged slowly, eyeing Moonpaw as he stepped into the light. Oilstripe's heart lightened. Even in his afterlife, Fennelspot was a consistent presence in the medicine den, watching the clerics work and standing over patients. It felt not like a long-awaited reunion, but a visit with a good friend.

"Can you believe I thought you were mean as a kit?" Oilstripe laughed as Fennelspot approached. The petals he stuck into his pelt were bright and soft as though they still grew on their stems.

"I had a lot going on," Fennelspot hummed, whiskers twitching in humor. "Now Oilstripe, this will be a lot. You'll feel like you're dying. I won't lie to you. But you can handle it. Trust yourself."

"I do my best," Oilstripe said. Fennelspot touched his pointed muzzle to Oilstripe's forehead.

"With this life," he said, voice echoing with supernatural power, "I give you unity. Unity across the Clans made RippleClan possible. It's your job as leader to foster unity within RippleClan. It can be hard, but the Clan depends on you now."

Oilstripe did not feel very united in that moment as slicing pain ripped through her mind. She could feel herself break apart, her body tearing into large, bleeding chunks. She tumbled away from herself, helplessly reaching out. Yet before she could lose herself, mental twine latched itself to her soul. Stitches pulled her pieces back together. She would not let herself fall apart. Disjointed parts slipped back together, their bonds stronger than ever before.

Oilstripe's legs shook as Fennelspot stepped back. Oilstripe laughed weakly, licking her dry lips. Fennelspot wasn't lying. The dead cleric peered at Oilstripe like he was ready for her to fall over. Oilstripe sat and swallowed vomit that crawled up her throat. Fennelspot still studied Oilstripe like a good cleric should, but he moved to the side for the second life-giver.

This life-giver marched out of the forest like he ruled it all. Oilstripe couldn't help it, she startled at the sight of black and gray fur and earthy green eyes.

"Mosspounce?" she gasped.

"Congratulations, Oilstripe," Mosspounce chirped, sitting with a plop in front of the ginger molly. "I'm really excited to give you your second life."

"I have to be honest," Oilstripe said, chuckling at the shock of it all, "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Think about it," Mosspounce chuckled. "I was born… under not so good circumstances. I mean, my father had me in some strange attempt to connect with your mate. It's disturbing." Mosspounce's tail curled around his front leg. "Still, Carnationspeckle nursed me. And you, you didn't treat me bad. You always treated me like my own cat."

"I tried my best," Oilstripe explained with a lick to her chest. "I can't say it didn't feel strange, but you were a kit. It wouldn't have been right to treat you poorly. You aren't Shadowdrop's mistakes."

"That's why you'll be a good leader," Mosspounce purred. He touched his nose to Oilstripe's forehead and said, "With this life, I give you the gift of adventure. Don't be afraid to reach far and go where the wind takes you. Risks have the best rewards."

Oilstripe was flying. The world bent below her. Trees and mountains and oceans curled in on each other. She hovered in a black void, stars twinkling far, far away. A blue and green ball, sprinkled white, danced before her. There was no limit to what she could do. She never wanted to come down.

Yet come down she did as Mosspounce stepped away. Oilstripe's eyes blurred from the leftover effect. Mosspounce's form rippled like a reflection. Oilstripe rubbed her eyes. It was like clearing out sand and salt. By the time her vision returned, the figure standing in front of her was no longer Mosspounce… but Weedfoot. She had made only a few appearances in camp since her passing; Oilstripe hadn't realized how young her former mentor truly looked in StarClan.

"I am so, so proud of you, Oilstripe!" Weedfoot cheered. She rubbed against Oilstripe. She smelled like dandelions and salt. The smell grounded Oilstripe against the sand of Silverpelt. She licked Weedfoot's neck, purring in return. "James wanted me to tell you not to let the power go to your head."

"What's it like to have Paleshade and James in StarClan together?" Oilstripe asked as Weedfoot moved back.

"Let's just say they keep me busy," Weedfoot hummed. With that, she touched her nose to Oilstripe and declared, "With this life, I give you courage. By StarClan, you'll need it."

Oilstripe was afraid. Her body ached and burned. Darkness intensified the pain. No one was coming. No one would help. It was forbidden. But that wasn't the worst pain. The worst was the cooling body pressed against her own. She could have lived, you foxhearts. She wouldn't cower before them. Even if she died right then and there, Weedfoot would not let AshClan win.

Oilstripe reflexively sobbed when the pain ended and she returned to the present. Troutpool hurried forward, but Moonpaw stepped in front with a soft shake of her head. Weedfoot licked Oilstripe's cheek as she shook. Just that simple touch, both dead and alive, rekindled the newfound strength left within Oilstripe's bones. Her mentor had faced that horror and live. Oilstripe would be honored to carry that courage with her.

Weedfoot joined Fennelspot and Mosspounce, who sat to the side with Troutpool and Moonpaw. Oilstripe peered into the forest. Who would visit her next? She couldn't see any iridescent eyes or sparkling pelts—

Something slammed into Oilstripe's shoulder. Oilstripe fell on her jaw. Sand flew into her nose. A mad cackle clued her into her next life-giver.

"I can touch you, I can touch you," Applepelt sang as their soft paws batted Oilstripe's exposed belly. Fennelspot groaned and Troutpool's eyes went wide. Everyone else just laughed.

"You're bird-brained, Applepelt," Oilstripe laughed, getting back to her paws. She snorted like a horse, blowing out sand.

"Aww, but didn't you miss this?" Applepelt cooed. She thrust her head into Oilstripe's chest. "I mean, I know I talk to you all the time, probably more than I'm supposed to if I'm honest, but isn't it nice to actually do this?" Applepelt suddenly reared up and nibbled Oilstripe's ear. Oilstripe laughed like an apprentice and headbutted Applepelt off.

"You'll get in trouble with Carnationspeckle if she hears about this," Oilstripe giggled.

"Well when I get the chance, I'll flirt with her, too!" Applepelt declared. "You can't stop me."

"The life, Applepelt," Fennelspot snapped. Moonpaw shushed the (ironically) younger StarClan cat.

"I'm getting to it," Applepelt scoffed as Oilstripe tried to dam her giggles. "Alright, alright, time for the serious stuff." Applepelt purred as they touched Oilstripe's forehead. "With this life, I give you confidence! I've always cheered you and Carnationspeckle on, and I've always tried to make you as confident in yourselves and each other as I am. Now you have to be confident!"

If Oilstripe thought the life for adventure was intoxicating, Applepelt's life was something else entirely. Oilstripe's body floated. She was on fire, but the fire did not hurt. She could do anything. She could face an entire enemy Clan. She could feed all of RippleClan. She could, and would, do it all! Everything would be okay, because Oilstripe was the one in control. She was the Clan leader, and she could do it!

The release was not as painful as

Oilstripe expected. Instead, as Applepelt trotted over to the other StarClan cats, Oilstripe felt refreshed. The horror of Fennelspot and Weedfoot's lives seemed distant, echoing against the trees. Oilstripe breathed deeply, throat stinging with salt. She waited for her next visitor, glancing along the beach and through the trees. Her pelt prickled as every moment passed without sight of a new life-giver.

"Rustshade, don't keep her waiting!" Weedfoot yowled into the trees. Oilstripe's heart stopped. Red paws slipped into the light. Rustshade's sharp heather eyes bore into Oilstripe. Oh. So this was what these reunions were meant to feel like.

"Dad," Oilstripe whimpered. Rustshade slowly made his way to his oldest daughter. He looked younger than Oilstripe did. Oilstripe stretched her head forward, shaking. She cried when Rustshade's nose touched her forehead. Oh to be a kit again, the focus of Rustshade's attention.

"With this life, I give you…" Rustshade said, "the gift of breaking the warrior code." What? Oilstripe nearly steppd back to oggle her father, but she feared to break the powerful ritual. Rustshade was considered the Celestial of RippleClan Codekeepers! Oilstripe literally heard cats like Cobaltchaser and Wolfgaze pray to him to pass their assessments! How could he suggest breaking the code in front of his fellow StarClan warriors?

"Do you think you would be leader if we didn't break the code and turn against our old Clans?" Rustshade scoffed. "The right thing isn't always what the code says. It's up to you to recognize that."

Wind buffeted Oilstripe's pelt. She was certain she'd be flung upward, destined for a gruesome landing. Stabbing pain consumed her body. The glare of a hundred righteous faces burned into her. But she burned too, not out of shame, but pride. They could say what they wanted. This was right.

"Don't go!" Oilstripe cried as the connection broke and Rustshade stepped away. She reached for her father's slender tail as he turned, but her claws barely reached his fur. Troutpool's gaze was stuck on her grandfather as he sat beside Fennelspot. Oilstripe's jaw ached. Couldn't Rustshade spare a single comforting word her way?

"Now this is exciting!" A red and gray tortoiseshell trotted toward the beach. The stump that once formed her tail wiggled like an excited apprentice. Unlike the other StarClan cats, who usually looked far younger than they were when they died, Parsley still looked like an elder, with aging gray around her muzzle and thin patches of fur. Oilstripe tried to ignore Rustshade's presence and relaxed at the sight of Parsley. She was around the nursery so much in her afterlife, it was sometimes like she had never passed.

"I am very honored to be giving you a life, Ms. Oilstripe," Parsley chirped. "I hope I can do right by you and Carnation."

"You always did, Parsley," Oilstripe hummed as Parsley touched her forehead.

"With this life, I give you new beginnings," Parsley purred. "That's what RippleClan is all about, and it's what I grew to embody. Give them out whenever you can."

Oilstripe blossomed. Her body grew taller, faster, stronger, shining brighter and brighter with a fire in her belly. The beach was too small to hold her. Her bones snapped under the sudden pressure, yet they rebuilt themselves just as fast. All the while, the sensation of her tail attached to her flank faded, numb and ghost-like. Had Oilstripe not been in extreme pain, she would have laughed.

"Enjoy it, Ms. Oilstripe," Parsley purred. Oilstripe's head spun when the tortoiseshell moved back. Parsley plopped herself in front of her fellow StarClan cats.

Oilstripe barely had a moment to collect herself before the seventh life-giver emerged from the forest. Clammask! She seemed more at ease than Oilstripe could ever recall her being. Her dull golden fur was brighter than ever. She must have been enjoying her time in StarClan, since Oilstripe had only seen her at the vigils of her daughters in recent moons.

"You're almost done, Oilstripe," Clammask promised. Oilstripe had no time to greet her sister before Clammask touched her nose to Oilstripe's forehead. "With this life, I give you strength—strength in mind, heart, and body. I don't think you could ever hope to be a leader without strength."

Heavy waves pounded against Oilstripe. Her paws flew out from under her. She choked on salt and foam. Her eyes burned. She was certain she was about to vomit. Something pushed her up, pushed her to find air, to keep going. She wasn't going out like this. StarClan, was she living through Clammask's final moments? Was this what death felt like?

Oilstripe gagged as the connection broke. She was not about to throw up in front of StarClan itself, especially not her own daughter. Oilstripe swallowed hard as Clammask ran to Rustshade. The pair bunted heads and Clammask settled at her father's paws.

"Oilstripe! Over here!" A cream figure jogged along the beach, racing right at Oilstripe. The ginger molly braced herself to be tackled once more. Yet instead of a violent reunion, Locustseeker simply bunted their head against Oilstripe's side, purring deeply.

"I had to fight Burdockcreek and Twinekit for this spot," Locustseeker laughed. "Hope you don't mind they aren't here. I'm sure they'll visit you later." Oilstripe purred too and licked her lost sibling's head. "Don't be mad at Dad and Clammask, they love it up here. I'm trying to convince them to go see you more."

"Don't get in trouble on my part," Oilstripe hummed as Locustseeker moved in front of her. Even though they died young, they still matched Oilstripe's height, making it easy for them to touch their nose to her forehead.

"With this life, I give you endurance," Locustseeker declared. "Don't give up, Oil. I hope this keeps you going."

Oilstripe's heart beat wildly. Battle yowls pierced her ears. Claws danced through her skin, but Oilstripe returned every blow. Endurance seemed to be the same as strength, but as Oilstripe's body weakened and that strength left her, her endurance remained. It was the force that encouraged her to perform until her body gave way.

Locustseeker's release was like a deep sigh. Oilstripe no longer shook and swallowed bile. Locustseeker joined Clammask and Rustshade, shooting sassy looks to the both of them. Oilstripe heard many stories of leader ceremonies, their details revealed to historians after their passing. She knew how nearly all of them ended. There was only one candidate left to give her her final life.

Downstar emerged triumphantly from the forest. She looked just as she did in Oilstripe's oldest memories. Her soft fur glistened and shined with the newly gained glow of Silverpelt. There was a spark to her amber eyes Oilstripe had never seen before. Cats, both known and unknown, trailed behind her. Duskkit. Shadowdrop. Trumpetspore. Tempestshade. Scrubmask. More and more spirits followed Downstar to the beach, all staring at Oilstripe.

"You look good," Oilstripe said. She was shocked to find a lump in her throat as she spoke.

"I feel better than I have in a very long time," Downstar purred. "Now that I'm here, there's something very important I need to tell you." The lump in Oilstripe's throat grew as Downstar touched her forehead. "I picked a good, good deputy. With this life, I give you leadership in the darkest times. My only hope for you is that you fare better than I did."

The weight and emotion of Oilstripe's eight other lives crashed into her. Battle cries, crashing waves, breaking bones, glaring eyes, intoxication, darkness, flight, falling apart and coming togther again. All of these experiences pulled themselves together in Oilstripe's chest and burned against the shadows of the sunset.

"We hail you by your new name, Oilstar, second leader of RippleClan. You are everything we built this Clan to be. Make it more."

Triumphant yowls filled the land as Oilstar stood before StarClan. The ghosts she so often saw on the horizon now stood proud and alive, bright as the moon. Troutpool joined the cries of the dead, her voice giving way under the strain. Oilstar's new name filled the sky.

"Oilstar! Oilstar! Oilstar!" StarClan cheered.

"Oilstar? Are you Oilstar now?" Dovekit asked.

Wait, Dovekit?

Oilstar woke on the cool leather floor of StarClan's Shrine. Dovekit stared directly into her face, a whisker's length away. He blinked innocently, like he didn't know how wrong this all was.

"Dovekit!" Oilstar snapped, standing on shaking legs. "How are you here?"

"I followed you," Dovekit said as Troutpool stirred behind him.

"All the way from camp?" Oilstar gasped. How in StarClan's name could a kit get out of camp and travel across two territories with no one finding him? "Dovekit, there are dangerous things in the forest, especially at night. An owl could have swooped down and grabbed you!"

"But no one saw me," Dovekit huffed. Troutpool opened her bleary eyes and suddenly startled at the sight of the gray and white kit. Oilstar shook her head, hiding a purr deep in her throat. Now it would be her job to find the chaotic tom a mentor next moon. It would be her job to find mentors for every kit in RippleClan, bestow names on every new warrior. She'd be the one speaking for RippleClan at Gatherings. She'd be the one deciding the fate of her Clanmates.

If she could handle Dovekit in that moment, perhaps she'd handle all of that as well.

(Oilstar: 99, female, leader, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Downstar: 154, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Troutpool: 56, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sight)

(Duskkit: 4, female, kit, troublesome, quick witted)

(Slushtrail: 31, female, mediator, wise, clever, talented weaver)

(Tallowheart: 31, male, historian, nervous, good swimmer)

(Moonpaw: 10, female, mediator apprentice, childish, good hunter)

(Fennelspot: 113, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Mosspounce: 52, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Weedfoot: 122, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Applepelt: 31, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

(Rustshade: 102, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Parsley: 156, female, elder, righteous, great speaker)

(Clammask: 82, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Locustseeker: 12, nonbinary (they/them), historian apprentice, troublesome, moss-ball hunter)

Carnationspeckle and Wildclaw grieve Downstar, but Oilstar still appoints Wildclaw as her deputy.

[Image ID: Oilstar faces Wildclaw and Carnationspeckle. Under Wildclaw and Carnationspeckle, it says + CONDITION: GRIEVING.]

(Oilstar: 99, female, leader, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Wildclaw: 87, female, deputy, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

(Carnationspeckle: 97, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

[pinklayla123]

Peace and Quiet

A/N: This is a continuation of Day 1 of @elriel-month. When I started writing this au I didn't realize how much I would fall in love with it. I hope you enjoy!

And so they fell into a rhythm. Every week, Elain would go to gather herbs from the forest, and every week, Death would accompany her. Azriel knew that this arrangement couldn’t last forever. She was mortal after all, and his life was bound to his scythe. Soon her circumstances would change and she would stop coming, or she would grow old and start to fear him.

Yet every week, like clockwork, he showed up in her forest to bask in her light. She was so full of life, telling stories about the cabbage farmer’s son and the blacksmith’s dog and the repairs in the old barn. She reminded him what it was like to be mortal; to laugh, to love, to grieve. After so many centuries of seeing only the end of life, it felt as if he had been awoken from a gray dream and found the world awash in color.

"Is it difficult, your work?" she asked one day as they sat under a weeping willow. Her hair was unbound today, and Azriel was endlessly fascinated by how each curl and wave seemed to have a life of its own. He didn't answer her immediately, mulling it over.

"The act itself is simple enough. I touch my scythe to someone whose time has come and my abilities separate their soul, the essence of their being, from their body and guide it across the veil. The difficulty lies in watching them realize where they are now and what has happened to them. Many become extremely upset, understandably so. Others are more accepting of what the Fates have decreed for them."

"Do you always take them away immediately, or can they say goodbye?"

"If I feel that staying will cause more distress, I take them away immediately. Some are strong enough to bear it and for those I wait until they are ready to depart."

"Can we see our families even after we die?"

"I can only speak for the time in which they are under my charge. The place I take them to is undoubtedly in the other realm, but it is an in-between place of sorts. From there this realm cannot be seen, but it might be different afterwards. I do not know." Elain leaned back against the trunk and tilted her face up, the warm afternoon sunlight filtering through the leaves making everchanging patterns on her closed eyelids.

"Is it peaceful there?" she  asked after a few moments.

"Not exactly."

"What do you mean?" 

"The in-between, I think the best way to describe it is that it is a place of nothingness. It is not malevolent, but neither is it benevolent. The horizon stretches for eternity in every direction and there is no living creature in sight except for yourself. It is completely silent there. It can be a little unsettling if you are not accustomed to it."

"Wouldn't that make it peaceful, the quietness?" she wondered aloud. Azriel’s cowl moved back and forth, as if he was shaking his head.

“Silence and quiet are different. Silence is the absence of any sound whatsoever, and can only happen in the absence of life. Quiet is the absence of unpleasant and distracting noise. The in-between is silent because there is nothing there. Here, it is quiet because even though there are no loud sounds, you can still hear the wind in the trees, the animals in the bushes, the birds in their nests and the water in the stream. It is life in its most beautiful simplicity. Here, it is peaceful,” he said. Elain opened her eyes and turned to him again.

“What happens after the in-between?”

"After that, the souls are taken further into the afterworld, and I do not know what happens next beyond the fact that those who were good in this life are taken to a place of peace, and those who were cruel are taken elsewhere." 

"But you are Death. How is it that you don't know what comes next?" her question amused him. He couldn't blame her for thinking Death would know all. For her he was a representative of the hereafter, an entity whose existence started and ended with shepherding souls.

"Death is a title that can be passed from one soul to another. Even as I sit here, those under my command are working tirelessly to take souls beyond the veil. I may have access to a small part of the other realm, but the rules dictate that no mortal soul can truly know what lies beyond until it is their time." She looked surprised at his words, the way he had called his soul mortal.

"I thought you were everlasting and immortal?"

"I am, and I am not," he replied simply. Seeing the confusion in her eyes, he explained further. "I was born mortal, but with the ability to help souls cross between realms. I am not the only one, but I am the strongest, so when I came into my power I was given the task of overseeing everything. As long as I have my abilities, I cannot die. But if I choose to relinquish them, I could be mortal once more.”

“So you were human… before?”

“I was,” he affirmed. “My sire was a lord and my mother was a servant.”

“And if you chose, you could be human again?”

“Yes, if I willingly give away my abilities.”

“But what of your duties?”

“Then someone else will take up the mantle of Death. The Fates work in mysterious ways. If I ever become mortal again, the Fates will likely have someone prepared already to take my place. As long as there is Life, Death will also be present. The cycle cannot be broken”

“Why haven’t you done so yet? Why choose to spend eternity as Death?”

“This work gives me purpose. And if there is one thing I have learned from all my centuries, it’s that a man cannot survive by himself. He needs friends, a family, a community,” he said with a smile in his voice. “I suppose I just haven’t found my people yet.”

She hummed thoughtfully and moved so that she was standing next to him. He looked up at her, the last rays of the sun making the gold in her hair glow. Or maybe the glow was her own. Her hand was extended in invitation and there was a gentle smile on her lips.

“Come have tea with me.”

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook/platonic!OT7

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐝 [Part 2: Wind]

Somehow, you don't want to go home yet.

Main tags/Warnings: Werewolf!Jungkook, Werewolf!Bangtan, strangers/enemies to lovers, romantic Jungkook x reader, Platonic bangtan x reader, eventual smut, mentions of past emotional/psychological manipulation, hurt and comfort, fluff!, some wariness from MCs side, a nightmare?

Length: 2.3k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

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The woods are dark. Deep. Endless, even.

There's no clear path to take, noises all around you echoing, only faint light making you see somewhat. Animals watch you with curious gazes, like you're something they've never seen before- and you feel like you're not yourself, even though the reflection of a puddle on the ground shows your face clear as day.

You're not wearing shoes. Bare feet standing on soft moss. In fact, you're not wearing anything, one look down offering you your bare body, though you feel neither shame nor the need to cover yourself. You're warm enough. You're alone, too.

There's a creature circling around you- a large wolf, dark brown fur almost black as it's body brushes against yours, rubbing it's side over your legs, as if to cover itself in your scent. It licks at your skin, and you reach out to touch it, golden eyes staring back.

It's tail wags. You can't help but laugh.

Suddenly, it's bones break however, blood pooling out of its mouth that forms a snarl, teeth showing in anger as it stands up into a human stance, back arched once it grows into a humanoid beastly version of itself. No longer does it offer you comfort, no longer do you feel safe.

Suddenly, you cover yourself, feeling vulnerable, naked, lusted for as the beasts eyes glare at you with hunger. Claws are sharp, paws looking more like hands as it reaches for you. You trip, fall, frozen on the ground as it crawls over you, jaws opening wide to Suddenly bite down right in your face-

"Hey- you're okay!" Jungkook's voice reassures, worried face the first thing you see as you wake up from your nightmare, breathing heavily. Your skin is sweaty, smelling strange, and you Suddenly feel embarrassed. "Come on, sit up for a moment yeah? So you don't fall again." He says, and it makes you a little uneasy.

Can he read dreams or something? Or have you been talking in your sleep?

Either way, you do as he says, sitting up, taking a deep breath. "Sorry." You alplogize, calming down. You have nightmares like this on a constant basis, though they typically never start as such a pleasant dream.

"Its okay." He reassures you kindly, a hand on your back. "Your clothes are freshly dried by the way. Do you.. want to stay for breakfast?" He asks you in an almost hopeful tone- and you nod after a moment, feeling oddly brave. You don't want to come off as rude, either- they've been very kind in offering you a place to stay for the night after all, the least you can do is stay for a little and properly thank them. "Oh, awesome! I'll tell Jin to put out an extra plate then!" He excitedly says, before he runs to the door- stopping for only a second. "Uh- your clothes are in the bathroom- you can just use my stuff to shower or something.. and uh, there's an unopened toothbrush under the sink in the drawer that you can have." He tells you with a smile, before he opens the door and leaves, closing it after him.

A wave of fresh air comes in from that. Brings in smells of the woods, faint rain, and a little coldness from the morning dew. What time is it even?

After getting ready, you walk outside- unsure where to go, so you just walk around a tiny bit, taking in the scenery around in the daylight. It's cozy- unique in that it feels like it's so disconnected from the buzzing city life. As if a place like this shouldn't exist in the state it's in.

Birds are eagerly moving around, collecting nesting material and chirping their morning talks to one another. A squirrel hops over the wooden roof of Jungkook's cabin, disappearing as quickly as it appeared. There's no artificial sound. No cars honking. No nothing.

"Over here!" Jungkook calls out from the largest house, waving you closer, door open behind him. The smell of something cooking hits you like a truck, causing your stomach to growl and mouth to water at the prospect of food. "Don't worry about them." He offers you kindly as he keeps the door open for you to walk through, your head nodding politely to everyone at the table inside the house.

"We typically take what we want from the main plates here- so just grab what you like to eat, yeah?" The tall man, Seokjin, offers you. "I hope you slept well." He says while everyone begins to grab something for their plates.

"Clearly not." A low voice comments. "She reeks of fear." The man says, putting food on his plate.

"Yoongi!" The leader of the pack scolds, Jungkook sighing.

"She just had a bad dream, nothing big." He explains, before he turns to you. "Sorry. We can just.. smell a lot of things a lot more than you. And Yoongi isn't very.. tactful to say the least." Jungkook apologizes.

"Its okay." You simply nod, quietly eating. It's a bit odd to have all those eyes on you, but you'll manage- simply listening to them banter around, before you finish up and pack up your things.

"Thank you for letting me stay." You tell Namjoon, who nods.

"No issue whatsoever. Please get home safe." He says, politely telling you goodbye before Jungkook walks you through the woods again.

You feel off. As if you're forgetting something- but you checked twice, you have everything you brought with you in the first place. "You can.. always visit, you know?" Jungkook offers, his hands in his pockets as he walks next to you. "Or we could, I don't know.. meet up next time you need some time away from the city. Or just grab something to eat in the city too!" He rants a bit nervously.

"...sure." You nod. "Why not?" You decide, almost talking to yourself mostly, while Jungkook beams a grin next to you.

"I-..." he starts, unsure, as you reach the start of the hicking track where you first met. "...you know you don't have to hide, right?" He asks, and you're not sure what he's talking about.

"What do you mean?" You wonder- but he shakes it off, simply smiling at you, golden eyes kind.

"Nothing. Please- uhm.. could you maybe text me if you got home well?" He asks, and you nod, exchanging phone numbers with him- before he awkwardly nods again, waving at you as he walks back. "I'll see you around." He says, and you smile back equally as uneasy, before you walk down the path a little.

And as you look back, jungkook is out of sight ready-

Though you're not sure why that upsets you so much.

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Back home, you text jungkook that you're alright and back, receiving multiple thumbs up emojis from him, before you open your bedroom drawer for your medication. You'll need to renew the prescription soon- you're running low these days.

Maybe because you didn't take them before your hike you got so sweaty during the night again. You tend to get hot flashes and headaches without you're prescribed pills- your mother having explained to you that you've got an overactive immune system that just attacks your entire body the moment you don't take those pills. And it makes sense. You do feel awful when you're not taking them.

Once more, you find another monthly letter from your mother on your table- unopened, because you just don't want to hear her made up stories on how she needs you. She doesnt- she only want to control you, because she fails at controlling herself. You don't want to live with her any longer, you want nothing to do with her in general- so you just throw it into the drawer in your bedroom, where all the other's lay.

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It's a few days later when you meet up with Jungkook again- the small convenience store quiet as you both eat your instant foods together.

"So, the guy goes 'I'm not gonna let a dog help me lift!' And breaks his wrist not even five minutes later!" Jungkook laughs, shaking his head. "Karma is a thing, I'm telling you." He chuckles, moving to take another bite of his food.

"Does that happen a lot?" You ask. "Like.. people judging you solely based on what you are?" You question, and he shrugs, before nodding.

"Yeah. It's normal." He simply admits. "And to be fair, there's enough real evidence of particularly alphas who just can't keep themselves in check- so I don't blame anybody for being cautious, you know?" He offers, licking his lips clean. "I mean, you weren't really fond of me and my pack either." He jokes.

"That's not true..." you argue softly. "You're.. really nice. I'm not scared of you or anything." You tell him, and he smiles, leaning his head on his palm.

"I'm glad." He offers. "Can I ask you something?" Jungkook questions, and you laugh.

"You just did." You joke, and he rolls his eyes. "But yeah, go ahead."

"Are you sleeping okay?" He asks, and you frown a bit in confusion. "You just.. look really tired." He worries a bit, and you shrug.

"Its a side effect of my meds." You tell him. "I've got.. some issues with my immune system, so I'm on constant medication- and they screw up my sleep." You offer.

"Oh." He answers. "What.. happens when you don't take them?" He wonders.

"I get a fever, usually." You explain, finishing your own food. "And I get dizzy, nauseous. Had to skip them as a teen once because I got my vaccines done- and man was I miserable! My mom had to tell everyone to not even enter my room because I was so bad!" You laugh. "I always got really whiny when I was sick. Always complained. Really annoyed my mom." You explain.

"What about now?" He asks, watching you with an odd sense of curiosity.

"I'm still whiny as hell!" You giggle. "But I just suck it up and get through it. It's just how it is." You shrug.

"Doesn't she visit you?" Jungkook continues. You shake your head.

"No." You answer. "After my dad died, and my mom got her new boyfriend, it just went downhill." You sigh. "Like, my dad would always go camping with me. He was a super outdoors kind of person, you know?" You remember. "But when he died, my mom started keeping me home all the time. I wasn't allowed to go out on my own or sleep over at friend's houses. I get it now that it was because I got sick so easily, but still. It was like she was holding me hostage sometimes." You admit with a distant gaze, before you shake your head in shame. "Oh god, I'm rambling, sorry!" You laugh.

"No, no, you're fine!" He reassures. "Is that why you're so wary of wolves now?" He asks, and you nod.

"She used to tell me all kinds of stories." You admit. "Like, actually disturbing stuff. How your bones abreast when you shift and such." You say, and Jungkook cringes.

"I mean.. shifting isn't very pretty, I admit that, but that's not something to tell a child, especially when it's a human one." He mumbles.

"Thats what I'm saying!" You agree. "Like, why would you tell that to a kid who won't ever understand that anyways??" You whine, before laughing.

You're both quiet for a little while, when you talk again. "Does it hurt?" You ask, and he looks at you for a second, unsure. "When you shift, I mean."

"It does." He nods. "Very much. And it's pretty exhausting." He laughs. "But it's only a few times a year, so its alright. I'm used to it by now- it's kind of like a cramp. When it happens, it's agony- but once it's done, you're good to go."

"Do you really.. like, sleep?" You wonder. "Your human side, I mean."

"No." He chuckles. "I'm still me, no matter what form I'm in." He tells you with a soft tone.

"..do you think I could pet you?" You ask. "Or would that be weird?" You tell him, and he laughs, tips of his ears red.

"Oh I'd absolutely let you!" He responds, golden eyes warm as they watch you.

And you can't help but feel like he's seeing a lot more than you do.

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There's a letter in your inbox today, official envelope making you curious as to what's inside.

The formal words are clearly meant to intimidate, though you check twice that it's directed at you by looking for your name on the form- and it's there, together with your date of birth, and other personal details. But this can't be right. This doesn't make sense.

Your phone vibrates on the kitchen counter, Jungkook's name telling you he's the one calling, probably to ask when you'll come over to watch a movie- but you ignore it, as you read over the words time and time again.

'Last notice regarding your IC-Evaluation test.'

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[hollyhomburg]

Prey Animals (12)

—  Pairing: Yoongi x ot6, Yoongi x reader, Bts x reader

—  Genre: Omegaverse, Mafia au, Polyamory au, Found family, Suspense, Eventual Smut, enemies to friends to lovers, Healing & Themes of trauma,

—  Summary: In a world where Beta's are rare, valuable, and often have more than one pack; Beta Min Yoongi does everything he can to keep his mafia heritage a secret from his primary pack. Little does he know he's not the only one who's living a double life.

—  Words: 7.0k

—  Warnings: Abandonment, Depression, Themes of grief, Anxiety, Worry, Hurt/comfort, Angst, Things get worse before they get better

—  Check in at the end for my notes on this chapter! — 

(The Pack, Mostly After)

He was only supposed to be gone for a few days.

To his packmates, it had felt a little like Yoongi was just distracted. They’d turn to him and find him looking at his phone or staring absentmindedly at the bright hot sun, or one of them sleeping in the nest. Or one of them brushing their teeth. “What is it?” they’d ask, and “nothing” he’d reply.

But it’s not nothing, because the next morning, Yoongi gets on a train. And then he’s just gone.  

No one had thought anything of it when he’d provided an explanation for his sudden departure. Of course, they were okay with him going. Of course, Yoongi had to go. For his family, he said. An emergency. Someone was dying. Someone was hurt and Yoongi needed to say goodbye.

(Family means different things for different people and goodbyes can be said in many different ways.)

Familial packs are rare things in general. Too many families have too many packmates and too many pups that some slip through the cracks (like with Namjoon, who hardly bothers going home every few years.). But besides Jungkook and Namjoon- Yoongi is the only one with anything passable for a familial pack.

The best lies are one part lie and two parts truths. Yes, Yoongi's grandfather is dead and telling them that didn't feel like a lie. But on the other hand, saying "I'll be back in 2 weeks, maybe 3 at the most," tasted like acid on his tongue. 

It’s not a lie when Yoongi looks at Jin and pouts, and blinks back tears, while he drags one of his sweatshirts up and down his throat. For Jungkook, a heavily scented item of clothing just in case his seizures get too bad while he’s gone. Even though the omega has his whole closet too.

But even if he wants to cry as he drinks in Jin getting ready for work. Fingers skimming over his meticulously organized slacks and ties, savoring his hands, his breath, his every movement. Yoongi doesn’t let himself.

Tears aren’t expected of him, it would give him away.

Instead of telling Jin or crying he says, “I’m gonna miss you.” Jin pauses, turns around to where Yoongi sits in the nest and kisses the frown off of his lips.

“I’ll drive you to the train, are you all packed? Are you sure you don’t want someone to come with you?”

“I’m sure.”

Maybe looking back on it, Seokjin would recognize the heaviness in his gaze as something that wasn’t caused by an impending simple few weeks absence. The pack is used to having their nest absent of at least one packmate (Jimin has business trips sometimes, whenever his clients necessitate it). And sure, it’s going to suck to have him gone, but they’ll be alright. 

(They won't be, and Yoongi knows this and leaves anyway because he doesn't have a choice.) 

“I’ll call you if it's any longer, okay?” He’d kissed Seokjin so quickly. Seokjin would have pulled him in for longer if he’d known this was the last time he’d see the beta for so long. (Seokjin would have also probably tied the beta to the bed if he knew he was about to leave, but that's neither here nor there. It's not a true kink if it’s born out of desperation).

He calls Namjoon when he’s on the train. Namjoon can barely hear the betas voice over the noise in the emergency room. A three-car crash just came in and the emergency room is crowded with the scent of dying people. There is blood on the linoleum and the bottom of Namjoon’s shoes. But Namjoon picks up because he’d asked Yoongi to call him before he left.

If he had to place it, Namjoon’s not sure he could really tell the last time they’d kissed, his job keeps him away from the pack for days at a time. Coming home to sleep and shower and change and then go right back. Was it yesterday morning? Or over the three-day weekend? It had to have been sometime in between.

The static stretches between them, and Namjoon hears Yoongi’s warbly voice.

“Yoongi? I’m sorry baby but I can’t hear you?”  If Namjoon had known that it was the last time he’d hear Yoongi’s voice. He’d have gone to another room. He would have begged and bartered with the powers that be. Namjoon have run out of the hospital to drag Yoongi back if he’d only known. Would have chased down the train. Namjoon is selfish, he would have rather saved Yoongi than the people dying inside his hospital.

(Or Namjoon tells himself he would, but he knows he won’t. Yoongi isn’t dying, he’s just leaving, and that’s almost worse.)

He hears static, and then disconnects the call, sending him a quick text back where he tells him he’ll call on his break (if he even gets one today). Weeks later Namjoon will sob as he realizes he never got to say a proper goodbye.

But they hadn’t known. None of them had. In later months they’ll hold onto that and hate it. “If it was the last time, we were supposed to see him- we would have felt something Minnie” Taehyung would say, always the superstitious one in their little pack. Their little family.

But Yoongi has that. Something that isn’t them. Someone that isn’t them now. It’s hard to feel like that doesn’t change anything. But it does. It really does.

Yoongi had always been so cagey about his family and had never let slip too much. The pack collect the facts that they know. No names or numbers. No identities or clues. His parents are dead like Jin’s, but he’s got an older brother he doesn’t like. Yoongi hasn’t been home since the last family funeral, since he was 18. Was practically raised by his grandparents, still alive, now dead. Both or just one? There are questions here. Questions the pack does not have answers for.

There are no numbers to call when weeks pass without any word from their beta. Only a text here and there. Jimin leaves for a business trip and comes back more somber and quieter than ever. Yoongi stops responding to their messages after the second day. And then it’s radio silence.

The day Yoongi said he would return passes without the beta showing up at their door (with flowers and an apology) and they all know something has to be wrong. Irrevocably wrong. Yoongi used to say even if he was dying in a ditch somewhere he’d still claw his way towards them.

They leave dozens of calls and voicemails, pleading with long-form texts. Some that they regret and some that ring with truth.

Koo: (8:57pm): Please, can you just tell us if you’re okay? Hyung’s are worried.

Jinnie: (12:04am): I hate you for this, I swear to God Min Yoongi if you do not call us soon, I'm going to drag you back here by your ear.

Jinnie: (12:04am): don’t even bother coming home if it’s not with chocolates and flowers and a fucking unicorn or something

Jinnie: (12:04am): I swear to God if you don’t respond soon I’ll cut holes in your underwear

Jinnie (12:05am): and your socks,

Jinnie (12:05am): and ding your records.

Jinnie: (12:05am) Yoongi please. Just tell me if you’re alive.

That, they decided, was the only explanation for it. That he was hurt- or hurting somewhere. The only other possibility is that he left them- and that just isn’t something that they can reconcile. They’d always counted on one truth; that Yoongi loved them and now not even that seems true.

At first, every call to Yoongi’s phone goes to voicemail until the box is full and then it just beeps dolefully until the number gets disconnected on the third week. Jungkook doesn’t want to hear “This number is no longer connected to a cellular device” anymore. He just wants to hear the voice of his beta. Misses it. He tries to be strong for the others, but Jimin still catches him sniffing over his phone late at night, watching old videos of the 7 of them. The rest of the pack can’t bear to watch them.

Hoseok doesn’t even listen to music anymore. He spends his commute to the record store with his headphones left behind. Collecting dust on the bedside table. Unused and unwanted. Every song reminds him of Yoongi.

After the first month of silence, they have to address the possibility that Yoongi might not be coming back.

Maybe he was trying to let them down gently. Maybe Yoongi had found a new pack and moved on to them. Maybe he had decided that their pack was complete enough without him. Maybe being gone for his grandparents was just a lie- it had to be. If that was the truth- then why doesn't he just call.

It would be a simple thing, two minutes. Yes, I’m okay. Yes, I’m alive and unharmed thank you for asking. Yes, I’m leaving you. Sorry. You know how it is.

They’d be happy with that. Well not happy- but at least satisfied. Anything would be better than the silence.

One of Hoseok’s co-workers at the record store- the one that filled Yoongi’s position catches Hoseok crying in the bathroom during his break and he makes the mistake of confiding in the other alpha.

“What did you expect to happen? That he’d stay with you forever. He’s a beta Hoseok.” 

He’s a beta. Like that justifies it at all. Like secondary gender holds a candle to love. Hoseok doesn’t know what he’d do if he saw Yoongi again. if he’d fall into Yoongi’s arms and beg him to take him back or if he’d bite his head off. He bites of the head of his coworker and gets reprimanded for it, but it’s no use.

Namjoon makes him quit the job at the record store when Hoseok tells him about it. Comes home in something of a fugue state of rage. The kind where Hoseok is too upset to talk about it, but an anxious and distressed cloud follows him and sets everyone on edge. A cloud that Namjoon as pack alpha cannot allow to linger for long. Fragile and broken that they are.

Hoseok wants to hold onto the one place that was just his and Yoongi’s but it’s not really healthy for him anymore. Hoseok looks for Yoongi in the stacks of records, behind every rack of recording equipment. Always about to turn- about to comment on the weird album art or on one vinyl over the other, only to find the store empty. Yoongi’s name hovering on the tip of his tongue.

Their playlist still playing over the loudspeaker because Hoseok can’t shut it off. Yoongi’s love for him like an earworm that never fades. A song stuck in his head never ceases looping. Over and over again the best lines and the worst choruses. Hoseok can feel the base in his hands when nothing’s playing. The rhythm and beat all off. The melody missing. Like c-bat only worse.

So Namjoon encourages him to leave- Because Hoseok is having a rough time in general. He Stays up late listening to music when he can’t sleep. He can’t ever really sleep soundly anymore- a rough time- like I said. They all are. Some time off will be helpful for Hoseok.

And Jungkook too honestly.

Jungkook cries all the time, tears constantly dancing at the edge of his waterline, his dark brown eyes constantly wide and glassy. This time, it doesn’t have anything to do with the seizures coming back with a vengeance, although that happens too. He’s never had two in the same day before but 2 months after Yoongi leaves it happens.

He takes a few weeks off of work just until he gets a better handle on his diet and sleep schedule again. His clients at the gym and its owner are more than understanding. (it’s hard not to be, when Jungkook is one of their most popular personal trainers and his classes book out weeks in advance). But it’s hard to adjust when he can’t sleep- keeps reaching out for a scent that’s slowly fading from their bed. Slowly fading from their memories too.

Jungkook makes chocolate protein shakes but it’s not the same. After a little while- he asks Jin to buy him a different flavor.

Jungkook's seizures feel more like withdrawal symptoms, a barely susceptible tremor in his hands. Namjoon has seen his fair share of addicts at the hospital. And he can't help but recognize the same on-edge sense of hunger in Jungkook. But Namjoon can't fix this with love or medication.

Even when Jungkook's doctor tells the younger about a new medication that could help him. "Kookie” Namjoon had pleaded, looking at Jungkook like he’s more of a pup than an adult that can make medical decisions for himself. He’s pack alpha, Jungkook has to remind himself (though he’s never had to remind himself of that fact before Yoongi left) he’s just doing what he thinks is best for me. 

Even if it pisses him off when Namjoon treats him like a child. 

“I've seen these medications in action before, a lot of the time their side effects are worse than the seizures," the alpha had gripped Jungkook's sleeves in the cold hospital room, hands hitting the sensitive scent glands at his wrists to try, thumbs digging into them with a zing in an effort to comfort him.

“Please Jungkook, we can find a better way to handle this, you've got us." Jungkook doesn't say anything, but Namjoon can read his expression well enough. They might be able to support Jungkook in every possible way, but at the end of the day they can’t be who matters. They can’t stop the seizures before they come.

They're not Yoongi.

He just wants Yoongi back. To say ‘Koo’ in that soft special way when he walks in the door from work and sees Jungkook sitting at the kitchen table. The words said like a croon that make Jungkook fuzzy and Omegaspace soft. That makes him feel like melted chocolate (not unlike Yoongi’s scent). 

It starts to feel hollow when the others call him ‘Koo’ instead of ‘Kookie’. He yells at Tae about it. Koo was just for them- Just for Yoongi to call him. It doesn’t sound the same when they say it.

Koo- soft and sweet, the same way he’d said Minnie at the end of a long day too.

The Jimin of years ago would have scoffed and growled at being referred to as anything but his name. So used to having to posture to prove he was alpha enough for his mates. Sweet-smelling alphas almost always get treated that way. But Jimin was always the vanilla to Yoongi’s chocolate. But now Jimin craves it- the way the elder would bring him down to his lowest and most hidden instincts. The part of Jimin that was just a puppy- that wanted pets and kisses and everything in between- to be a good alpha for his beta. 

He hungers for those hidden moments when Yoongi’s dominant streak seemed a mile wide and Jimin didn’t have to be so tough for once. Didn’t have to be so watchful or on edge. “There you go baby- I knew you could be good for me.” Jimin wakes up more than once with those words ringing in his ears. Jimin is a dog without a master. A stray. Herding the others two and frow, snapping at anyone who comes close feels like too much. If Yoongi tamed his instincts, they run wild in his absence.

Jimin struggles not to close up for the others. They still need him. He knows that. But it’s hard not to feel like a rabid dog with his leg caught in a trap, gnawing off his own leg to survive when they’re all this sad. When his inner alpha is yelling at him to just do something. It’s hard to be in control of his emotions when he feels like he’s anything but. Jimin can’t fulfill his most basic instincts as an alpha and provide for his pack. Certainly, he couldn’t provide for Yoongi, at least not enough to get him to stay.

Namjoon and Jin help. Namjoon who turns the lights down low for Jimin as much as Jungkook on the bad seizure bad days. When Jimin looks like he’s going to shake out of his own skin if something prickly touches him or if he’s asked to drink water that’s too cold. Jimin would rather cry until he’s so dehydrated he passes out. Sometimes he can’t even speak through it. But the pack alpha and omega don’t mind.  Jin sets out Jimin’s favorite pair of warn pajamas. Not just the right texture but the right color too, always black but with holes at the collar that Jungkook listlessly tucks his hands into. The holes where Jimin can feel his packmate's skin all sweet-sensitive and sensory.

They let him stay quiet and enjoy the feeling until he lets Namjoon pull him down for a scent mark. And the pack alpha rubs his chin against Jimin’s throat, his cheeks, everywhere spreading out his scent of coffee. Thick and comforting and alpha. Enough that everyone will be able to smell it on Jimin tomorrow when he’s away from the pack. A mark to stay away, a mark that shows Jimin isn’t a wild dog, isn’t a stray. That he belongs somewhere.

Jimin has to force himself to stay pliant. To let the pack alpha get at his throat when he’s like this- sensitive and vulnerable. His inner instincts are like a cornered dog, and the only person who he never nips at is Tae.

Jimin tries to believe it when Namjoon says, "There we go Minnie, let alpha make it all better. It’s going to be alright." when he finally lets out a choked grumble and his body goes slack. Like a marionette with its strings cut. The haze of alpha-space on the edge of his vision and the taste of his pack alpha’s scent on his tongue.

There is something intoxicating about the pack alpha; how much larger he is than Jimin and the way he drags him in and reminds him how to be soft after he’s spent the week bickering and getting angry over the small things. Jimin might spend his 9-5 protecting other people, but it's nice to let someone else do it for a change.

Jimin's Gunsmoke angry unhappy scent has always been one of the more pungent. Making Jimin relax helps all of them.

Through dinner, and the scenting, through even sleep. Namjoon’s phone sits on the table waiting for a phone call that never comes.

Their predicament isn’t exactly uncommon- most betas have a few packs that they stay with periodically. Maybe he finally got too frustrated with putting down roots. Maybe the restlessness finally overtook him, and he just wanted to branch out. Where they too stifling? Too needy? They couldn’t fault him for that- even if they are angry that he left without a word. 

He didn’t have to be mean about it is all. They were owed more than what they got. A shitty goodbye and unanswered calls.

As much as Jungkook tries to think through it, it just doesn't make any sense. Yoongi wouldn't do this to them. He would never leave them hanging unless he had to. But that anger becomes bargaining as the weeks become months.  

In the meantime, Taehyung puts his longing for Yoongi into words.

It’s been years since he wrote so much. Since before college before the inclination to create was burned out of him the pessimistic attitudes of his professors. According to them his works were always a little too grammatically incorrect and fanciful. A cross-section between poetry and prose, neither that nor this, and therefor ill-fitting in either category. Tae’s creativity is too intimate and vulnerable to survive an appraising eye for long. Like a flower with shallow roots. The things he writes are too close to his chest not to feel like wounds.

(Do you like the way I bleed? Should I make It more entertaining for you? Are you bored yet? Does it look pretty enough for you yet? Am I sweet enough to give you a tooth ache still?)

Back then, before the pack, he and Jimin had lived apart. And Tae learned to save the pieces of his sensitive heart and hide them in longhand love letters that they’d sent back and forth. Before Jimin had finally found a job and moved to the city with him.

Now Tae writes that longhand love letters for Yoongi- shoves them in between pages of books so that he doesn’t have to think about them. Compartmentalizing his hurt into sentences and paragraphs. No one loves me quite like you did he writes, red ink that might as well be his blood for how much it hurts to pen the words that Yoongi might never read. 

Isn’t it strange how we all love each other so differently Hyung? It used to feel like fabric- my strands pink, yours red, Jimin’s black. But you pulled out all your threads Hyung and we’re fraying. It can’t keep us warm like it used too.

And yet, that pain is still a paper cut compared to how much Taehyung hurts without Yoongi by his side.

These letters aren’t like the ones he wrote for Jimin all those years ago. No- those are saved and shared between the two of them when Jimin snaps at him and they fight (this happens more after the stress of Yoongi leaving and a very bad rut season- a perfect storm for their worst fight in years). They only open the shoebox that holds the love letters when he and Jimin need a reminder that the foundation of their love isn’t something that can be damaged by petty words, bad days.

Or even Yoongi’s absence.

Jimin has never abandoned him the way that Yoongi has; not when he wanted to go to an expensive school in the city away from their hometown. Leaving Jimin to work at the same martial arts studio as always. Not when they were so poor that they could only see each other when Jimin saved up enough money to take the train into the city. Once a month if they were lucky. 

In one of the first love letters Taehyung ever wrote, it goes; ‘I crave the easy look you give me when it’s the first time you’ve seen me in months. Where I am the earth and you the moon. And it feels dizzying like I am the thing you desire most, more than flowers want for sunshine, more than hunger wants for meat, Your tornado and your torrent. Under your eyes, I feel like a force of nature. Like luck or maybe like fate. Kissing you tastes like colors I don’t have words for.’

Losing Yoongi feels like that- disorienting, and Tae is unable to find a pattern in life without him. Sometimes he goes weeks without writing letters. Other times he writes Yoongi three times in the same day. On the backs of receipts and napkins. Stained with tears and oil from french-fries.

One night Namjoon finds Taehyung asleep at their dining room table, back hunched over some letters with a pen still in his hand. Tae wakes with a start when the pack alpha skims a hand down his back. Fingers carving lovingly down his spine. Waking him up softly to drag him back to the safety of the nest.

These days Namjoon doesn’t let any of them sleep in the spare room; too dangerous, to have the pack fractured further at nesting time. A kind sized bed smushed together with a queen that just barely fits all of them now full of empty spaces. The nest never feels full anymore. Tae knows just from the soft look in Namjoon’s eyes that he’s read some of the words. Maybe the ink has bled onto Taehyung’s cheek where it was pressed to the letter. 

Words like the tattoos on his soul, each of their names written over and over again. There is no more room left on Taehyung’s soul, no more room for another name and no room left for another person to make a home out of his heart- the same way Taehyung had found a home in Yoongi’s. 

(That’s a little bit of a lie- Tae just hasn’t met you yet). 

Taehyung’s worried about what Namjoon might have read, he doesn’t know if he could handle Namjoon trying to talk to him about his feelings right now. (It’s good that it was Namjoon who found him, if it were Jin- the omega would have probably stayed up late to psychoanalyze Tae’s emotions).

Taehyungs delicate hands splay across the page. Hiding it from view. ‘You were the knife to my cadaver. I understand that you had to leave, but what I don’t understand is why you had to take so much of me with you. If you weren’t planning on treasuring me, the least you could have done is leave me whole. Tossed me back into the ocean like a piece of sea glass that needs more polishing.’

Or even worse, the lines that aren’t as pretty but just as true.

‘If I ever see you again, I think I’ll start crying on sight. I don’t think we’ll ever really meet again. This body will never know your touch, your love again. Like stars never know wishes. Maybe we were just soulmates that met a lifetime too soon. Maybe in the next life, I will hold onto you better. Maybe at the pearly gates, you will be my only sweet regret. If you’re already dead, I’ll wish I was too. I wish I could hate you as much as I love you.’

Tae knows he’s better off having known Yoongi. However fleeting. 3 years wasn’t enough, a whole lifetime wouldn’t be enough. But that doesn’t mean he’s not fucking angry.

His hand crumples up one edge of a newspaper before Namjoon has the chance to see it. The words that Namjoon absolutely cannot see. The ones he doesn't let any of them read. I think it's a good thing that I never showed you that side of me, knowing how indelicate you were with leaving. At least you loved me once. This version of me. I guess I shouldn’t be so angry.

Afterall, I lied to you first.

Namjoon doesn't notice Tae throw out the tiny slip of paper and Tae knows from experience that it will go unnoticed and unturned over in the wastepaper basket.  

They look back and try to remember the last few months Yoongi was in their lives and think through what might have gone wrong. None of them can put their finger on it. Why did Yoongi leave and where did he go? Sometimes they’d settle for just knowing that he was alive and safe. Jungkook can't shake the feeling that something must have happened to Yoongi, something bad, for him to leave.

Four months pass without a word. Sometimes Seokjin wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, the taste of blood and rainwater on his tongue.

They all feel like they did before Yoongi collected them and made a home out of their house. Made people out of their fragile souls. Gave them purpose like hands search for hatchets and fire searches for fuel.

Maybe they should have expected this Seokjin thinks, lying awake in the nest at night, the nest absent of Namjoon and Jimin, on an overnight shift and a business trip a few cities over. Hobi near the edge of the nest, nose raised to the nighttime to scent any displeasure on the air. Seokjin has always been good at meditating his scent neutral. Controlling the pulse of his heart and the adrenaline in his body so as to not trigger a spike in his unhappy scent. As sensitive as all his alpha’s are- Jin is ever mindful. They all need their rest.

“Do you think he’ll ever come back?” Jungkook asks. Awake. The younger omega’s hands soft and downy like feathers fluttering through Jin’s hands, treading between his fingers.  Both of them happy for some quality one-on-one cuddle time.

The youngest omega has always been so sweet, and that sweetness seems twofold underneath the light of the moon spilling through the window. Jungkook doesn’t cry so much anymore and neither does Jin, just once a week or so instead of every night.

In the darkness- Seokjin can pretend that Yoongi’s there. The memory of Yoongi haunts all of them in different ways, right now he’s a ghost in the corner of their room. 

If Yoongi were here, would he be asleep between the two of them? Would Jungkook pull the betas legs between his knees just to get a little closer? Hands playing on the half almost abs steady softness that Yoongi's always had for a tummy. The perfect medium between plush and hard. Would he toy with the softness while Seokjin tucked his face into Yoongi's neck? Would they each take one of his hands in the darkness? 

Yoongi's hands were always a sensitive part of him. And now- Seokjin grasps at the bedspread and pretends, just for a second. This far into the city there aren’t a lot of stars to see, outside the window the night sky is empty, but the moon is always there.

Seokjin gets through Yoongi’s presence by pretending he never left. By closing his eyes and remembering that for a little while, for a long while really, He had something really really good.

“I’m not sure Kookie, we’ll have to wait and see.”

Seokjin kisses the distressed curve of Jungkook’s jaw, smoothing away the listlessness as best he can with a hand down his neck, to his chest and lower. He and Jungkook made the nest earlier to curl up in, just the two of them. And yet- it doesn’t ease the pain in Seokjin’s heart. Doesn’t comfort either of them as much as it should. 

Items of Yoongi are put sparingly in the nest, they don’t smell like him anymore, it’s more out of routine than anything else. It’s been too long. They’ve given up preserving Yoongi’s scent for Jungkook’s seizures. Unlike those first few weeks when it still felt like he was all around and Seokjin only had to close his eyes and pretend that his life partner- the man he’d been with for almost 6 years- was still there.

No one aches over the loss more than Seokjin, and no one misses him more. The others do their best to comfort their oldest omega, to be home at certain times so that he doesn’t get too nervous. But it only takes a small break in their schedule to get Seokjin pacing back and forth in front of the door. Nearly brought to tears at the thought that they might not be coming home.

His anxious spirals take him to dark places. There is no limit to tragedies that could befall them, hit by a car, or a victim of a train derailment. Worst are the days when they get stuck in traffic, when they stumble through the door and into Jin’s arms. 

The eldest omega bursts into tears the second he sees them, the second he hears footsteps by the door. “You were late- I thought you were- I thought I was-” I thought I was alone again.

“I know my love, I’m so sorry- it was just an accident on the road, traffic- you know I’m safe- you know I never speed.”

Seokjin couldn’t handle losing them. Not a single packmate. It would destroy him and he knows it. He knows what this is, a common symptom in omegas after they lose a pup or a packmate. He learned about 'nest anxiety' when he was in university, but knowing what it is doesn't help him cure it in himself. Making a nest doesn't give him the same satisfying rush it used to. And won’t again until all his packmates are inside of it.

That’s impossible now, Seokjin’s anxiety has nowhere to go.

It’s a terrible breach of the pack contracts to want a keep to beta for your own. It goes against all social convention and all reason. Society has come to expect this, that beta’s will jump from pack to pack. But that doesn’t make it any easier to endure.  

Whatever way you cut it the facts of their situation are the same. They weren’t enough. The 6 of them didn’t give Yoongi enough love. And he had to go find it somewhere else.

Missing Yoongi has carved a hole out of Seokjin’s heart- a space where nothing can fit besides fond memories, placed there delicately. Like to remember them too frequently would dilute them and make the love feel less real in memory. The more Seokjin wants him back- the more he feels like it never happened at all. Like their love story was only a good dream.

They all feel like they did before Yoongi was there. Before he made a home out of their house, and a person out of their souls and wants. They feel like graves, shaky and unsettled. The fallow ground where once there was fruitful love. Greif settles into their routine like the winter.

The house isn’t full of music anymore. They come and go from the apartment marking the hours apart without comment. Hoseok and Jimin don’t go for drives anymore. There are no more Doughnuts to be done in Namjoon’s car. There is no more wildness in Namjoon’s body left, only exhaustion.

Seokjin doesn’t cook nearly as often, take out is just easier. Seokjin doesn’t comment that it’s the first snow of the year when it begins to fall. His body already frozen solid.

Jungkook’s seizures gets marked on the refrigerator. 12 in October. 17 in November. 22 in December. Yoongi’s flannel hangs on the hooks by the front door, and no one touches it.

Hoseok and Yoongi planted flowers in the window boxes on the balcony last spring. Because Hoseok asked him to help and Yoongi obediently held the tray and swept the dirt over the edge. When the same plants come up again in March Hoseok can’t even look at them. It gets a little bit better when he starts to notice them around the city, the other touches of spring. The fresh leaves on the edge of branches. The bulbs poking up through the earth. The flowers aren’t just a memory of Yoongi. Not anymore.

Every hint of yellow in the grey winter landscape feels like a soft reminder of healing. Grief can only last so long, like the season it has it’s cycles. Big and painful one moment. A soft lesson that fills you with bitterness the next. That the sound of Yoongi’s absence gets quieter and quieter as the months drag on and they come to terms with it.

Hoseok isn’t unemployed for long. He gets a job at a flower shop sort of across town, it’s sort of a commute and sort of on the edge of suburbia where the houses grow big and old and fancy, but it’s alright. It feels good to have a reason to go outside of the apartment again. A different place to haunt where memories of Yoongi do not follow him like a disembodied life.

Hoseok gets to make bouquets that make people smile. Roses and peonies, daisies and sunflowers. It doesn’t matter that distance separates them. Hoseok will always be the sunflower pointing in the direction of his sun. Everything will always remind Hoseok of Yoongi one way or another.

Hoseok lets himself smile when he feels the impulse and cry when he can’t handle it anymore. He knows to appreciate a good thing even though it’s gone. He’ll always have memories of Yoongi; how he was the kind of lover to make your interests his own. Yoongi was always the kind of person who’d do something with you just to make sure you didn’t have to enjoy it alone, the perfect company. 

Hoseok walks to work, always with one headphone in, the other headphone is meant for Yoongi. The same way they did when they worked at the record shop together. 

(He’d never know because he switched jobs, but on the rainy days when fog sinks into the city like a fresh sheet, there is a figure outside the windows of that record store looking in. The record store owner is just closing up the day. Locking the door when he lifts his head against the rain. “He quit.” is all he says, all he needs to say before the figure slinks away without a word. Returning to the rain and fog.)

Yoongi finds the flower shop, and Hoseok. The stolen moment when he lets himself look through the foggy windows at the unmistakable red head bobbing to unheard music. One headphone in like always, it makes Yoongi smile. He leaves before Hoseok can spot him looking in. A spare 10 feet away, but Hoseok would never know.

Yoongi is their ghost- and he haunts them in more ways than one.  

When Hoseok looks up from his phone, he finds a palm print pressed into the fog of the window. But when he goes outside to look- the streets are completely empty. He doesn't tell the others. Can’t- he won’t get their hopes up when it was probably just some creep looking in. Hoseok needs to stop seeing Yoongi everywhere he goes, really. He feels like he’s gonna go crazy if he doesn't stop daydreaming about the beta. 

They never move apartments. They can’t. What if Yoongi tries to find them again and he shows up at their door? What kind of packmates would they be if they went to a place where he couldn’t follow? Months pass and Namjoon wakes up on the 6-month anniversary of the last time he saw Yoongi and just feels off.

There is something wrong, but he couldn’t tell you what. He puts on his suit feeling like he’s wading through fog. He commutes to work, drops off Tae and Jungkook. Goes on his way. Forgetting to check his phone for Jin’s ‘got to work safe’ morning text. The rotation of patients swirls around him like dishes on a lazy Susan. The one common denominator in their pain and suffering and sickness is Namjoon.

On his way home, he passes the parking lot where he and Seokjin and Yoongi did donuts in the first night they met. It’s being ripped up to make room for more retail space. Namjoon remembers the way that night had smelled, chocolate and cream mixed with the smell of burning rubber and French fries. 

Namjoon’s hands tighten on the wheel and all he knows is that he’s crying too hard to drive home. He calls his pack so someone can come and pick him up because he can’t drive in this state. He stays like that. In the empty parking lot walled in by chain link fences until Jimin pulls him from the car so carefully. His body smaller than Namjoon’s as he lifts him under the arms but no less strong as he puppets Namjoon into his car without a word, where Jin is already waiting in the back seat.  Wiping away his tears that just don’t seem to end.

He cries so hard he bursts a blood vessel in his nose, staining the front of Jin's shirt with blood. Hoseok drives his car home.

At every red light, Jin meets Jimin’s eyes in the mirror. Silently reassuring him that everything will be okay even if they both know that's a lie. Things haven’t been alright since Yoongi’s left.  

Namjoon is a wreck. Absolutely destroyed. He cries all the way home, until Jungkook’s popped the buttons on his shirt, until Tae has washed the sad off of him. Until he’s cried himself hoarse and exhausted. Like he’s stored the last 6 months’ worth of misery and missing Yoongi and let them all out right now.

He needs a full week off work to get back to where he was before; a different one of his mates uses their sick days on a different day of the week so that Namjoon’s not alone at the apartment. They’re all healing at different speeds. It just took a second for it to hit the pack alpha and for him to know that they’d be okay. Namjoon made sure each of them were going to be okay before he broke and that has to count for something.

Namjoon craves Yoongi. Craves his hands. He remembers Yoongi’s fingers sliding down his palm, tracing the lines there when they used to watch Jimin and Hoseok dance in their crowded living room- everyone keeping their feet tucked into their seat to give them both more room. Yoongi pressed tight against his side.

Namjoon remembers holding Yoongi’s hand when they would walk through the neon streets at night, a bottle of soju that they would switch back and forth, from lips to hands, to another set of lips. Indirect kisses.

It takes him a while. But eventually, things start to feel a little bit normal. Not quite the way that they used to be. But not straight terrible either. Spring is coming again. The daffodils are just starting to come up. And Namjoon gets up in the morning, knowing that even if Yoongi never comes back, he’ll be okay. They’ll all be okay. They can manage like this. Really. They’re going to be fine.

And then after 7 months- at a random fucking grocery store at 2pm on a fucking random Tuesday in April- Jimin sees him.

He finds Yoongi.

~-~

(Read the first Version of this story Here)

Notes:

-In my mind, if bily where a movie, the scene where Yoongi is cleaning the blood from his footsteps and the scene where Namjoon is calling him would blend really seamlessly into each other.

- Ahhhh I realize this was the first time we get a bit of Jimin’s internal monologue <3 it’s a shame that it’s so sad. I’m happy that I was able to touch on his sensory issues a little bit earlier in the story in this version.

- You cannot believe the hatred I have for the words ‘you’re so sweet you’re giving me a toothache.’ Honestly any man or woman who says that needs to be taken out back and shot. I have very few things that trigger me worse than that.

- After all these years I still love the line ‘Afterall, I lied to you first’ it’s so fucking good.

[vodika-vibes]

Did You Know? - A Request from @wax-birds

Summary: You've been the Batch's medic since well before the Jedi Purge happens, and it just made sense to stick with them when they defected. Recently, Tech's been going out of his way to tell you random facts, and at first you were confused, but you're starting to understand what his game is.

Pairing: TBB Tech x F!Reader

Word Count: 1618

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I hope this is close to what you wanted. I made up the planet, but I think the bird is an actual thing in the Star Wars verse...I didn't actually do any research, lol.

“Did you know,” You lift your gaze from your datapad to look at Tech, who’s standing awkwardly in the door to your area of the marauder, “the Morai birds mate for life and should their mate pass they remain in the nest waiting for them to return.”

“I…was not aware of that.” You say, “I also didn’t know that you were interested in the mating practices of birds.”

“Ah, well,” He nervously rubs the back of his neck, “I am interested in a wide range of topics.”

Amusement lifts your lips into a smile, “And your fixation for the week is birds?” You tease very gently.

“They are very brightly colored.” Tech offers, “And are native to the planet we are about to visit.” He hesitates, “And I remembered that you have a Morai tattoo.”

“Aww, Tech.” You clasp your hands under your chin, “You’re sweet, learning things about my favorite animals simply because they’re my favorite.”

“I…well, not solely for you. Omega had questions-”

“I DID NOT!” Omega shouts from the next room.

Tech ignores her with the long practice of an older brother, “And then I remembered your tattoo-”

Omega appears next to him, her face is scrunched up, “Stop lying! You looked that stuff up specifically-mmph!” Tech slaps his hand over Omega’s mouth, stopping her from talking.

“Thank you, Omega.”

Your gaze flickers from the annoyed preteen, to Tech, and then back again. “Well then, if neither of you are injured, I need to get back to work.”

Omega pulls Tech’s hand away from her mouth, “Tech just hit me!”

“I did no such thing.”

“I have bruises!”

“You do not.”

“I want you to arrest him!” Omega declares dramatically as she points at her brother.

“I’m a medic, Meg, not a cop.” You reply with a small grin, “You want someone to punish him for hitting you, go to Hunter.”

“Maybe I will!” Omega says loudly, before she rounds on her heel, “Hunter!”

“Why would you tell her that?” Tech asks with a sigh.

You wink at him, “Well, if you get hurt, it means that you get one on one attention, doesn’t that sound fun?”

Tech averts his eyes, but a small smile lifts the corner of his lips, “I suppose it does not sound…awful.” He finally says as he catches your gaze, for a moment, just a moment, there’s something hot and needy in his gaze, before it’s quickly banked, and he turns away from you. “I will leave you to your work. We will be landing on Mora in three days.”

You know your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you. You know what you saw. And you are very, very interested.

And so you flash a small smile, even as a plan starts forming in your mind, “I’ll be ready.”

Tech glances at you one more time, and then slips out of your workspace just as Hunter shouts for him, and you muffle your laugh. Sometimes, a lot of times, the men you travel with are so obviously brothers that it’s hilarious.

In fact, you’re pretty sure you heard Echo and Wrecker arguing over Wrecker stealing some of Echo’s snacks only a little bit ago.

Still, you wouldn’t trade this job for any other medical career in the galaxy.

After all, where else would an incredibly handsome man flirt with you using bird facts?

Three days later, the Marauder lands on Mora, and you, with your medical kit slung over your shoulder, and your camera in hand, couldn’t be more excited.

“Alright,” Hunter says, getting everyone’s attention. “It looks like we have five different places we need to visit.”

“It’ll be faster if we split up,” You offer reasonably, “Using the buddy system, of course.” You add once you see the look on Hunter’s face. “And naturally, I won’t be paired off with Omega, since we’re both harmless.”

“I have a crossbow,” Omega reminds you with a pout.

“Ah, right. My mistake.”

“So that means you’re the only one here who’s harmless.” Echo teases as he bumps you with his shoulder.

“Yeah, well…before all else, do no harm, etc, etc-” You reply with a grin, as you bump him right back.

“Anyway,” Hunter interrupts, “Splitting up and using the buddy system isn’t a terrible idea. I’ll go with Omega. Tech-”

“I do not mind going with the doctor,” He interrupts, “As I understand, one of these locations has medical equipment she needs to inspect.”

Hunter looks at him, disbelievingly. 

“It’s not a bad idea,” You offer cheerfully, “If anything is broken, I might not notice right away.”

Hunter turns his disbelieving gaze on you next, and you just beam at him. 

“Fine. Tech and the Doc are going together. Which leaves Echo and Wrecker.” Hunter says, “Any complaints? Good. Omega, come on.”

You grin as the other groups walk off in different directions, and then you turn your gaze on Tech, who’s watching you with a small smile on his lips, “Shall we?” You ask.

“It should not take that long to get the equipment that we need.” He agrees, as he turns in the direction of the shop, and then waits for you to fall into step next to him. 

“It shouldn’t,” You agree, “The longest part will really be you making sure that the equipment looks like it’s in working order.” 

He glances at you, “You really would not be able to determine if the gear was in working order?”

“Of course I’d be able to tell. I just wanted to spend time with you.” You reply with an unrepentant grin.

“O-oh.”

You cheerfully take his hand in yours and you lace your fingers with his, “Anyway, once we have the stuff delivered to the ship, we can look around on our own. I need a new jacket.”

Tech is staring at your joined hands, as if he’s not sure what to make of it, and then he slowly squeezes your hand, and is rewarded with a blinding grin. The moment he realizes that it’s intentional, some of the nervous tension drains from him. “Is there something wrong with your jacket?”

“Well…no. Not really.” You shrug, “It just doesn’t match.”

“...What does it not match?”

You sigh, “You and your brothers. My leather jacket is white! It needs to be darker so I actually look like I belong.”

“You do belong.” Tech says, “You are the most important member of the squad.”

“We both know that’s not true.” You say with a laugh.

“It is true,” Tech insists, “We would be lost several times over without you.”

“Aww, you’re sweet.”

“I am honest.” Tech replies, “You have saved all of our lives on many occasions. We owe you everything.” He pauses, “And I prefer it when you wear white. It makes it easier to see you on the battlefield.”

“That’s not necessarily a good thing.” You point out as the pair of you come to a stop in front of the shop that’s holding the medical equipment that you need to look at.

Tech doesn’t reply right away as he enters the shop, “I think you look nice in white.” He finally says and then he turns his attention towards the shopkeeper and offers the name on the order.

Inspecting the machines takes a lot longer than you would prefer. A lot longer than Tech would prefer too, based on the look on his face, but there’s no way around it. Cid would have your heads if any of the machines were damaged in any way.

But finally, finally, you’re able to confirm the delivery, and you slump against Tech, exhausted. “This is the worst job ever.” You whine.

Tech glances at you, “Well, we are done now.”

“Until Cid gives us another job.” You grumble, and then you lay your cheek against his shoulder, “We used to fight for the good of the Republic, this work is demeaning.”

“But Cid does pay us,” Tech reminds you quietly, “Which is what we need.”

You hum thoughtfully, “Yeah, I guess.”

You take his hand again, and then tug him away from the shop. “Where are we going?” Tech asks, though he doesn’t seem to have any problems with trailing after you.

You just grin at him, and tug him down an alley. “I wanted to go somewhere private.” You reply once you’re not surrounded by people.

“For what purpose?” Tech asks.

“For this one.” You stand on your toes and brush your lips against his, before you pull away, “I don’t know if maybe I’m misreading things-” You murmur, though you’re not able to finish your sentence, as he tugs you against him and crashes his lips against yours. 

One of his hands slides up into your hair, while the other tightly grips your hips, pulling you as close as he can. And when he breaks the kiss, his lips hovering just over yours, you can’t help but grin, “I take it I wasn’t misreading then?” You ask.

“I do not think you ever have.” Tech admits.

“Go me,” Your smile is soft and warm, “Hey, Tech?”

“Hm?”

“Did you know that I think about you all the time?” He blinks at you, startled, “And that I would be really, really happy if you loved me as much as I love you?”

“And here I thought that I was being obvious.” Tech murmurs, before he kisses you again and again, “Of course I feel the same way. Or else I would not be kissing you.”

You grin and lightly kiss him again.

“Did you know,” Tech says quietly, “That I think about you all of the time too?”

At that a bubbly laugh falls from your lips, “I do now.”

[clangenrising]

Month 15 - Newleaf

Prev | First | Next

Mystique went into labor around sunhigh. Russetfrond was out on border patrol when it happened and the moment he got back, Barleybee came to let him know. 

“Thank you,” he said, gratitude quickly overwhelmed with nerves. 

“Of course,” she smiled sympathetically. “She’s still in the elders’ den. Sagetooth and my dad are with her.” 

“Alright,” he nodded. They stood there for an awkward moment, neither sure what to do, before Barleybee dipped her head and left him to his business. His mind was completely empty and going faster than a frightened rabbit at the same time. After either a few moments or several minutes, he wasn’t sure, Russetfrond gathered himself together and went to sit outside the elders’ den. 

He resisted the urge to pace or to barge into the den to ask how things were going. He’d seen too many anxious parents-to-be get their ears chewed off by Sagetooth when they intruded on a kitting in progress. Instead, he sat still and tried to focus on his breathing, on emptying all worry from his mind. Today was important, the birth of his eldest kits. He wasn’t going to squander it worrying. He was going to focus on his new family, on the beginning of a new chapter in his ultimate legacy. 

The time dragged by at an unbearable crawl. Every so often a cat stopped by to congratulate him or ask him how things were going. He remained as polite as possible but kept things short. He didn’t want any distractions. 

Eventually, an hour or so later, Sagetooth stepped outside, blood on her paws, and glanced over at him. “Are you ready?” 

“Is any father ever ready?” he asked, almost hoping she would say yes.

“I wouldn’t know,” she shrugged. A quiet moment passed as Sagetooth let her gaze drift across the camp. When it finally settled on him again, she said, “Congratulations on two healthy boys. Be warned though: the kittypet is in a mood.” 

“I’m sure I can handle it,” he said, a fond smile spreading across his face. “Thank you, Sagetooth. I mean it.” 

“Of course, kit,” she softened slightly. “Go meet your sons.” Russetfrond nodded and slipped past her into the den, letting his tail brush against her leg as he did. Inside, Mystique was laying in her nest, her head flat on the ground like a mopy kitten while she talked softly with Oddstripe. 

“-bring you some chamomile later,” Oddstripe was saying. “It’s gonna be alright, sweetheart. Don’t hesitate to call me if you start feeling any worse.” 

“...‘Kay,” Mystique sighed moodily, eyes flickering over Russetfrond. He tried not to scowl. 

Oddstripe bumped foreheads with Mystique and then picked up the birthwaste and stood to leave. Spotting Russetfrond he frowned slightly, if sympathetically, and slipped out of the den past him. Russetfrond shifted his weight, looked at Mystique, and she sighed and rolled her eyes over to the far wall. 

Russetfrond stepped closer, focusing on the two gently squirming bodies nestled up against her belly. They were so tiny. Russetfrond realized suddenly that he’d never seen kittens this… new. The kits - his boys - were a little wet yellow lump and a little wet blue lump mewling pathetically as they wriggled closer to Mystique. It was strange, the surge of emotion that he felt upon seeing them. He’d never felt so intensely protective before, it was a bit startling. 

“Hello, there, little ones,” he said awkwardly, crouching down beside them. “I’m your father.” Mystique huffed and shifted her position a little bit, still not looking at him. He couldn’t stop himself from scowling at her but tried to soften his expression again with a sigh. 

“You haven’t named them yet, have you?” he asked, a note of irritation sneaking in to his voice despite his best efforts. 

“No,” Mystique said as if he were the dumbest cat alive. “Why would I name them?” 

That caused his hackles to rise. “Because they’re your children, mouse-brain,” he scoffed.

Mystique’s tail lashed and she flopped her head sideways to glare at him. “No, I feel like you made it pretty clear they were your children.” 

“Look,” Russetfrond took a deep breath to try and anchor himself, “I didn’t come in here to fight with you, let’s just… forget it, alright?” 

“Easy for you to say,” Mystique grumbled, looking away again. Russetfrond dug his claws into the earth and did his very best not to say anything at all. After a few, slow breaths, he refocused on the kittens. They would need names, of course. He had unfortunately forgotten to think about names before now. 

“I’ll call them…” He hesitated before going with the first thoughts that came to mind, “Bluekit and Yellowkit.”

“Wow,” Mystique laughed and he could hear the eye roll in her voice, “so original.” 

“If you think they’re bad names then why don’t you try to do better,” he snapped, tail bristling. 

“I don’t give a shit what you call them,” growled Mystique. “The moment Sagetooth lets me, I'm going home and I’ll never see them or you ever again!” 

“Well, that’s fine by me,” Russetfrond huffed. “I wouldn’t want you influencing them anyway.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Mystique laughed harshly, “better to have a bunch of murderers raise them. That’s SO much better!” 

Russetfrond bristled. “Your brother was the murderer. He attacked Goldenstar out of spite, I was just defending my Clan.” 

“Well clearly it wasn’t that bad ‘cause she’s fine,” Mystique snarled. Tears were starting to form in her eyes and drip down the bridge of her nose. “You think you’re so special but you’re never gonna convince me that it’s good that you killed him! I hate you! I hate you and your stupid kits and this stupid den!”

“Don’t talk about them like that,” he growled lowly. 

“You’re lucky I don’t throw them in the river!” hissed Mystique.

Russetfrond bristled and arched his back. “You harm one hair on their pelts and I’ll make sure you never see your precious twolegs again! Is that what you want?” 

“I want to go home!” she cried at the top of her lungs and the kittens squealed in displeasure. “I want my brother back!” 

“Well too bad!” he shouted back at her. “You can’t always have what you want, you spoiled little brat!” 

“I hate you!” Mystique screamed, eyes shut tight with the effort of it. “I hate you! I hate you! I-”

“What is going on in here!?” Sagetooth’s voice cut through their argument, quick and sharp, leaving Russetfrond standing in a puddle of guilt. The healer’s eyes flicked between the both of them, looking for a culprit. Russetfrond couldn’t hold her gaze and dropped his eyes to the floor shamefully. Mystique breathed harshly through her nose and looked away again. 

“Out,” Sagetooth ordered Russetfrond. 

He couldn’t think of anything to say. With an affirmative grunt, he stepped outside. Fogpaw and Slatepaw were staring with wide eyes from the fresh-kill pile. Pantherhaze, Ospreymask, Barleybee, and Lakekit had all emerged to see what was going on. Shame covered Russetfrond like a winter coat. Unable to bear their stares, he strode briskly into the healers’ den and tucked himself away out of sight. 

There was a long moment of quiet guilt - why had he done that? What was wrong with him? - and then he heard Sagetooth snapping at the assembled cats, “Where did he go?” 

“Your den,” offered Slatepaw obediently. 

“Thank you,” said Sagetooth just as harshly as she had inquired after him and he braced himself. Sagetooth came stomping in, tail lashing back and forth, and spotted him immediately. He expected her to start laying into him but instead, she sighed and trundled over to sit next to him. 

“I tried to warn you,” she grumbled. 

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not entirely your fault,” Sagetooth shook her head. “Mystique is reacting poorly to the pregnancy.” 

“Clearly,” he huffed. 

“No, I mean physically,” Sagetooth said. “Kitting takes a toll on a cat and sometimes it can make them miserable for seemingly no reason. They call it a Kitten Crash.” 

“Oh,” he frowned in surprise. 

“So,” Sagetooth continued, her own voice strained with frustration for a moment, “as much as her particular form of crashing drives me mad, we need to be gentle with her.” It was clear Sagetooth was going to have as much trouble with that as he was. “She can’t exactly help it. And if her symptoms worsen, it could be very bad.” 

“Bad how?” asked Russetfrond carefully.

“Well, she could stop eating,” Sagetooth sighed. “Or refuse to nurse. Worst case scenario she tries to hurt herself or the kits.” 

“What?” fear spiked through his body like a jolt of electricity. “Shouldn’t we get them away from her?”

“No,” Sagetooth shook her head again. “She’s the only one who can feed them at the moment and that’s not a guarantee, it’s just a worst case scenario. That’s why we need to be gentle with her. The less stressed she is, the less likely it is that she’ll do something foolish.” 

Russetfrond swallowed, throat tight, and sat with that information for a bit. The idea of leaving a dangerous cat alone with his kits, a cat who hated him so much, made every inch of his pelt crawl like it was full of ants. She had already threatened to throw them in the river, a threat that was suddenly a lot more serious than he had first thought. 

“You’re sure it will be alright?” he asked eventually. 

“If it gets to a point where it’s dangerous, we’ll do something about it,” Sagetooth said. “She should probably still have a guard at all times so they can monitor her for any bad behavior.” Russetfrond nodded and started thinking of the best cats to do that. 

“The important thing,” Sagetooth continued, “is to keep her happy. Oddstripe and I will do our best on the herbs side of things but you should probably stay out of the den, at least for a while.” 

Russetfrond sighed and nodded. “Alright. That won’t affect the kits negatively?” 

“I don’t think so,” Sagetooth said. “Not anymore than a normal foundling would be affected.” Russetfrond hummed in discomfort. It wasn’t ideal, that was for sure, but what else could he do? He didn’t want to accidentally provoke Mystique into harming the kittens.

“Did you name them?” asked Sagetooth.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, shaking his thoughts away. “Yellowkit and Bluekit, respectively.” 

Sagetooth huffed a little laugh. “Well, I can’t say they’re not fitting.” Russetfrond smiled a little. “Congratulations, by the way,” continued Sagetooth. “You’re going to be an excellent father.” 

“I can only hope so,” he said. 

“StarClan will guide you,” she said. “Trust your heart. It will be okay, kit.”

UPDATES:

- Mystique gives birth to a litter of two kittens. Russetfrond names them Bluekit and Yellowkit.

[unnamednarrator]

11 for the kisses prompt 💋

11. welcome home kisses

here you go, dear anon! another growing back together moment, this time from peeta’s pov ❤️

In the year after I move into Katniss’ house, we slowly begin to piece together a routine. Neither of us are particularly demanding housemates, and our housekeeping skills are mostly complementary, so it doesn’t take too long for our chores to be divided up between us. The lighter logistical load of mundane tasks is just a fringe benefit, though, no matter how much Katniss denied this fact at the start. I know better than to tell her something before she’s ready to hear it, so I let her say so.

In the meantime, I took full advantage of my new proximity to her. Discovering her favourite nesting spots and preparing them with blankets in the winter, cross-breezes in the summer. Rearranging the kitchen so that the things she frequently uses are on the lower shelves, mine on the higher ones. Letting my circadian rhythm adapt to mimic hers, meaning we rise with the sun, which is much later than I’d been used to before.

In my past life, as I’ve started referring to it. I’m not sure if my past life is before the Games or before the hijacking, but Katniss knows what I mean so it doesn’t matter.

The most important aspect of our routine, to me, is in the evenings when she comes home from a hunting day. I like to stand by the kitchen window facing the front garden while I start with the dinner preparations so I can see when she arrives. When she does, bow slung across her back and game in her bag, she looks for me and gives me a little wave that still makes my heart stutter.

She leaves her things by the door and comes to hug me from behind. Some days, she wants to talk immediately and lets me go quickly so she can tell me everything. Others, she prefers silence and she’ll stand with her face buried between my shoulder blades, her warm breath slowly soaking into my skin through my shirt.

I love both greetings, but my favourite part about the latter is that, eventually, she’ll lift her head to start dotting kisses on the slant of my shoulders. When she’s finished a whole row, I’ll turn around and draw a vertical line of kisses from the crown of her head, to her forehead, between her eyebrows, along the slant of her nose and curve of her cupid’s bow, until I reach her lips. I’d keep going but this is always the point when she slides her fingers into my hair on either side of my ears, and keeps me in place.

Her lips warm me from the inside out and my pulse thrums a rhythm as I trace the familiar grooves and seams of her mouth with my own. I guess it’s kind of like a secret handshake, this little routine we’ve made up. But it’s better because I get to kiss her.

send me a number from this prompt list & i’ll write an everlark scene for it 🫶

[fancyfeathers]

William’s and Sherlock’s darlings

The Games We Play of Dust and Ash (Yandere Moriarty the Patriot Masterlist)

(A/N- this one was painful to write, I cried while writing this)

Spoilers for the Moriarty the Patriot timeskip

When Sherlock and William disappear, their darlings are left alone, because Mycroft’s darling is married off to him and she was the reporter’s best friend, and Albert is arrested and his darling has left to go see the world with her dead parent’s fortune, meanwhile Louis’ darling is still stuck with him as his life changes, which leaves William’s darling alone again…

William told her that he would never abandon her…

And now he was gone…

He kidnapped her, manipulated her, gaslit her, but he cared for her, she thinks.

Honestly she doesn’t know what to think as she now stands in an empty house, all alone, abandoned like she had been all her life. But then there is a knock at the front door and her steps echo through the empty halls as she goes to get it, and all she feels is emptiness from this empty nest. She opens the door to see an all too familiar face and a welcome one at that, the reporter, Sherlock’s darling. Both of them look at the other and they just look like they have seen hell. William’s darling has always seen this woman as a strong and independent woman but…

“…Miss Hudson said that Sherlock left me some stuff in case he… I…I can’t do this alone.”

“…Neither can I.”

Now it feels like William’s darling is looking at a mirror when looking at her friend. The two go to Baker Street together to pick of the box of the things Sherlock left his darling, it’s mostly letters he wrote to her but never sent, all the things he couldn’t make himself say, a few of her newspapers articles, some money, and a ring. The two go back to the old Moriarty estate together and just sit down together in silence which is broken by Sherlock’s darling…

“I don’t have a job anymore since I worked for Milverton’s paper and I doubt any news companies here would want to hire me since my main source is dead, I have some family in the states I was going to stay with until I am ready to start writing again-“

“Can I please come with you?”

A smile comes across the reporter’s face at her question.

“I was hoping you would.”

The two say goodbyes to whoever they can and have left and a week later they are on a boat across the ocean. It is on the voyage over when Sherlock’s darling is walking through the halls of the ship when she hears music, she follows it to one of the ship’s lounges to see William’s darling playing and singing. Her friend sits down on the bench next to her and listens…

“Where did you learn?”

“Albert’s wife taught me how to play and then at the opera house I used to listen in on the singers’ vocal lessons.”

“Well you certainly have a gift, good enough to play at the St. Regis in New York.”

“Thank you… I read some of your articles as well, you also have quite the hand.”

“Thank you.”

Starting a new life can be scary but at least they have each other.

Life in New York is not so bad, the two women stay with the grandparents of Sherlock’s darling in their home in upper Manhattan, a kind retired couple who takes care of the two women after such a terrifying and life changing incident. Her grandfather clears out his old and unused study for his grandchild to use so she can begin writing her new column. And then her grandmother begins to teach William’s darling about the types of music here in New York that is far different than the music she heard be played at the opera house, the two play piano that can be heard from where her grandfather works in his garden and down the hall where the reporter clicks away at her typewriter.

Soon two years had passed, the two managed to get their own apartment in lower manhattan, Sherlock’s darling had been taking small writing jobs here and there but had recently secured a job as a journalist for the New York Times, a crime journalist like she was before. Meanwhile William’s darling after years of hiding herself away and now works as a singer at a high end hotel like the reporter told her to do. The two had found themselves grow into a routine, make and have breakfast together, William’s darling will clean up the apartment and work and write some of her music while Sherlock’s darling heads out to work, then the reporter will come back in the afternoon for a late lunch, then William’s darling will leave to the hotel while the reporter finishes her work at home for the day, and then she will join her friend at the hotel after her performance and the two will have dinner there due to her friend’s role as staff at the hotel. Life was peaceful and now neither of them were alone, they had each other.

Some days were harder than others, one of them knowing they left people behind in London, the darlings of Louis and Mycroft, not telling Albert’s darling where they were so she would not feel the need to find them ever since they would take care of themselves. Sometimes the two would sit on top of the roof of their apartment building after hanging up the laundry and just wonder if they made the right choice and if they miss the mastermind and detective, William’s darling is far more prone to this and will just take her notebook up and write, doesn’t matter what, music, poetry, letters to him for her to keep, just something to get it all off her chest.

Meanwhile working for the Pinkerton agency in Brooklyn, Sherlock gets a job, there is going to be a large transaction with one of the heads of the biggest crime family in New York at a high end hotel in Manhattan, so he brings along William since has more insight how unground organizations function. They deal with the threat at the hotel silently as the owner requested as to not scare the guests and staff…

Meanwhile William’s darling and Sherlock’s darling are having a glass of wine in one of the empty event rooms at the hotel after her shift, sitting on the piano bench of the grand piano in the mostly empty room. Sherlock’s darling mentions that she left her journal open on the couch at home and told her she read one of the songs and asks her.

“Do you miss William?”

“…sometimes… I-I know he was a devil on earth… but I can’t help but think that even devils were once angels- sorry I probably sound crazy-“

“I would never tell you that you are crazy… would you mind playing one of your songs for me?”

“Sure but only if you sing with me, and don’t say you don’t know the lyrics when you snooped.”

Sherlock and William are walking down a hall in the hotel, about to leave when they both hear a piano playing from one of the rooms ahead. They shrug it off as some staff or a guest playing for fun, then William hears a voice, her voice…

“Balancing the scales

All my job entails

Making sure that they're prepared to see the world.”

He thinks he is just hearing something for a second and tries to tell himself it is nothing, but her voice… it has to be…

Sherlock definitely picks up on this and silently nods and William approaches the closed door where he hears the music and the voice…

“And all I feel is emptiness

From this emptying nest

William are you there

I was unaware

How difficult it'd be without you there

I was unprepared”

It is her, it has to be.

Then there is another voice joining in…

“Balancing the scales, balancing the scales

I did the best I could but still I have failed

Still I have failed

Balancing the scales

Want them to see the world but I'll always care”

Now William looks at the detective so see the same expression William wore on his own face.

As the piano fades away the door handle turns and the ladies turn their heads expecting it to be another of the hotel staff but instead…

William expected something when his darling saw him after years of thinking he was dead, but not the look of fear in her eyes after saying his name so sweetly in a song. She looks terrified, like she just saw a ghost and in some ways she did.

Sherlock on the other hand expected his darling’s reaction, like the look of pure rage in her eyes when she saw him alive. Their last few meeting before he disappeared were not on the greatest term as their friendship had a falling out due to Sherlock’s feels towards her and his overprotectiveness. Then not to mention by killing Milverton, she lost her job in London

In a blink of an eye and without a second thought, Sherlock’s darling grabbed her friend’s wrist and walked right out of the other doors to the room into another hallway.

It takes a second for William to process that he is crying. He abandoned her when he told her that he would never do such a thing. God what had he done?

The next day, neither woman goes to work, not even bothering to notify anyone that they would not be showing up today, they would find an excuse later. William’s darling sits on the rooftop, looking over the city as Sherlock’s darling hangs their laundry up on the line…

“Do you think you’ll go back to him now that you have the option?”

The question from her friend catches William’s darling off guard…

“I… I don’t know…”

“You do not have to, dear.”

That voice catches both women off guard, and they both look behind them at the rooftop entrance to see William standing there with his darling’s journal in hand, she must have left it at the piano.

“I only came to return this… and tell you I am sorry for abandoning you, I hurt you and I can never repair your trust in me, but I will… I will always be here if you need me.”

He sets the journal down on the bench she is sitting down and before William can turn to leave, she grabs his sleeve and he looks down at her with confusion but before he can say anything else she leaps up and wraps her arms around him, tucking her chin over his shoulder as she always had done…

“I forgive you.”

Meanwhile Sherlock’s darling is overcome with emotions that she cannot place as she looks at the two. She squeezes her eyes shut and a hand comes to rest on her shoulder. She does not have to look up to know who it was.

“I do not forgive you.”

“I wasn’t asking you to and I wasn’t apologizing, love.”

[thorin-baby-bear]

Glowy Stars

A Lost Boys Agere fic :))

Tags: Little!Reader, Flip!Paul, x reader

CW: Paul gets a little panicked, but he gets lots of hugs and reassurance afterwards!

A/N: I've had this idea like forever, and I finally finished it! Also, Reader takes a bit of a backseat to Paul in this one, which is not at all how I meant it to be but is how it ended up lol! I hope you enjoy :)

“Alright, baby bat bedtime!”

You stared down from where you floated, hand pressed to the ceiling. Paul looked up with his hands on his hip and a shuffle in his feet. You tilted your head to the side before looking back to the ceiling and the Very Important Job you were working on that was almost finished. Just a few more stars, maybe some moons, and you couldn’t forget about all of those comets still in your pockets!

“Kid,” Paul called again, trying to sound more firm and failing, “c’mon down, I need to get you tucked in before the others get home.” You huffed and shook your head before sticking another sun on the ceiling.

“Don’ wanna.” You called. Paul frowned and looked around for backup before remembering it was just you and him. With a frustrated sigh, he kicked off of the floor and flew up towards the ceiling. You glanced at him as he came to a stop next to you.

Paul opened his mouth to say something, but you turned back to your project, floating slowly away and leaving a little trail of stars. The older vampire groaned and rubbed his eyes. If it had been earlier in the night, this would’ve been cute. He would’ve had the time to chase after you, maybe steal a few stars along the way, it would have been fun! But it was late, and he didn’t have time, and the others would be back soon and they would see he didn’t have you all ready for bed and they’d think he couldn’t watch you and-

So maybe he was also a little regressed. Not little little, like you were, but kind of middle, like he was 13 again. It was just enough that it was noticeable, and just enough that it was making everything else a little bit too overwhelming. As he watched you float and giggle happily and thought about what the others would think when they got back, his eyes began to water. He shook his head roughly. He was a big kid, a grown up even, he shouldn’t be crying over this! But the tears still came, and he found himself pulling his knees into a tight ball and shoving his face between them.

For a while, he felt angry at himself for crying, he told himself that it was stupid. But eventually he just felt sad and scared. He tried not to sniffle too loudly so he wouldn’t alert you, and he thought he was doing a good job too until-

“Paulie?” A little voice came from his side. He popped his head up to look at your big, questioning eyes. Neither of you said anything for a long, sniffly moment. Then, ever so slowly, you reached up and placed a little glow in the dark star on his forehead. “’s okay, it keeps you safe.” You murmured, wrapping yourself around one of his arms.

Paul reached up and touched the star gently, carefully, before giving you a watery smile. “Thanks,” He mumbled as he bumped his head to yours. You nodded and smiled wide before starting to float away again. This time, however, you kept hold of his hand as you went.

“Help?” You asked, reaching your free hand into your pocket and offering Paul some sticky stars and planets.

Paul hesitated. You both really should be going to bed soon but…

“Aw what the heck.” He smiled, reaching out and taking the stickies. “Where do you want ‘em?”

When the others got back you and Paul were still up, giggling and shouting and sticking little glow in the dark stars and planets and comets all over the cave. David put his hands on his hips and shook his head as Marco giggled at the two of you. “Alright you two, bed time.”

You grumbled, but then he fixed you with his Stern Look and bedtime didn’t seem so awful anymore. You floated down, still holding Paul’s hand, and began to trudge towards the nest.

“Hey Paul, can I talk to you for a minute?” David called. You looked at Paul and he hesitated before nodding and letting go of your hand. You nodded and continued on your way. Paul took a deep breath and turned, watching as David started walking towards him. Behind him, Marco was still giggling and Dwayne had started to put out the lights in the cave with a fond shake of his head.

Paul looked down and shuffled his feet as David stopped in front of him. “So, bedtime, hmm?” Paul cringed a little bit and nodded.

“Uh huh, bedtime.” He mumbled.

David raised an eyebrow. This was not very Paul like behavior.

“You know, you can’t always just give in when they-”

“Yeah I know, alright? Just tell me I can’t watch them again and lets be done.” Paul tried not to sniffle too much, but the tears were already threatening to come back. David’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I- what?” He asked.

Paul shook his head as the tears started to flow. “I did a bad job. I didn’t get them to bed.” He wiped his nose roughly. ��So you’re not gonna let me babysit anymore.”

David sighed and shook his head. He bent down, making eye contact with the taller vampire and trying to understand what was going on. His eyes were puffy and a bit baggy, and they darted around the room the way they always did when he was…

Ah. It was starting to make sense.

The elder vampire grabbed Paul’s shoulder and pulled him into a gentle hug. “Of course you can watch them again.” He murmured. “Honestly, I kind of expected you two to still be awake. You’re not exactly known for your rule following, are you?” Paul huffed a bit and shook his head against David’s coat.

“Besides,” David chuckled, “look at how nice you two made the cave!” Paul looked up right as Dwayne put out the last flame and gasped. All across the ceiling, stars, suns, comets and planets twinkled brightly. They almost looked real, if you squinted just right. Paul found himself grinning ear to ear at the beautiful sky he had helped you make. Marco whistled and floated towards the two, Dwayne close behind.

“Hey, that’s pretty nice!” He grinned. “The best the cave’s looked in years, I think.” Dwayne nodded and put a gentle hand on Paul’s shoulders.

“Good job.” He whispered, looking over David’s shoulder as a grumpy huff came from the nest room. “And you to, y/n.” David glanced back and sighed as you stared at him innocently.

“Okay. Bed time, for real this time.” He said, keeping an arm around Paul and leading them all back towards the nest. You grinned and grabbed hold of Paul’s hand. He smiled down at you before leaning down sneakily.

“Hey, you got any more of those things?” Your smile widened as you pulled more glow in the dark stickers. Paul giggled and swung your joined hands back and forth.

“It looks awful dark in here, don’t you think?”

[sansypansy]

"He'll always choose me over you."

Dick was prepared for the right hook Bruce delivered. He wasn't, however, prepared for the sheer force put into the punch.

"Shit, Bruce." He spat out the metallic taste on his tongue. "I thought you said this was just a spar."

"It is a spar."

"Then why does it feel like you're just using me as a punching bag?"

The two alphas circled each other slowly on the mat. Dick had lost track of how much time had passed since they'd begun. All he knew was the way Bruce was acting made Dick's hackles rise and triggered his furious instincts.

"You're overthinking it," Bruce countered. "You're just a bit out of shape. Try harder."

He lunged with another punch ready, but this time Dick blocked him and locked them in position to snarl in Bruce's face.

"You forget I'm a master at dealing with your bullshit."

Dick slammed his knee into Bruce's gut then delivered a hit to the chest with his elbow. He finished off with a backflip kick and landed gracefully a good distance away from the older alpha.

"This about Damian asking me to share his heats, isn't it?"

Bruce growled. Jackpot.

Dick huffed ironically, lips forming a condescending smirk.

"God, you're such a manchild. It's not my fault I treated him so good the first time. Sounds like a skill issue."

It was a taunt. Dick knew why Damian came to him - they had a special emotional bond. Dami trusted him.

And one day, Dick hoped it would become more.

Bruce didn't have that with Damian, and Dick knew the man was jealous. He was Damian's Batman first, and Bruce couldn't take that away from them.

He wouldn't let him.

Dick was ready to block the right hook this time.

"He's my Pack Omega," Bruce grunted in his Batman voice. "You're attempting to take a position that should not be yours."

"Yeah well that doesn't make you his alpha either!" Dick growled, flashing his fangs. "The Pack Omega made his choice and not even you can contest it."

The spar turned into a full blown fight as Bruce grew more aggressive with his punches and Dick pulled all the stops to taunt and push back as much as possible. This was personal, now.

"Even if you win, it still won't change anything," Dick spat. "Damian will always choose me, not you."

"If I win, you will stop playing mates with my omega."

"He's not yours! He's mine!"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Both alphas froze mid-fight as their heads snapped toward the direction of the shout. Damian stood on the cave's railing, scent reeking of fury and indignation.

"Both of you should be ashamed of yourselves." He scoffed. "I am not a prize for you to act like immature children who do not want to share their toys! I am a person with my own feelings, you foolish alphas!"

"Dami, that's not--" Dick fumbled, but was promptly cut off.

"Save it, Grayson. I had expected better from you, especially when I chose you to help me through my heats. But it seems to me that my judgement was poorly placed."

Damian glared at the Pack Alpha with the same intensity.

"Neither of you are stepping foot in my nest this cycle."

Bruce and Dick exploded in protests, but Damian merely dismissed them with a growl.

"I have other alphas to give that privilege. I'm sure Drake or Todd wouldn't be too opposed. They've been sniffing after me for a while now."

He turned on his heels, tossing them a cold glance.

"I hope this will be an enlightening moment for you both."

With that, the Pack Omega strutted away, leaving behind two sulking and fuming alphas.

But the lesson wasn't learned, because they would blame each other for this terrible outcome for many days.