#not awake? oop blanket gone

[amnxp]

I'll see you in a minute

Pairing: Yelena Belova x fem!Reader

Summary: The Thunderbolts needed help with bringing Bob back to reality, so Bucky turned to one of his closest friend for help. Too bad that Yelena seems to absolutely hate your guts and despise the very idea of you breathing the same air in the same vicnicity as her because now you are all the Avengerz.

Word Count: 12k (oops i went overboard)

Warning: enemies to lovers, angst, panic attacks(yelena), eventual mention of smut(kept short n sweet), almost kissing, wounds, fighting yk the usual, miscommunication cuz thats lowk my fav trope n lotssss of yearning and almosts, also lowk bucky x reader but only for one single scene so

!THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS AHEAD AS WELL AS BLACKWIDOW SPOILERS!

A/N: saw a post saying they needed an enemies to lovers slowburn yelena fic and i knew i just HAD to write this be i have been meaning to make a longer fic so i went overboard i am SO sorry but it just had to come out one way or anotheeTwT anyways REACHED 50 FOLLOWERS THANKYOU SO MUCH!!!! This means a lot to me you have no idea bc like damn 50 ppl like what i write thats crazy omgomg This took weeks to write so i hope it wont flop too bad, all likes comments and reblogs are more than apreciated!!iterally!!!you guys have no idea how much actually. Also, today is my birthday!!! Happy birthday to me this shall be my gift go you guys:))

Alright toodles:>

Masterlist

!English is not my native language!

If someone had told you a week ago that you'd be sharing a shaggy, run-down Uber car with the Thunderbolts, you'd have laughed, rolled your eyes, and gone back to your warm bed. But here you were—strapped in between John Walker and Ghost, watching the streets blur past the window, and pretending Yelena Belova wasn't glaring holes through your skull from across the damn runway of a car.


Bucky owed you. Big time.

When Bucky had barged in a few hours prior into your little apartment, you were lounging on your couch, half asleep, half awake, with a shirt that you barely managed to get on before you collapsed out of exhaustion, with a thin blanket on you which quite literally almost flew off because of his aggressive: “Get up right now!” followed with his harsh tug on your blanket.
“What the actual fuck, Barnes?”
—half of your sentence came out slurred because you were still somewhat in another world as Bucky kept spewing nonsense at you. Something regarding someone named Bob, John Walker, and some others you had never heard of, but what got your eyes opening was the mention of her name.

Yelena Belova.

It was no secret to anybody that knew the both of you that you absolutely hated each other. You couldn't pinpoint when exactly it happened, but at a certain point in time you noticed how rude she was to you—and only to you.
Not to Bucky, not to whoever tried to kill her, and not even to the little kid that called her a boy and tried to throw his car toy at her head because he found her that scary.
“If Yelena is involved, I don't think that Bob is going to be your biggest issue that needs fixing, Barnes. Go collect some other deeply traumatized hero to go play Avengers with.”
“Yeah, no. You know that Sam won't talk to me anymore, and I don't know any others so... get the hell up. I will be downstairs. Red car. You got 2 minutes.”
Didn't even let you open your mouth before he scurried downstairs to his supposedly red car. A troubled sigh left you as you ranked up the motivation to sit upright on your bed. Your head falling onto your hands as you rubbed your face to try and get yourself to wake up a little more. You hoped that whoever this Bob is wouldn't put up too much of a fight.

———


You stole a glance at her.


Your own mistake, really.

Her eyes locked with yours like she was mentally calculating exactly how many bones she could break before Bucky noticed. You gave her the world's most insincere smile, and she just shifted her eyes back to the window behind John with a dramatic sigh, like even acknowledging your existence was exhausting.
Ghost nudged you with her elbow, smirking.
"She's been glaring at you since we picked you up. What did you do to her?"
"I don't know," you muttered. "Breathe too loudly, maybe?"
“No, you breathing in general is pissing me off.”
“You looking at me in general is pissing me off.”
"Why are you even here? You couldn't even throw a ball back to a child that was in front of you. How exactly are you meant to help with Bob?" Each word of hers deepened her snarl.
“That was one fucking time, Blondie.”
“More than enough.”
“Alright, you—” as you stood up to leap towards her, a taco-shaped shield was placed in front of you and you felt Bucky holding you back.
“What the fuck is this?" your eyes were trained on the taco shield as you looked back at John. "What the fuck did you do?”
"It was Bob..." your mouth hung open.
“Bob? A Bob did this.”
“Don’t act like you are any better than John. If it were you against Bob, you would have been that shield.”
Yelena's deep accent cut through, and if it weren’t for Bucky pulling you to sit in front of him instead of her, you would have jumped her out of the damn car.
“All right, that is enough of you two. I brought you here so that you can help, not make everything worse, and I don't want to hear another word from you or from Yelena until we arrive.”
Bucky's eyes stayed trained on you during his whole little speech as you leaned back into your seat and tilted your head back. Your eyes closed out of pure fatigue, and before you knew it, you were already out.

_____

Fighting a Bob-shaped black void that was currently shadowing people left and right definitely wasn't on your fight-a-Bob to-do list.
You were running around trying to prevent people from either being squashed by parts of buildings falling or being sent into the void by Bo—the Sentry?—no—the Void? You lost count of who Bob decided to be.
Placing a little girl down onto the floor, your eyes snapped towards the group as you heard Alexei scream out Yelena's name.
She was just a few feet away from you, standing directly in front of the void.
“The hell are you doing?" you screamed out.
You quickened your steps towards her as you saw her take a deep breath in before turning towards you with a cold but yet relaxed expression on her face.
Furrowing your eyebrows in an unspoken question, you tried to reach her.
Before you were able to drag her back by her arm, she let herself fall into the void, and your eyes widened. What the fuck just happened?
You stumbled back away from the consuming void and from Yelena's shadow on the floor towards the group before turning to them to see Bucky and John pulling a wailing Alexei back.
Just like before in the car, they all started arguing and panicking on what to do next, but your eyes were trained on the void.
Blurring out their arguments, you slowly walked towards the consuming shadow and let it consume you as well.

—————

Flopping down on your crowded couch, you let out a loud groan as you pressed an ice pack onto your knee.
Your head leaned on the back of the couch as you glanced at a very fidgety Bob next to you.
“Have to give it to you, Bob. Extremely underestimated you. You practically handed our asses to us on a gold platter.”
His eyes looked at you with such guilt, you almost pulled him into a hug.
“No hard feelings,” you smiled at him.
On the other side of you sat John and Alexei, and somewhere behind you, wandering around looking for something to eat, were Ava and Bucky.
Yelena, although definitely in your apartment, was nowhere to be seen. Most likely in the bathroom.

After the whole fight with the Void, the group was too tired to wander back to their homes, so you just volunteered the idea that everybody crash at yours. It wasn't that far away from the crime scenes anyways, and it didn’t bother you all that much. Especially since Valentina is forcing you still to live in the New-Avengers-Old-Avengers watchtower that she has been rebuilding.
As much as you hate her, you couldn't contain your excitement for the idea of living in such a huge space.
Even if it was with these dorks and Yelena—God, your mind is all over the place and she still hasn't made an appearance.
Your eyebrows furrow as you glance at the bathroom door.
“Anybody know where Yelena is?”

Silence.

You looked over at John and Alexei, who were both out cold, and then at Bob, who just looked guilt-ridden toward the bathroom door.
“She locked herself in the second we entered.”
You stood up, and his eyes followed your movement.
“Get some sleep, Bob. I know today was a lot for you—for all of us. I don’t even know where Ava and Bucky ran off to.” You softly smiled at him and turned toward the bathroom door as he settled down on the couch.

In front of it, you hesitated. What exactly were you even trying to do? Ever since she looked at you before entering the void, you couldn't shake a deep sense of guilt off of you. Although she looked at you with those same hate-filled eyes, you still saw it. She wasn’t sure what the void would do. She was ready to risk dying.

Your eyes locked onto the bathroom handle, and you slowly raised your hand to try and open the door. No luck—it only rattled.
“Blondie? You in there?”
Not a sound could be heard. You raised your fist to knock at the door.
“Go away,” she muttered, accent thick with exhaustion and something else.
“I am busy.”
“Busy sulking?”
“Busy not murdering you,” she corrected. “It’s self-care.” Although you usually would have sent her a sharp quip back, you still felt off.
“You sure you’re good? Is—”
“I told you I am fine. I do not need your sympathy.”

A beat of silence before you spoke up.
“What was that today, Yelena?” By now your forehead was leaning against the door. The cold soothed your blaring headache. She didn’t answer, and instead you just heard a soft thud onto the floor.
“Yelena?” Your only answer were soft mumbles and mutters from her that you could barely even hear.
“Is everyth—
Let me in, Yelena.” You cut yourself off after hearing multiple things fall to the floor. It sounded like she was hurling herself across the bathroom trying to get away. A loud sigh left you as you looked over to the group and realized they were all still deep asleep.

She wouldn’t talk to you, and you knew she wouldn’t let you in.
“I’m just trying to help. You are not okay, Yelena. I saw the way you looked at him—at it. I mean—damn—you even had me worrying there and I don’t even—” You were cut off when your bathroom door rattled open slightly. The soft yellow light bled into the hallway in a small sliver.

Pushing the door further open, you saw her.

On the floor, still in her blood-soaked dirty suit, and even her face still had the dirt and rubble from the fight, and yet—yet she still raised her head to look at you with such a deep dislike in her eyes you wondered if maybe you were just conjuring all of this up because your mind was so overwhelmed today. Half-lidded blue eyes started to wander about anywhere but you, and her chest started heaving—that’s when you realized.

She was having a panic attack.

Her hand started rubbing over her heart, and the other one was grabbing onto your sink so hard her knuckles turned white. You quickly looked around to see if someone had awoken to the sound, but nobody did. You quickly pushed yourself into the bathroom and closed the door behind you to lock it before dropping down onto your knees in front of her.

Her head fell back onto the cold wall as her eyes closed, and she looked severely in pain—like something or someone was currently punching her over and over again.
“Yelena? What’s going on?”

Your voice came out in such a soft manner that you even shocked yourself slightly. Your eyes wandered and flittered around her face as you took in her state. A coat of sweat started to form on her skin as her hair clung to her face. Her eyes snapped open and she looked at you and only you.
“It hurts,” she breathed out. Her voice barely came out as a cry of a whisper, followed with a small sob.

You didn’t know what to do, but panicking about that would just make everything worse, so you focused on her.
“What hurts? Do you need me to get anything? Maybe I should get Bob—hold on—”

As you went to stand up, you felt a heavy hand grab onto your wrist and you looked immediately at her. She shook her head but still avoided your eyes, but you knew what she was trying to tell you. Don’t leave me alone. An exasperated sigh left you as you crawled back to her level—now closer than you previously were. Your wrist still in her hand, and she had started to tighten her grip, seemingly looking for something to ground her. Slowly, your other hand raised toward her face but quickly stopped in the act when you saw her flinch away.

Hysterically, she started shaking her head again and muttered things in Russian that you couldn’t keep up with. Slowly, you started to piece together some words like “I’m sorry,” “please don’t hurt her,” and “Natasha.” You knew her sister’s death had greatly affected her—you just never assumed it was this bad to the point of her hallucinating. As she started trembling, her other free hand still rubbed away at her heart, but it started to look so painful you were sure the skin underneath was burning red. So you quickly grabbed her hand and held it still.
“You are hurting yourself. That won’t help you. I need you to calm down, okay? Can you do that?”

Your words seemed to enter one ear and leave out the other as her eyebrows pinched together in pain.
“Do you trust me?” you asked—not really expecting an answer—but to your surprise, you received a curt nod from her after a beat of silence.

Letting go of her hand and pulling away from her hold on you, your hand found the back of her head and you pulled her into you. Resting your chin on the top of her head, your free hand found comfort on her arm where your thumb rubbed softly at the suit-covered skin as if to soothe her—perhaps also a little yourself.

It took some time, but eventually she stopped shaking in your hold and instead clutched onto your shirt. You hadn’t stopped muttering soft words to help encourage her to calm down, and now she was so still you worried she might have cried herself to her own death.

You tried pulling away, but she only gripped onto your shirt tighter, so you only lowered your head. Hers was barely held up with eyes half-closed, lips red and swollen, littered with cuts and furrowed eyebrows. Her eyes fluttered between yours, and it took you a moment to realize just how close to her you were.

You could feel her ragged breath, noses so close they were brushing against each other, and still the light tremble in her hands.
“Are you better now?” you whispered.
“We need to get you out of your clothes and maybe into a bed—or the couch if John and Alexei haven’t taken the entire thing over.”

Still no answer, but it wasn’t like you had expected her to give you one. Not in her current state, at least.

Pulling out of her hold and leaving the bathroom turned out to be the most difficult task the entire day had given you. She had eventually pulled away from you - actually, she even pushed you away from her—but her untreated wounds seemed to have festered and worsened, as she could barely stand up. So you held her upright.

You helped her get to your room and laid her down onto your clean bed. You gave her some shirt you found lying around in your closet that you weren’t even entirely sure was yours, with some jeggings. Her wounds were treated by herself, but you didn’t leave the room when she did it. Not in your good conscience, you couldn’t.

She returned to her cold state she previously always sported around, and you knew what this meant—she would act like none of this had happened. And maybe a part of you had hoped for that as well, because at the end of the day, you hated her and she hated you—right?

Now you were both laying on your bed with you on your back and her on her side with her back facing you. Your head turned to her side as your eyes wandered over her silhouette before turning back to the ceiling.

You were just glad this hell of a day was finally coming to an end. As you closed your eyes, you could have sworn you heard a hoarse “Thank you” come from her side before everything faded to black.

—————

Over the span of the next few days, she went back to how she was before—cold, mean, and just plain petty. The only difference now was that she was crueler, and even though you knew you shouldn't say anything, you couldn’t help but confide in Bucky.
Bucky, who was currently standing in front of you in a fighting stance, ready to knock you on your ass—all the while looking extremely confused. “So, wait. You hugged her?” “Held her just close to me.” “Hugged her. Helped her calm down after a panic attack, and she didn’t even let you leave afterwards—and now she’s ignoring you?” “Ignoring me would have been mercy. No. She’s just a plain bitch to me now. At least before she would shut up when she realized I’d had enough. Now it’s just jab after jab after jab.” You let out a sigh. “Punch your feelings out.”
Your arms dropped, and you tilted your head to look at him with a "The fuck are you saying?" facial expression. “Come on. It helps. I promise. Do it as hard as you—”

You cut him off by moving toward him steadily, one jab to his side, the next to his shoulder which he blocked with his metal arm. He got a strong punch to your ribcage, and you stumbled back in faux pain. As he strutted closer to you to apologize, you quickly grabbed his arm and twisted it around to throw him on the floor.
He caught your arm and pulled you down with him just underneath you, with you sat on his lap, both breathing heavily.

“You’ve gotten rusty, old man,” you let out with a smirk.
“Haha. You’re just as out of breath as me. Don’t get cocky now.”

He pulled himself up with you still in his lap, one hand finding purchase on your side to stabilize you. His eyes locked on yours, and a beat of silence followed.
Just now, you realized how close he was to you, much like Yelena was earlier this week—but this time, you didn’t feel the way she made you feel.

As you opened your mouth to say something, anything really, you heard a loud clap followed by a thick Russian accent screaming:

“Only real American heroes are able to fight and love! Bucky Barnes, you are phenomenal! America’s big hero, everybody!”

You rolled your eyes as you spotted not only Alexei but John and—worse of all—Yelena, who looked about six seconds away from murdering you.
You tumbled off of Bucky, who still hadn’t stopped staring at you, paying no mind to the rest of the gang just behind him, arguing about what “professionals” should and shouldn’t do in their training room.

Taking off your hand bandages, you placed them down on the floor and quickly grabbed your towel, trekking out of the room and into the bathroom to shower… whatever that was off.

After your shower and after you retreated back to your own room, you laid down on your warm bed.
Arm above your eyes, you were close to falling asleep before someone almost ripped the damn hinges off your door with how hard they were knocking.

“One fucking second,” you muttered as you forced yourself to get up.

Maybe it was Bob and he’d lost control again.
Maybe Bucky finally caved in and stuck John's head into the trashcan and now can’t get him out.
Or maybe…

Maybe it was just Yelena in front of you, looking extremely disheveled, like she had just woken up to the worst news of her entire life.

“Can I help you?” Your voice came out more hostile than you intended, but you really weren’t in the mood for her bullshit right now.

“I can’t fucking sleep,” she said, her accent thick with exhaustion. It was similar to how it sounded just a few days ago.
She shoved her way into your room and sat down on your bed.

“Okay, so make yourself at home, I guess. You ignore me all week and now all of the sudden you can’t—”
“Do you ever stop talking?”
“No.”

A sigh left your parted lips.
“Are you staying here tonight?”

She didn’t say anything, but you already understood her: Yes, I will. And I will sleep in your bed with you.

Laying yourself down on your side of the bed, you patted the empty space beside you.
“Might as well get comfy.”

Slowly but surely, she made her way to lay down next to you.
Your eyes trailed her profile, and it hurt how pretty she was. Slowly, she turned her head toward you, and once again, there was barely any space left between you two. Her eyes trailed down to your lips, where they stayed—laser focused.

“Lena?”
Her eyes snapped up. They were wide and feral, like she was looking—hunting—for something inside of you that only she was aware of.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in.
“Get some sleep. Or try to, at least. It’s late.” Caving in, your body relaxed and once again you were on the brink of falling asleep—but to her, it must have seemed like you were already dead to the world.

A warmth spread over your face as you slowly felt her hand cup your cheek.
Thumb brushing over the apple of your cheek, your nose slope, and your cupid’s bow with feather-light touches that could almost be described as nonexistent. Almost.

You heard her mutter something in Russian before her hand fell, and you felt a deep sense of disappointment grow inside of you.
Still, you didn’t open your eyes to look at her.
Instead, you turned your back to her and fell asleep—because this, whatever this was, was entirely wrong.

She’s meant to hate you not come into your room at 2 a.m. just to touch and feel you exist beside her.
Yet you crave this.
You need this just as bad, if not worse than her.

By morning, you had assumed she was already gone, but when you opened your eyes, you were greeted by tousled platinum blonde hair all over your face.
Blowing it away, your hand moved to push it all down and you felt her. Looking down, you could see how she had practically become one with you.
Head heavy on your chest, one hand holding yours, the other cradling your cheek. Her breathing remained soft, unbothered, so your hand found the back of her neck and began to softly caress her.
You couldn’t understand what any of this meant or what she was doing, but you weren’t going to tell her to stop.

No you wanted her to continue. And she did.


For two more weeks, on and off, she would come barging into your room and just lay there. Not one single word was uttered, but you knew—she had a nightmare, so she came to you for comfort. However, during the day, she was still the same cruel, heartless girl you had known for years.
Most days, you assumed her coming over was a new form of sleep paralysis that you had developed, because she truly showed you no difference.

Although you may have not noticed any change, Bucky sure did.

He saw the longing glances she gave you when you looked away.
Her furrowed eyebrows toward John when he took a quick jab at you for something she would have said much worse to.
Or when Alexei went to wrap his arm around you, he saw her flinch—as if he had done it to her and not you.

He tried ignoring it, because at the end of the day, this was your life and your relationships—but when Alexei and John caught on, he knew it was just a matter of time before something excessive happened.

But for now, you were sent away on a solo mission that Valentina had conjured up as good press work.
Normally, you would’ve complained and even yelled at her, but you just really needed a break from everybody back at the tower.
Especially her.

The mission wasn’t supposed to be that hard: get in, destroy the lab, and get out.
It was supposed to be empty—because that’s what that witch Valentina told you.

But obviously, it wasn’t.

No, right now a 6-foot-something man had you in a chokehold, while another man had taken all of your knives with him.

Wherever you were rendered your powers entirely useless—you assumed the walls were coated with something to stop superheroes from interfering.

Your nails dug into his arm and you felt a small puddle of blood forming underneath.
Eyes feeling like they were about to pop out of your head, your hand reached to his face, digging your nails in before dragging them down to his eyes.

He let out a loud groan before pushing you off of him, and you fell to the floor, heaving.

Your hand went to your neck in an attempt to comfort yourself before you turned and saw him dragging his feet toward you.
In front of you, about two feet away, lay your weapon but you couldn’t tell anymore if there were any bullets left. Your brain was too scrambled from the lack of oxygen.

So instead, you leapt forward and grabbed it.
On your back, you aimed the gun toward his head as he started sprinting toward you, and shot him square between the eyes.

When you heard him fall with a loud thud to the floor, your head dropped onto the hard, blood-covered concrete beneath you.

Your head was spinning, something somewhere on your body burned, and you felt your own blood pooling beneath your clothes.

Still—you had to get up. The mission wasn’t done.
You knew somewhere along the hallways were many more men.
Your phone was discarded in your bag at the roof of the building, meant to be picked up after the mission, but dying seemed like a more likely possibility than ever seeing your stupid phone again.

“Damn you, Valentina. You fucking bitch,” you muttered as you lifted yourself up with shaky arms.

Your legs wobbled beneath you and you almost fell face-flat.
Looking down at the gun in your hand—you had about three more bullets left.
You hoped it was enough.

You tracked your way down the hall and set all the timers for the bombs.
You were almost out of the door when it ripped open and about five or six way-too-muscular men came barging in.

More footsteps emerged from behind you, and by then, you had started to make peace with the fact that you were most likely going to die in less than two minutes.

A loud sigh escaped you as you leaned against the wall for support, eyes closed.

Before anyone could do anything, the windows shattered.
You dropped to the floor to avoid the shards.

One by one, the men dropped.

With wide eyes, you looked outside the broken window and saw Bucky—just on top of the next building, rifle in hand.

Relief washed over you as your body collapsed in on itself and you fainted.

Before everything went black, you heard her.
Screaming your name with such anxiety and worry you second-guessed whether it was real or not. Warm, shaky hands engulfed your face, her thumb stroking your cheek.

By the time your eyes opened again, you were half-blinded by harsh white lights.

Turning your head to the side, you realized you were in a hospital room.
Outside your door, you heard chatter and murmurs. You caught Alexei’s pungent Russian accent and Bob’s nervous stuttering—which made you smile a little… before grimacing.
Your entire body hurt.
There wasn’t a single point that wasn’t burning or bruised. Looking around more, you saw flowers, gifts, food, and balloons that read: “Congrats! It’s a boy.”

You heard the door handle rattle, and soon enough, almost all of the team pushed through the door.
Bob was the first to notice you had regained consciousness.

“Hey... Hey! Guys! Look!” he pointed frantically as they all fell silent, just staring at you. A small smile found your lips as you opened your mouth to speak—but nothing came out. Bucky quickly rushed out to call for a doctor while the rest surrounded you.
All but her.

She was nowhere to be seen.
And a deep sense of disappointment befell you.

Had she cared so little about you? You swore it was her holding your face as you bled out.
Her whispering into your skin as you were driven to the hospital.
Her holding your hand. Even in your half-dead state, you felt the pressure.

It was always her.

So why wasn’t she here now?

Before you could help yourself, your heart monitor began to speed up. “Whoa—hey, hey, are you good? Damn, where the hell is Bucky?” John asked, placing his hand on your arm to comfort you.

Soon enough, Bucky followed with the doctor.
He checked your vitals, declaring them stable for now before quickly leaving the room, still glancing at the papers in his hands.

The team stayed a while until all cleared—but Bucky.
He was left looking at you with extreme pity.

“What? What did I do?” “You want to know how she’s been doing?” You didn’t answer right away, instead opting to stare at the ceiling.

“Why does she hate me, Buck? I didn’t even do anything…”

The second part came out as a hurtful whisper as your eyes found his.

“I don’t think she hates you. Matter of fact, she was the one who felt something was wrong with your mission.
Claimed you usually send a cat sticker in the group chat to announce you were done but you didn’t this time.
So she demanded we check on you. When we found you, she was shaking.
She wouldn’t talk to anybody for days after.
Even when she went on missions, nobody knew or heard.”

“…So why isn’t she here now?”

“She always is. During the night, she would sneak out to sit with you.” His eyes dart to his watch on his wrist.
“Should be about time actually. I should get going. Play nice with her. She has had it rough.” He stood up and made it to his door before stopping just before opening it. “I’m glad you are okay.”
As reluctant as you were, you did want to believe him about Yelena, but it was just so hard and confusing with her. Before your thoughts could spiral any further, your hospital door opened again. Eyes snapping towards the door, you saw her in all of her glory—messy blonde hair with makeup smudged and many, many bruises littered all around her. She was breathing heavily.

“You are awake,” she muttered out in a thick, exhausted Russian accent.
“Yeah, I guess so.”

She moved before you could blink; all of a sudden, her arms were around you, careful not to hurt you any more but just tight enough to let you know she was scared.

Your hand finds her head, and you brush her hair a little. Pulling away from you, her arms stayed near you.

“You are stupid. Dumb. An idiot.” You knew she meant to insult you yet you didn’t focus on that.

No, you focused on how red her eyes looked and how deep her eyebags ran, how her lips were turned into a frown, and how she was barely holding herself together. You didn’t say anything; you simply pulled her in by her forearm.

“Stop talking and just lay with me. You need rest more than me.”

With that, she laid herself down around you, mindful of all the bits and bobs attached to you. Her head, just like before, found purchase on your chest before you and her passed out in tandem.

It took you all of two weeks before you were finally allowed to return to the Avengers Tower. Yelena had been the first to come from the team to help bring your stuff back. Slowly but surely, you began recovering, and before you all knew it, you were all okay again.

The only problem was that none of them would let you on a mission. Not even Valentina her goddamn self.

When you asked Bucky, he told you that you needed more rest and going out on missions alone in your current state was unwise and possibly very dangerous. You tried going in teams with John or Ava, but again they simply brushed you off.

“I just don’t understand. I am fine, I have recovered—even my damn bruises are gone—why can’t I just be sent on another mission?” You voiced out your concern to Bob most days because, just like you, he would always stay back on missions, so you just grew to talk his ear off.

“I mean, they just want to be nice? They don’t want you to hurt yourself again. Give them some time—I am sure they will come around. Besides, being alone in the tower isn’t so bad? Is it?...”

The last part came out more as a question to himself than to you, but you let it be. Turning your head to look at him, you let out a small chuckle.

“I still don’t quite understand the whole thing with Yelena. One day she latches herself onto me, the next she looks like she would want to kill me, and every time I try to talk about it, nothing comes out of her. I am getting tired of her stupid game.”

“Maybe corner her?”

“Corner her? How?”

“Like in the bathroom all those weeks ago? Or something?” He seemed so unsure of what he was saying that for a second, you had to stifle a small laugh as a smile broke out on your face.

“Want food, Bob? I’m sure we still got something left?” He nods and you get up to get both of you some food. You should at least consider yourself happy that Bob would still be around—and not just you and the endless voices of despair and shame catching up to you.

In a few days, there would be a huge gala event that the entire team needed to attend, so your plan was to go there, meet with Valentina, and force her to give you a new mission—it shouldn’t be that hard anyway. You were sure that Bucky and the others have just been taking your missions for themselves before you get a chance to even see them without Valentina’s consent or knowledge.

Looking around the kitchen isle, you found little to no actual snacks for you and Bob. Some apples, some bananas.

Turning around to the cupboards, you purse your lips in thought. Where the hell did Alexei and John hide their sweets? You know very well they do—you just need to find where. Soon enough, you found Alexei’s stash on the top of the cupboards—damn tall super soldiers. Even on your tiptoes, you couldn’t reach the mile-high top, so you looked around for a chair to stand on.

Dragging one from the seating table, you quickly grabbed the first thing that came to hand, which were some salt and vinegar chips—you weren’t too sure if Bob would like them, but they had to do for now.

Placing the chair back to its place, you quickly walked back to Bob on the couch who looked immensely immersed in whatever rom-com he put on when you left.

Once on the couch, you ripped open the bag and held it open to him.

“Couldn’t find anything else. Hope you like what I served you.”

Bob simply smiled at you before pulling a few chips out of the bag. One hour into the movie and you heard the elevator door ding open. Tossing your head back to look at the couch, you smiled at them. They looked rough.

“You fight Thanos himself, or why do you guys look like hell in human form?” You fight back a grin as John stumbled over his feet and nearly took Alexei with him.

Your eyes quickly divert to Yelena, who quite arguably looked the worst out of all of them. Your eyebrows furrow in an unasked question. Are you okay? You knew the answer, but still. You don’t like seeing her like this—so weak—so empty?

You thought you made progress with her after the whole hospital situation, and even though she has severely eased up on the backtalk (although you weren’t too sure it was because you guys were becoming friends or if she just saw you as too weak to handle them currently), she still wasn’t the nicest to you considering what was happening at night with the both of you.

You even started to leave your bedroom door open when you went to sleep because you just knew she would come and wouldn’t want to possibly wake you by opening your creaking door.

You always tried to make everything easier for her, and you don’t even know why.

All you knew was that sometimes you would wake up in the middle of the night to find her next to you. You would stare, and you would whisper everything you wanted to tell her—how you felt about her, how you want her to feel about you, and more. You would trace the slope of her button nose and brush your finger to her lips just to have a small sense of what it could feel like—her lips on you. Not just on your own lips, but everywhere. You wanted to feel her everywhere, for her to be everything and it was starting to become harder and harder to ignore outside of the vulnerable moments you shared in your bed.

It wasn’t fair how she was able to laugh so freely with Ava, hug Bob so easily when he needed it, look at them with joy and love and not hate and shame. Were you that bad of an option? Did she find it embarrassing to go to Bob for help so she found you as a plan B because she knew you wouldn’t say anything?

God, everything about her just hurt. It hurt how badly you wanted her, and it hurt how obvious it was she would never want you.

Shaking your head rid of those thoughts, you stood up from your place at the couch next to Bob and bid him goodnight before disappearing into your room. Your eyes find your door handle. If she was that embarrassed to be around you, maybe you should just help her stop—maybe it would even help you to stop feeling for her.

So, you locked your bedroom door and made your way to bed. Too lazy to get up and do anything, you were out in just a few minutes and were only awoken by the soft rattle of your bedroom door.

At first, you had been scared maybe someone was trying to get in, but you quickly got to your senses and realized who it was.

Closing your eyes, you turned onto your side and tried to fall asleep again, only succeeding after the rattling of the door handle had finally stopped. A sigh of relief left you.

Maybe this was exactly what you needed. A break from her.

Days passed by and you stopped seeing her and ultimately stopped thinking about her—unless you count the fact that you still sleep on only one side of your bed because you still think she will come.

She won’t.

But she doesn’t seem any better off without you. Her eyebags lay heavy beneath her crystal green eyes that look so dull, so lifeless it scares you almost.

Now you were standing in your room preparing yourself for that gala that was in less than an hour. Your hair wasn’t done yet, and you also didn’t even want to think about doing it because then you might actively tear the entire tower apart from frustration.

Instead, you opted to simply wear your dress and finish applying your makeup for now.

You heard a rough knock on your door before you let out a, “It’s open!”

Turning your back to the door, you fumble through your makeup bag to look for that specific lipstick shade that you knew you had somewhere in here. Or was it in the bathroom?

“You look good.” Her thick accent makes you freeze mid-motion.

You turn to look at her—really look at her.

She has a blue dress on that fit the colour of her eyes so perfectly. That blonde hair of hers only adding to the effects of the dress and her makeup—simple but nonetheless there—and her lips. They looked so red—so full and plump.

You couldn’t stop staring.

“What do you want, Lena?” You couldn’t shake the nickname no matter how mad she made you.

At first she said nothing, simply opting to stare at you instead—top to bottom, where her eyes lingered on the curves of your body and of your neck. She stepped closer, but you were still all together confused on why she was even here and what she even wanted from you.

“Yelena?” You voiced out.

“Hm?”
“What are you doing?”
“You have been keeping me out. Why?” Her eyes flitted between yours.

Your heart raced and you were starting to sweat. Profusely so. A deep sigh escaped you as you tried to look at her in a stern way. “You ignore me all day, crawl to my bed at night and hold me—which, yes, I am awake when you do it because I can’t fucking sleep next to you without thinking about you. How does that work? I think about you and I miss you, yet you are laying right next to me knowing by morning you will act like I am a dead man walking. Yelena, it fucking hurts.”

By the end, you were a mere breath away from her. You felt her ragged breath, you saw every small micro-expression she was giving you, and it was ruthless how unbothered she seemed by all of this. Your shaky hands go to cradle her face, and in a small whisper you mutter out, “Why?”

Her eyes dropped down to your lips and they remained there—staring and awaiting. Pulling her in closer, your lips parted just above hers. Would it be so bad? To just go in? You felt them brushing slightly against yours as your eyes snapped up to hers, asking an unspoken question. Out of pure hesitation, you started to pull back, but it didn’t get very far before she pulled you back in by your arms. Her lips consumed yours, and all of your worries and all of your doubts flashed away, and it was only her in your mind. Pulling you with her, you stumbled at the foot of the bed and sat down on it, her between your legs now, holding onto your face as your hands dropped to her waist.

She hasn’t left your lips even for a small breath—

A loud knock pulled you out of your fantasy, and you found yourself back hunched over your makeup bag, lipstick in hand.

Had you been fucking hallucinating that?

Looking around and then back to the mirror, you realize you look normal—nothing out of place, no smudged makeup from her tight grip on your face or anything and you felt like ransacking your entire bedroom because of it.

You missed her badly, and even that small glint of her from her open bedroom door, getting ready with Ava in tow, was enough to send you over the edge and start imagining her. It was certainly not the first time you daydreamed—or dreamed in general—of her. During the nights when she laid next to you, you would often dream about how she would feel bare on you. Her lips trailing down a path of lust and neediness down on you.

How you would feel just wrapped all around her.

Your door opened, and you saw John standing there. His eyes did you a quick run-over before smirking at you.

“Don’t say anything weird, John. What do you want?”
“Car’s out waiting, everybody else is done. Had to come get you—are you finished?”

Quickly grabbing your purse and stuffing your lipstick that you finally found in, you rush out behind John.

Once in the car, you sat opposite of Yelena, who was running her eyes up and down. Your eyes met hers, and how you wished you could read her mind in this moment.

Was she judging you? Or was she admiring you?

The car ride took a dreadful 20 minutes of Alexei screaming with John about how excited they are. Everybody else was dead silent save for a few chuckles here and there when Alexei did something stupid or someone threw a jab at John.

The Gala itself was beautifully ornamented. An orchestra to the sides playing soft background music, chatter all around, and most importantly a bar in which you could drink away Yelena—or at least try to.

After about two glasses and a handful of very annoying rich people coming to congratulate you on being a part of the new Avengers, you started to feel lightheaded.

Your eyes scanned the crowd and there you saw her. Bathed in the moonlight that shone through the big window behind her, peeking out from the velvet red curtains covering them.

It shone on her in a way that angels would shine should they step foot on earth.

Her eyes skitted to yours from across the hallway. You didn’t know how long you both stood there, watching each other. Could’ve been seconds, could’ve been forever. The music faded behind you like you were submerged underwater, the chatter turning into a dull hum in your ears. Nothing existed but her—Yelena, haloed in that goddamn moonlight like some kind of sick miracle sent to test you again.

She tilted her head just the slightest bit. You knew that look. You’d spent nights memorizing every tick of her face, every twitch of her brow, every small furrow that meant something more. This one said she was thinking too loud inside her head, same as you were. Maybe you were dreaming again. Maybe she was still a ghost haunting your bed when the lights went out.

But when she started walking toward you, slow and unsure like the floor might cave in with each step, you knew this wasn’t a dream. You knew because your heart started racing again. Loud. Relentless. Stupid.

She stopped just inches in front of you, eyes scanning your face like she was making sure you were real, too.

“You locked your door.”

You didn’t expect that to be the first thing she said, “Yeah,” you replied, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “I needed to make it stop.”

She looked down at her hands for a second. Then back up, those stormy blue eyes all cracked and tired and too honest. “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

You blinked hard, trying not to lose it in the middle of some overpriced ballroom in front of the entire team. “Why are you here, Yelena?”

Her lips pressed together, and for a second you thought she’d walk away again.

“Because we were both invited to the Gala tonight?” She chuckled dryly.

Your hands trembled where they clutched at your now empty glass, torn between touching her and pushing her away.

“You can’t keep crawling into my bed if you’re not willing to stay in the morning, Yelena.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But you also need to know that i am scared.“

You didn’t trust her. Not completely. Not yet. But when she reached for your hand and your fingers slipped together like they belonged there—like maybe this was the one thing the world didn’t plan to ruin—you let her hold on.

The orchestra shifted into something softer, something gentler. She gave your hand the smallest squeeze.

“Dance with me?” she asked.

And even though your legs felt like they might give out and your chest was still tight with the weight of everything unsaid—you nodded.

You stepped onto the floor together, slow and unsure. Her arms wrapped around you, and yours found their way home to her waist. Neither of you really knew the steps, but it didn’t matter. For the first time in a long time, it didn’t matter. Because she was here. In the light. In your arms. Not just when the door was closed and the world asleep.

And maybe, just maybe, she’d stay this time.

[kiss-inthekitchen]

same sky | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader

a late night phone call with Spencer. unruly amounts of fluff. no gender identifiers in this one. apologies to residents of las vegas, i did insult your city's aesthetics. i had to do it. for the plot

word count: 2k

notes: this is a rework of a very old fic i used to have up on ao3 by the same name. it's the second in a series of fics i've updated from my vault of oldies :) this one's for the girlies who liked the banter in no vacancy <3 oops! all banter

“I miss you,” you say into your cell phone, standing on the back porch and gazing out at the sky. It’s late, but you can’t sleep. Spencer has been gone on a case for the better part of a week, and you don’t sleep as well without him. 

“I miss you, too. But I’ll be home soon,” Spencer replies, keeping his voice low.  

“Is everyone else asleep?”

“Yeah. It’s been a long day.”

“Where are you right now?” Even though you aren’t in danger of waking anyone up, you find yourself mirroring Spencer's tone. 

“Best guess, somewhere over New Mexico.” They’ve been in the air about an hour, and given their trajectory, he’s pretty sure he’s right. Spencer is seated at the edge of the couch, his back against the arm of it and a blanket thrown over his legs, barely covering his mismatching-socked feet. 

“How come you’re still up?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says. Somehow, he can feel you smiling across the line. It makes him smile, too. He doesn’t ask why you’re awake when it’s even later where you are; he knows already. "What are you doing?”

“Looking up at the stars.”

“You know, you won’t be able to see me up here.”

“Ha ha.”

“Here, I’ll open the shade on the plane window. At least we can share the same view.”

“Hm. Almost like we’re together,” you hum. 

His heart aches. It’s only been a few days and he still can’t stand it. “Almost.”

For a minute, neither of you speak, looking out at the sky from two different time zones.

“When I wake up tomorrow morning, you’ll be here, right?” 

“Mmhm. Maybe even before that,” he responds, a low, soothing hum in your ear.

“Should I stay up until you get here?” you already know what he'll say, but you kinda like the idea of it anyway.

“No, no, it’s at least another four hours. Don’t worry about it. When you wake up, I’ll be there.”

“Sounds good. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You’d intended to let him go after just a quick call once you realized that the rest of the team were resting not too far from him, but you don’t want to hang up. He doesn’t make any moves to do so either, wanting to hear your voice as much as you want to hear his. “So, how was Tucson?”

“Oh, you know. Hot. Desert-y. Lots of murder.”

“Less murder now.” 

“Yeah.” 

His voice sounds strained. He doesn’t like indulging in a sense of accomplishment after closing a case, doesn’t ever feel like he’s done enough. He shows up too late and does too little, and then he gets to leave while the families of the victims have to pick up the pieces. You understand why he doesn’t like to think about the work that way, but you’ve tried to remind him that the good he does is incalculable; how many lives saved, how many tragedies avoided. It’s all you can do. 

You pivot a little, not wanting him to get too caught up. “I remember, when I first moved to Virginia, I was so shocked at how green everything was. I swore I’d never seen that much green in my life.”

“I had a similar experience,” he says, fondly, aware of your tactics. 

“Oh, I can only imagine. I’ve been to Vegas. It’s icky.”

“Icky?” he asks, laughing at your word choice. 

“I mean, no offense, but… it’s kinda ugly.”

“Wow, okay, insult my hometown, why don’t you.”

You laugh. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re right.”

“I know,” you sigh. “Always am.”

“Well, statistically, you actually have a seventy-two percent chance of being right, which is still impressive, but hardly a flawless track record.”

“Spencer Reid coming in hot with the stats. I love when you talk numbers to me.” 

“I don’t think we’d have gotten very far if you didn’t.” 

“But I think I should be right more often than that.” 

“Are you asking me to fudge the numbers?” he asks with put-upon shock. 

“I’m just saying, maybe you’ve got it wrong.” 

“Oh, so you dare to challenge the accuracy of my eidetic memory? Or is it the statistics that you think I’ve calculated incorrectly?” 

“This is affecting my score, isn’t it?” 

“I’ll have to factor it in. You understand.” 

You giggle, and Spencer starts to feel some warmth come back into him after too many days of stress, doubt, and destruction. He hadn’t been able to talk to you nearly as much as he wanted. And it was hard to talk to you on certain cases, to allow you to make him feel lighter when reality was so dark. When he felt so much weight on his shoulders, when he should be focusing on the profile and apprehending the unsub and… sometimes he just didn’t feel like he deserved to have that weight lifted by you, even for a little while. 

“Spence?” 

“Will you go inside?” he asks, his tone full of something like reverence for you. “Please?”

“If you insist,” you sigh, already opening the door. 

“I do. I do insist, very forcefully.” 

“I’m already inside with the door locked.” 

“Man, I’m good.” 

“Mmhm.”

“Going to bed?”

“Yeah. Will you talk to me for a few more minutes?” you ask, sliding under the covers. Spencer hears the slip of fabric as you pull them up over your shoulders, and it sharpens the ache he feels to be home with you already. 

“I’ll talk to you for the rest of the night, if you want me to.” 

“No, I don’t wanna keep you awake, too.” 

“I probably won’t get much sleep regardless.” 

“I don’t condone that,” you say, your frown evident in your voice. 

“Noted,” he replies, though he sounds apologetic. 

Four hours feels an eternity too long to wait. You miss Spencer, and you hate how tired he sounds. You want to fix things for him. You want to run your fingers through his hair til he falls asleep and you want to make sure his dreams are peaceful when he does. 

“What do you wanna do when you’re back?” you ask, hoping that planning for it will make the time go faster. 

“Oh, I’m taking a shower and getting right into bed. And you can’t make me get up.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’m serious. Don’t ask me to do a single other thing cause I won’t do it.” 

You laugh. “For the whole day?” 

“Probably. And you better not go anywhere either. We could both use the rest.” 

“Okay, rest day all day.” 

“We can order Thai though. So we’ll get up for that. But even then, it’s just to sit on the couch.” 

“Maybe the floor.” 

“I will also accept floor,” he concedes, and then it occurs to him that you might’ve been asking because you want to do something with him. “Is there something you wanted to do the next day though?” 

“Well... the saucer magnolias are blooming at the Smithsonian again.” 

“Say no more.” 

You sigh wistfully. “You’re my favorite boyfriend I’ve ever had.” 

“Well, I should hope so,” he says, smiling. “You’re my favorite, too.” 

“Aren’t I the only partner you’ve ever had?” 

“Ha ha. I had a girlfriend in college.” 

“Spencer, you were like sixteen in college.”

“I wasn’t sixteen the entire time,” you hear the eye roll in his voice, “I have three PhD’s, it took me a little while.” 

“Well, who is this girl? Do I need to beat her up?” you joke. 

“No,” he laughs. “You are my favorite, after all. She wasn’t very nice to me.” 

“Okay… so you told me not to beat her up but then gave a reason why I should?” 

“Please don’t beat up my ex-girlfriend. I do appreciate your violent impulses though.” 

“Mm, okay. As long as you know I could.” 

“Sure, angel. You’re very scary,” he placates. 

You let out a little gremlin laugh. 

“Oh, and you’re delirious,” he notes, an amused lilt to his tone. 

“Delirious because I miss you,” you sing, dragging out the ‘you’. 

“God, where did I even find a weirdo like you,” Spencer laughs. 

“I found you. You attracted me with your peculiar aura and soulful eyes. Trapped me in your… fucking what’s-it-called. Tractor beam.” 

“You know, the term tractor beam was actually coined by science fiction author E.E. Smith in 1931 as an updated version of his original term ‘attractor beam.’” 

“Hmm, yup. You caught me in that.” 

“Did you call my eyes soulful?” he asks, seemingly just processing that part. 

“Oh, you don’t like my adjective choice? Next you’ll have a problem with me calling your aura peculiar.” 

“I mean… I don’t know that I loved it.” 

“Here he goes fishing for compliments,” you sigh, rolling over to your other side and creating a bunch of shuffling noise on the line. Spencer wrinkles his nose, holding the phone a little farther from his ear until he hears you speaking again. “Okay, your eyes are big and brown and beautiful and they contain a standard unremarkable amount of soul, and your aura is also really regular. Regular Reid, that’s what they call ya.” 

He’s frowning, you can practically see it, but he’s also fighting off an amused smile. “Well, that one started off nice, at least.” 

“God! You’re so difficult. My boyfriend is sooo difficult. Why don’t you come home to me first and then I’ll come up with some more adequate compliments?” 

“I’m going to hold you to that.” 

The two of you talk for a little while longer, with you telling Spencer about the new coffee shop you’d tried out and how their lavender latte actually tastes like lavender, which is basically unheard of. Spencer tells you about the standoff between him and an all too curious roadrunner that he swears was trying to get into his motel room. Calling it a standoff is generous; the man got bullied by a bird. 

You try not to laugh and end up unsuccessful, with Spencer insisting that you were taking sides and he was well and truly in danger, which only makes it funnier. His voice pitches up even as he tries to keep his volume low, and you argue that his energy is just so attractive that even the local wildlife are drawn to him. 

“Don’t start,” he warns, overwhelming fondness in his voice. 

You make Spencer tell you something boring to calm yourself down from the image you’ve conjured of him being chased by a roadrunner, which, in your exhausted state, is even funnier than it should be. He claims to regret confiding in you with this, but he knows he’d do it again just to hear you laugh. 

Instead of telling you something boring, he recites some of the poems he’s memorized over the years. It works the way you’d intended, and you regret it when you have to stop him to tell him you’re falling asleep. He’s just a little smug about it. 

“So, you’ll be home in four hours?” you ask, the start of your goodbyes. 

“More like three now.”

“We made time go faster.” 

“We did.” 

“Will you try to get some sleep?”

“Fine. Only because you asked.”

You hum, victorious. “Goodnight. I love you.” 

“And I love you.” 

Hours later, just as the sun is beginning to change the hue of the sky from deep navy to a hazy cerulean glow, you feel your mattress shift underneath you. You’re barely awake, but still you register the scent of Spencer’s shower gel, fresh and sort of woodsy. 

Half asleep, you shift to accommodate him, and he slips an arm around you as you lay your head on his chest. You wrap an arm around his torso and throw your leg over his hips, as close as you can possibly get without literally being on top of him. 

You sigh, deep and relieved, and Spencer’s heart stutters. 

“I missed this,” he chuckles, resting his cheek against the top of your head and wrapping his arms tighter around you. You just hum in response, the last of your energy before you’re pulled back under. Within minutes, Spencer is asleep too, and the two of you sleep through sunrise and into the afternoon. 

[dreamingkitsunewrites]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𝐇αᥣᥣ𝖾𝗒'𝗌 𝐂ⱺꭑ𝖾𝗍.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Chapter 2 from ₊ Qʊɛɛռ օʄ ȶɦɛ Nɨɢɦȶ Series

-☄"Midnight for me is 3:00 a.m. (for you)"☄-

ραιяιηg: Neighbor!Choso Kamo x Bartender!Reader

𝖲ɣ𐓣: you come home at 3am from your shift at the club just to find your cold neighbour Choso awake and waiting for you to come home safely.

𝐂ɦ𝖾𝖼𝗄 ⱺυ𝗍 𝗍ɦ𝖾 𝚰𐓣ᑯ𝖾𝗑 ρα𝗀𝖾 𝖿ⱺ𝗋 𝗍ɦ𝖾 𝖿υᥣᥣ 𝐓𝐖 ᥣ𝗂𝗌𝗍

A/N: hey guys I'm finally back... This is my first fic in a long time, so sorry if this chapter might seem a bit boring... I swear, it's all for the sake of the slow burn!🤣

Series Tag list: Open!

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 | 𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬-𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

⏭ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ sᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ: нαℓℓєу'ѕ ¢σмєт by вιℓℓιє єιℓιѕн

Choso's POV

“She’s gone… you can finally breathe now.” Yuji barges into his brother’s room without a warning. Choso, who was peacefully existing with his headphones on, jumps back in his bed, dropping his music with an annoyed frown. “Ok…” he mutters, not even pretending to care, “did you at least understand a word she said?”

“Hold on, bro,” Yuji waves his arms around dramatically, “why aren’t we talking about how your killer glare probably made her want to join a monastery and take a vow of silence? We might need a priest to bless the room if she ever comes back.”

Choso, eyes darting to the corner, knows it’s true. He’s an expert at making people uncomfortable with his mysterious aura. But she wasn’t scared of him, right? She just seemed… interested? Or maybe confused? His mind goes into overdrive, battling between self-doubt and a strange sense of vulnerability. Was he the creepy guy, or were you just… not scared of him? He really didn’t know how to feel about that gaze of yours. It wasn’t judging. It was curious. And that... was new. So new he doesn't know how to cope with that.

“Well,” Yuji interrupts his spiraling thoughts, his grin screaming trouble is coming, “Can I ask why you were being weird today? Like, weird weird?”

Choso’s train of thought derails, and he stumbles over words. “I… don’t know…” he mutters. “Maybe… I’m just not used to… being around… girls?” His face turns into a tomato. “I mean, you know, girls usually think I’m a weirdo…”

A flashback to Yuki, the only girl he’d ever been able to talk to, flits through his mind. She had been his friend. A real friend. She was the only one who didn’t run for the hills when he spoke. The only woman who could accept him for who he is. Maybe the only one in his entire existence… he has always wondered if his mother really managed to accept his nature in the end. He wouldn't even blame her if not…But that’s a whole different therapy session.

Yuji’s grin widens, clearly about to unleash chaos. “I get it, bro,” he says, all innocent-looking, but Choso still can see the mischievous glint in his eyes. “But seriously, it’s time for you to join the human race. Go outside, touch some grass, bask in the sunlight. Maybe even put on real clothes for once instead of your comfy ‘I haven’t left the house in six days’ pajamas.”

Choso stares down at his pajama pants like they’ve personally offended Yuji. “Why do you hate my pajamas so much?” he mutters, defensive, like a child caught in his favorite blanket.

Yuji snickers. “Nothing. I’m sure even our neighbor’s jealous of your unique fashion choices.”

Suddenly, Choso’s cheeks turn pink as he realizes he probably should’ve made himself slightly presentable before you showed up. Oops.

“Jokes aside, don’t stress about her. She’s chill. Oh, and I bet she really appreciated you checking in on her tonight. Big bro points, my dude. Huge. I approve.”

As Yuji heads for the door, Choso’s mind starts to race again. You’re probably starting your shift right about now, and suddenly, his chest feels tight. Worry? Anticipation? He isn’t sure. Probably both. He’s no expert in nightlife (he’s more of a “stay home and brood” kind of guy), but he knows enough about what happens at clubs on weekends to be mildly terrified. Drunk people, loud music, bad decisions. And you, you’re… well, you’re attractive,beautiful even. The image of that pout you make when you focus suddenly comes to his mind, he noticed it while you were sitting in their kitchen, just an hour before.

Yuji snaps his fingers in front of Choso’s face. “Yo, Earth to Choso, where’d you go? What do you want for dinner? Spaghetti? Pizza? A small army of snacks?”

Your POV:

You’re back at the apartment, quickly switching into your pub’s uniform while grabbing a snack that’s barely worthy of being called dinner. "Hey 'Zuru, I’m over here," you call out, hearing the door open signalling your roommate's return. In your typical fashion, you join her, making a grand entrance, hopping on one foot while trying (and failing) to pull on your skirt without falling over. She shoots you an amused stare. Her laugh fills the room as she opens the fridge, rummaging around for ingredients. "So, how was your day?" she asks, but the disapproving tone in her voice could sour milk.

You shrug casually, leaning against the counter as you munch on your snack. “Eventful, to say the least. Classes were fine, but I ended up helping Yuji with his homework after bumping into him this morning. Had to do something for him, especially after he saved our apartment from that fire your straightener started...” You approach her, trying to help with dinner prep, although you're more distracted by the ongoing crisis of your skirt.

She squints at you, half amused, half exasperated. “Wait—my straightener now? Really? You’re incredible.” She scoffs, and you can feel the heat of her sarcasm even before she opens her mouth again. “Oh, and thanks for almost wrecking my date next week. You know, the guy from this morning, who definitely didn’t look like Kenji? Yeah, he wasn’t thrilled when you mistook him for my ex.”

You wince, feeling a little guilty. “Oops? But seriously, since when do you hang out with such prickly guys?” You try to make light of the situation, your innocent smile just the tiniest bit mischievous. It works—just a little.

“Lucky we’re friends,” she mutters under her breath, grabbing a piece of your KitKat bar without permission. “Anyway, how’d it go with Yuji?”

You lean back on the counter, kicking your legs casually, your voice almost dreamy as you glance up at the ceiling. “It went pretty well. You can tell he really puts effort into everything, even his chemistry work.” You pause, letting the suspense build before casually adding, “Oh, and I met his brother today. Choso.”

At the mention of his name, Shizuru freezes mid-step, her eyes narrowing “Who? The ghost of the block?” Her disbelief is palpable. She holds her pan like it might be some kind of defense weapon. “You’re telling me you actually talked to him? And got his name? How are you still alive?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Relax, he’s not that bad. He’s just a little…shy.”

“Shy?” She spits out the word like it's poison. “Shy doesn’t mean watching people from a distance with that I’ll stab you if you breathe near me look. That guy’s a creep! I don’t even know how they’re brothers. It's like one was raised by kittens, and the other by serial killers.”

You stare at her, raising an eyebrow. “Zuru, that’s not fair—”

“Not fair? Have you seen him? He looks like he’d bite your head off if you smiled at him wrong,” she interrupts. Her face is a mix of incredulity and concern now. “Tell me, what did he even say to you?”

“Not much,” you admit with a shrug. “He mostly just... studied me. Like, just stared at me the whole time.”

She bursts out laughing. “I knew it! No doubt he looked at you like you were the last woman on Earth. I bet the last time a girl talked to him, he thought it was some kind of alien encounter.”

You roll your eyes but your smile lingers a little too long, a little too soft. “Well, there was one thing... He did ask if I’d be okay working the night shift alone, said he was worried about me being out by myself.”

Shizuru drops her spatula. “Wait, wait, what? He asked you that? That can only mean one of two things: He’s either a secret knight in shining armor—like, a dark and broody ‘I’ll protect you’ type—or he’s a stalker serial killer making sure no one kills you before he can.”

You throw your hands up in exasperation, hopping off the counter. “And here I thought we could have a normal conversation. Why is it so hard for you to admit that he’s not that bad? Honestly, I’m heading to work now. Don’t wait up for me.”

Shizuru tilts her head, giving you that knowing smirk. “Never planned on it. But seriously—watch out for the Chosos on your way out. They tend to give people... intense stares.”

As you grab your jacket and head out the door, you can't help but think back to Choso—of how oddly protective he’d seemed earlier. There’s something about him that’s so... complicated, like there's more lurking beneath the surface. You shake the thought off, but a small part of you wonders just how much of a knight he might actually be.

...

The shift has gone smoother than expected, the hours slipping away unnoticed as you worked at the pub. It wasn't until the end of the night, when a few too many patrons had indulged a bit too much, that you and your colleague found yourselves staying later than planned. You've had to help some of them out the door, calling their emergency contacts to make sure they'd get home safely. On your way back, the thought crosses your mind that it must feel nice to have someone to always rely on. Since moving to Japan, your roommate has always been your one constant, your anchor. You'd taken care of each other, navigating the chaos of life side by side. That’s why Yuji and Choso’s concern earlier today has left you with an unexpected feeling. It was nice to be cared for, even if it felt … strange.

As you walk home, you suddenly remember the promise you made to them today about letting them know you'll make it back safely tonight. But how could you do that now? It's already 3am and you are barely crawling back to the building, exhausted, your mind blurry. They are probably asleep by now anyways, and you certainly don't want to wake them up for something so trivial. What if they had even forgotten about it? This could also be a possibility...The idea of barging into their apartment looking like you had just fought a zombie apocalypse, just to say, "Hey, just wanted to tell you I made it home safe," is mortifying. You never quite knew how to handle attention like that. It always felt… uncomfortable.

You sigh as the elevator doors open. Stepping inside, you lean against the cool metal, the reflection in the mirror showing just how tired you are. Dark circles under your eyes—could they rival Choso’s? You wonder if he works nights too, that would explain why he's never around during the day… The impactful sight of your disheveled hair and smudged makeup makes you cringe. There's no way you are going to run into anyone in this state

...

Meanwhile, Choso has been pacing the living room for more than an hour, glancing at the clock every few minutes. 2:00 a.m. 2:30. 2:45. Where were you? Shouldn’t any bar be closed by now? Why weren't you home yet?

Yuji went to sleep hours ago, and the silence of the apartment, only broken by the occasional tick of the clock, fuels his anxiety. What if something had happened to you? What if someone had gotten too close at the bar, or worse, if you’d run into trouble on your walk home? He's already regretting not insisting on walking you home. He had let his guard down, and now he can't shake the thought of you being out there alone.

He stops pacing for a moment, realizing how absurd his thoughts must sound. But he can't help it—once Yuji had pulled him into your orbit just this afternoon, he couldn’t shake the sense of responsibility he felt for you. Protectiveness has always come naturally to him. And you were Yuji’s friend, which meant you were officially under his care too.

Then, his mind drifts back to earlier today, to how small and fragile you looked under his gaze in the kitchen, huddled in that oversized leather jacket as if you were trying to hide from the world…. A feeling he knows quite well. Guilt stirs in his chest, maybe you two aren't that different… He didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Maybe that's why he couldn’t stop thinking about you, why he cared so much.

Cling. His thoughts are interrupted by the familiar chime of the elevator. He freezes. Could it be you?

The doors slide open and you tiptoe down the dim hallway, trying to avoid making a sound. You are certain Yuji and Choso have forgotten about you anyway, and you have already concocted a half-baked excuse in case they haven't. Reaching your door, you find your lovely roommate has locked you out again. "Damn, 'Zuru," you mutter through gritted teeth, rolling your eyes as you fumble for your keys in the chaotic abyss of your bag.

Too preoccupied with not making noise, you fail to notice the figure standing behind you until it is too late: Choso stands there, watching you struggle with your keys, his nostrils flaring as his eyes sweep over you. The sight of you in your uniform—tight T-shirt clinging to your curves, legs exposed in that breathtaking miniskirt, the ‘Queen of the Night’ logo teasingly placed just above your neckline—stirred something dark in him…how could this be defined as a work uniform?

“You’re back.” His voice is dry, sharp, and it makes you jump, the keys slipping from your hands and clattering to the ground.

"Shit…it's you, Choso," you mutter, heart racing. His hard expression makes it instantly clear that you've just made a mistake. "You scared me."

On the spot,he wants nothing more than to snap something sarcastic about how you should be more afraid of wandering the streets at 3 a.m. than of him, but he bites his tongue. He is too angry, too frustrated.

“Why didn’t you let us know you made it home safely? You've promised…” His tone is harsh, the words coming out faster than he intended.

Touché- your heart sinks at the reminder of your earlier promise. You can't stand the fact that he'd probably think low of you now, even more than he did before if possible.

“I... I thought you and Yuji had probably forgotten about it,” you stammer, the excuses falling from your lips before you can stop them. “I didn’t want to bother you, especially at this hour.” Your words ring hollow even to you, but you can't help but wonder why he was so upset for something that didn't involve him or Yuji directly.

Choso’s eyes narrow, his jaw tightening. “If we didn’t want to be bothered, we wouldn’t have asked you to let us know in the first place. I spent the evening waiting for you to come home.” His gaze pinns you, as if daring you to look away.

The realization hits you—Choso, the cold guy everyone is afraid of is worried…for you? You blink, surprised by the raw intensity in his eyes. “Wait…did you actually… wait up for me?”

His face softens for a split second before hardening again. "I did."

The hallway falls silent for a moment. “I’m sorry… I didn’t know. It’s my fault,” you murmur looking at the ground, still unable to hold his gaze, when your raging guilt finally subsides.

Choso sighs at the scene, leaning against the doorframe. His arms cross over his broad chest, and you can tell he's still trying to control his emotions. “It’s okay." Those three words are enough to make you release the breath you didn't know you were holding. "Just… keep it in mind from now on: you can always call us if you're in trouble. No matter the time.” he says, his eyes now boring into yours as if seeking the reassurance you'd grasped the concept.

You smile at his awkward attempt to ease the tension… something suggested you that his rough façade was nothing but a bluff already this afternoon, and the embarrassed expression etched on his face right now as he tries to maintain a stern tone confirms that you weren't wrong. “Can I ask you something?” you speak, guilt now replaced by a playful mischief that takes Choso aback.

"Uh? Yeah… What’s up?” he asks, desperately trying to sound casual, though inside, he is already panicking about what you might ask.

Your grin grows as you mirror his posture, leaning against your door and crossing your arms. “Is your door about to fall off or something?”

His eyes widen in confusion, before turning and checking for the stability of his entrance door. “No, it’s still pretty sturdy… Why?”

You have to suppress a laugh at the panic in his voice... Is it always that easy to make him nervous?. “Just seemed like you always lean on it like it’s your life mission or something.” you tease him, remembering how he displayed his signature 'alpha-pose' already this afternoon.

Choso’s face flushes, and he quickly looks away, trying to salvage his tough guy image. “It’s none of your business,” he mutters, putting on an adorable child-like frown, but even in the dim light, it is obvious he is flustered by your teasing.

You raise an eyebrow. “Okay, okay…” The air around you feels less tense now, almost intimate, with just the two of you awake in the whole building. “Is Yuji sleeping?” you whisper, interrupting the peaceful silence of the night.

“Yeah, he’s been asleep for a while now…” The change in Choso’s posture as you mention his brother is noticeable: his deep voice softens, his eyes fill with a sparkle as his thoughts seem to wander to Yuji. “He really wanted to stay up and wait for you, but I convinced him I’d handle it.”

You laugh quietly. “Aww so thoughtful of him! But he’s got school tomorrow. He definitely needs to save some energy for chemistry class… your brother is such an angel…you know," you confess, opening up to him about the struggles of getting used to your new surroundings "he has always been one of the few friendly faces when I moved here...I'll forever be thankful for meeting him”

Choso chuckles along with you, his lips finally curling up in a faint smile, though his mind seems to slip far away. “He’s special… too pure for this world.”

The moment is quiet, comfortable even, until you break the silence again, thinking it's time for both of you to take some sleep. “Thanks for what you did tonight… Goodnight, Choso.”

You can feel his eyes on you as you turn to leave, but there is something more—something that makes him hesitate. “Hey," he stammers without thinking, as if he's subconsciously trying to extend the longest conversation he has had with someone other than Yuji in a while "Can I ask you one more thing before you go?”

You pauses,as if surprised by his own boldness. “Yeah? Of course you can...” you turn to face him once again and Choso realizes it's too late to take back his words now..His heart hammers in his chest, the words hanging on the edge of his tongue. “I’ve been wondering... " He swallows, finding the right words to express what has been wandering around his head all night "did anyone cause you any trouble at the pub tonight? In any way...” he stammers.

His gaze is intense, unwavering even, and for a moment, you see something darker behind his eyes, something akin to the danger everyone associates with him. His question catches you off guard, but you quickly reassure him, putting on a warm smile “No, it was a pretty easy night actually… Just had to kick out a couple of drunk patrons, nothing serious.” you try to alleviate the tension.

In this moment you can clearly see his attention drift away again, that distant look of this afternoon resurfacing on his features. He lets out a low hum, his posture stiffening again as he unexpectedly turns his back on you. "Good. Goodnight,then" he mutters, his tone final.

You blink, awkwardly standing in the hallway for a moment longer after his sudden departure, unsure of what had just happened. What had you said wrong? Where does he go in his mind when he gets lost in those mysterious thoughts of his?

You finally reach out for the keys, still laying on the ground and enter your apartment, wishing you could shut the doubts outside with him as you close the door behind you with a soft click, your mind still racing with confusion. Choso…you were right about his name: there is more to him than meets the eye, and the more you see of him, the more you feel drawn to uncover the secrets behind his rough demeanor.

On the other side of the wall, Choso lays awake in bed, his fists clenched, a tangle of emotions storming through him. Why did you have to be so careless? Why couldn’t you see the danger in the way you were acting? The thought of other men ogling over you in that uniform somehow made his blood boil, and yet, he can't tear his mind away from the image of you bathed in the moonlight seeping through the windows in the hallway, so vulnerable and unaware of the way your carelessness affected him. What's so special about clubs anyways? What's the use of being looked at like nothing but a piece of meat by a bunch of drunk assholes? How could you be fine with that?

And as the darkness of the night envelops him, he can't shake the pull he feels toward you—that undeniable need to protect you, from the whole world, including yourself, even if he doesn't fully understand the reasons behind it. You are beautiful, yes….and so damn reckless…

Thanks for reading! Comments, reblogs and interactions are appreciated

©Dreamingkitsunewrites. Do not copy my works.

[justastraymoa]

Unwilling Alpha

Chapter 18

WC 3,486

Masterlist

Warnings ⚠️ swears, abo dynamics, mentions of slave trade, mentions of rape, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, fear, manipulation. Falls injury but not severe, hospital, xray, cat scans, I am not a medical professional so ignore any oopsies when it comes to that.

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Half asleep still and confused I felt around the bed. Cold. It had been a while since they left. The confusion quickly led to panic as I sat up, now completely awake and aware. There was nothing in the room besides my few items left out. Nothing to indicate that they were here or were coming back.

Snatching my phone off the nightstand, I looked at the time. Almost lunch. And a text notification. I opened my messages.

I sighed out the panic that had crawled into my chest. The irrational thought of them abandoning me is gone now. I sent a quick text to my bodyguard group chat and swung my legs out of my warm blankets.

Since it was just me, I was allowed to drive myself for the first time. It had been so long since I drove, I was actually nervous to get behind the wheel again, but also giddy. So, with coffee in hand I set the GPS and headed to my boys.

The first thing I did was accidentally pull out in front of someone. I grimaced and waved in apology as they lay on their horn and yelled at me, gesturing wildly. Oops.

I did make it to the arena in one piece eventually. The roads in Melbourne were confusing as hell, even with GPS giving me step my step instructions. I made multiple wrong turns and got lost several more times.

Now, standing in the shadow of the massive arena, I was intimidated. And lost again. I wasn’t sure where to go in at or if they would even let me in. What if security didn’t know who I was?

What would I do then? The boys won’t be able to check their phones very often, I’m sure. And they won’t want to hold up or skip practice for me. They didn’t have a lot of time before the concert to prepare. And this mini tour was kind of a rapid tour as well. To reestablish themselves and assure everyone that they weren’t disbanding.

Maybe I should go back to my hotel room and hang out there for the day. I would be less of a nuisance there and my Omegas will be too busy to feel the separation.

Minjun shoved me gently from behind. “They are expecting you.” He spoke. It was like he was reading my mind and knew I was thinking of leaving. Like he knew my insecurities. Maybe he did. Maybe they were all over my face. Who knows, but I did follow his gesture to a metal set of doors that opened easily when I tested the handle.

The group was working on the spacing for Social Path. Music stopping and starting again as Lino adjusted something, then tried it out.

They were all so focused, they didn’t notice my arrival, but I felt 3x lighter just seeing them. Being close to them again. Even if I itched to reestablish contact too. Seeing them would have to be enough for now. I wasn’t going to disrupt their rhythm and flow.

Instead, I found a stadium seat and started to get my camera all set up. I may miss taking pictures of anything but my Omegas, and the various studios we ended up in, but I wasn’t about to stop taking those photos either. Each new experience with my boys would be immortalized on “film”. Hard copies of our memories together.

Getting the lighting right turned out to be impossible. The lighting crew was testing the lights, so it changed constantly. Being too dark here, then too light. The white balance completely off every time. But this was a challenge I liked. In my photography element and actually knowing what I was doing for the first time in what felt like a long time.

I dodged all the staff buzzing about. Frantically getting things set up for the show. Instead I stayed tucked in little nooks and crannies. Hiding in the spaces no one needed to use.

Binnie spotted me first. “Y/n!” He shouted, hands in the air and running toward me in baby. “You’re here!” He was entirely too loud, voice seeming to echo around the empty arena.

Matching his energy, I reached out to him from right next to the stage. “I am here!” I screamed back.

We awkwardly hugged from the drastically different levels. This stage was at my nose, nearly taller than I was. Even from an odd angle, Bin somehow managed to pull me up onto the stage with minimal effort. It was impressive.

“That was kind of hot, Bin, but I don’t want to get in the way of practice.” I patted his pink cheeks, ignoring the slight dampness left on my hand from sweat.

Ayen leapt onto my back, hanging on for a piggyback ride. I held his slight weight easily. I had held cameras that weighed more, honestly. “You won’t get in the way. Besides, you will get better pictures up here.” He nuzzled his nose behind my ear as he talked.

The rest joined us reconnecting with me by brief touches and not-so-subtle sniffs of my scent. Seungmin kissed my cheek and tweaked my chin gently. Lino patted my ass, looking a mixture of annoyed and tired, but I knew it wasn’t directed at me. He smelled stressed out. I wanted to help him destress, but I knew there was nothing I could do right now. Stress was part of life for them-for all of us now.

“Did you sleep okay after we left?” Seungmin asked. I nodded with a smile. “No nightmares?” He gave me a look warning me not to lie. I shook my head, confirming firmly that I had had no nightmares this morning. “Good.” Seungmin looked pleased and satisfied.

I was oddly proud and happy that I would make him so happy so easily. My metaphorical Alpha tail was wagging, and I hummed with a bright smile.

“Did you get here okay? I made sure to tell security to look out for you so they could tell you where to go.” Channie explained.

“Thankfully, Minjun seemed to know where to go so I got here just fine, thank you. Little rusty on driving though.” I pointed out. I needed to make a pint to drive regularly. Even if it’s just quick trips. There wouldn’t always be drivers to chauffeur us everywhere. And most of the boys had their licenses, but I couldn’t always be a passenger princess. I would go insane. Besides, I like driving. Its meditative. Especially long car rides alone. Nothing but you, the car, the road, and a good playlist as you lost yourself in your thoughts.

“Glad you made it. C’mon, back to work. Ayen, get down.” Lino clapped and ushered everyone back to where they needed to be.

Ayen pouted but slid off my back. I snapped a quick photo of his cute pouting face. Lower lip jutting out and eyes all big and watery. It was just so adorable, even if it did manage to pull at my heartstrings.

They got back to work, and I went back to snapping photos. Ayen was right, the photos were better from up here. And I felt on top of the world. Even with the seats empty it felt like I was the center of attention. It was oddly intimidating.

I was crouched at the very back of the stage, getting pictures of the boys and the arena when it happened. One second Binne and Lino were dancing next to each other-the next there was a loud clank, and the stage floor disappeared under them, sucking them in. It all happened in a single breath and my heart stopped.

Tossing everything aside I sprinted to the hole and my Omegas, who were possibly hurt. “Binnie! Lino!” I screamed as I slid to a stop at the edge of the hole.

A large group of people had all run over to help as well. I sobbed as I looked and saw my Omegas at the bottom of the hole, but moving slowly and carefully. Lino had landed mostly on top of Bin. “Don’t move! Are you okay?” I angrily swiped the tears clouding my vision so I could see my boys.

Ignoring Chan trying to stop me, I jumped down into the hole with Bin and Lino, desperately feeling at them for injuries.

Lino rolled off Bin carefully and they both groaned. “I’m okay, Alpha. Just bruised and shaken.” He promised squeezing my searching fingers.

Bin was a different story. He was cradling his left arm. My hands fluttered over it, looking for a visible injury. “Bin, your arm!” I sniffed.

“I’m okay.” He groaned unconvincingly. “I’m okay, Alpha, I promise. I just hit my head and hurt my arm.” He was careful not to move though.

“Is your arm broken?” Lino asked.

Bin shook his head. “Just a sprain I think.”

There were several people approaching from behind us, from another way under the stage. They were dragging stuff with them.

I spun and growled deep in my chest, warning the strangers not to come any closer to my injured Omegas. The strangers were dangerous and far too close for my liking, making me growl even louder. They weren’t getting to my Omegas; I wouldn’t let them!

The strangers paused, some even looking down and backing away a few steps. The one in front held out a hand, making me growl louder and crouch, ready to attack and defend my injured Omegas.

Bin and Linos’ scents got stronger as they tried to calm me down. I shook it off and focused on the strangers. There was danger here, I needed to be on guard and ready.

Carefully Lino slid a hand over my bicep and moved closer to me-sending more calming scent my way. “Alpha, we are okay. They only want to help.” He spoke slowly, quietly, and gently, avoiding my eyes and almost nuzzling into my neck. “Please let them help.” He begged.

Between the scents and Linos’s touch, I was coming back to myself just enough to recognize the strangers as EMTs. Here to treat injuries. Bin hit his head and hurt his arm. He needed them. They were trained for treating injuries, I was not. I couldn’t help him like they could, but I could let them help him.

I looked at the group of EMTs, struggling against every cell in my body that wanted to give in to my roaring instincts to guard and protect. There were five of them. Too many. “One.” I growled out. I wasn’t able to stop the warning growl completely, not yet. I was still too worked up. But I could handle one of them near my Omegas. I would just watch them very closely.

The EMT in front nodded in agreement and turned to the others to get supplies. I pulled Lino around so I could keep both him and Bin in sight as they were looked over. I was crouched over Bins legs, focused entirely on what was happening.

“Lino, what’s going on?” Chan asked from above us.

Lino was keeping one hand on me to try and keep me grounded. I was thankful for the contact. With my Omega injured, my Alpha instincts were far too close to the surface for me to be able to think straight. I was too raw with worry and fear.

“We are fine. The EMT is going to check us out.” He was being carefully vague on the details in case anyone with bad intentions was listening. Or a camera was recording.

Both Binnie and Lino were still pumpi9ng out calming chemo signals for me, even though they were the injured ones. And I was coming back enough to my senses to recognize them trying to care for me now.

There was a slight commotion above us as the others cleared away anyone not needed so we had privacy. And less people around made me feel better, calmer. More in control of the situation, which also made Lino and Binnie relax.

I took a deep breath to center myself. Me acting like this was only causing my Omegas to stress more. I needed to be calm and in control for them.

The EMT approached slowly, heading to Bin first, since he was the more injured party. Now faking calmness until I could be alone to let my swirling emotions go, I let the Beta approach without even a warning growl. I placed a hand on Binnies thigh, so he knew I was still here for him. I felt his muscles relax under my touch.

The EMT worked slowly, but efficiently. Explaining everything he was going to do before he did it. This was more for my benefit than Bins or Linos. Just like doing the initial checks in the dark under stage area was mostly for my benefit.

Lino checked out okay. Landing on Bin helped save him from injuries. Bin needed an x-ray and CAT scan at the hospital. Which meant either letting Bin out of my sight, or the rest of my Omegas and I really didn’t want to do either.

Bin kept hold of my hand with his uninjured one as we made our way out from under the stage, and he was strapped to a gurney. Lino kept his hand on my lower back. Chan and the others met us at the ambulance.

“Chan, I can’t – he’s hurt.” I struggled to explain why I couldn’t leave Bin, but I knew he would understand, as a leader himself.

Chan nodded and patted my hair. “Go in the ambulance, we will follow. We’ll be right behind you.” He promised.

“His Alphas riding along, make room.” The EMT who looked them over announced to the other in the ambulance.

They must have some kind of training in this because they all jumped into action to make room for me without question or complaint. Giving me the spot closest to him and not trying to separate our linked hands even once. Hyun helped me climb into the vehicle without one handed and the doors closed behind me.

My hurt Omega squeezed my trembling fingers. “I’m okay, Bun.” He whispered with a soft smile as the people around us worked. I kept my focus on him and not the many – too many – people around us.

I shook my head. “You don’t know that. You need tests.” I swallowed and fought to keep my emotions reined in. Now was not the time to let them out.

“That’s just a precaution. I barely even have a headache.”

“It’s a miracle you aren’t more injured! You had a whole person land on you!” It really was a crazy that he didn’t have broken ribs or ruptured organs.

Bin laughed. “We know how to fall to minimize injuries.”

“You shouldn’t have fallen to begin with! Why wasn’t that door properly secured?”

Bin shrugged. “Accidents happen.”

I hummed. I will ask the stage manager later what happened and who was responsible. This carelessness could have caused a serious injury! Someone needed to answer for this, and steps needed to be taken to prevent it from happening ever again.

At the hospital I was allowed as far as the radiation room door. So with a final squeeze and a kiss to his hairline I reluctantly let them take Bin away. Every part of me screaming against it. Against having him out of my sight and out of reach.

I paced just outside the door, listening in case he called for me. I really wanted to take this moment alone to let go. To let myself feel all the emotions I locked up to take proper care of my Omegas. But I was still in public. If someone caught it and my freakout got out it would damage Stray Kids’ reputation. And the scent may leak through the door to Binnie too, making him stressed again. I would have to wait until I was alone for real. Back at the hotel later, safe in my room later tonight.

It felt like Binnie was in radiation for hours before the door finally opened and he was wheeled out, now in a different bed and not the ambulance gurney. As soon as the door opened his eyes were searching for me, hand reaching for me as soon as he saw me.

He was given a large private room where the others were already waiting for us. Without letting go of Bin I reached for Lino, reassuring myself that he was still okay. He let me fuss with a nod of reassurance.

“What did they say, Bin?” I asked turning to tuck him into the hospital bed, careful of his arm and head. He now had an IV in one arm that I hadn’t noticed before with a bag of saline attached to it. “Did they give you anything?” I hadn’t even given him time to answer the first question yet, but the IV distracted me.

“They are waiting for results. And they gave me some pain meds. Nothing too strong.” He answered.

I felt my lips twist, but I kept my thoughts to myself. It didn’t sit right with me that they have my Omega something without telling me, before or after. I had to find out on my own. But he is a grown man and didn’t need my permission. I didn’t own him. It still felt like a betrayal of trust though.

Instead, I focused on fussing over him now. Adding another blanket and fluffing his pillow. I filled his hospital provided cup with ice water and added a straw before handing it to him, watching as he drank a few sips before placing it on the bed table for him.

“Y/N? Felix gently asked, quiet in his concern.

I shook my head. “I’m okay.”

But Bin caught my sleeve. “I’m sorry. I should have had them wait to give me anything.”

“No. You were in pain. And I am not your master.”

“No, you are my Alpha.”

The doctor came in then, in his traditional pristine white coat, carrying a file folder and a clipboard. One or both containing the results from Bins tests.

Thirty minutes of technical doctor mumbo jumbo later and Bin was given a sort of clean bill of health. The cleanest and best we could hope for at least. Bad sprain, impressive bruising, but no concussion or other head injuries. No internal injuries either. He was cleared to continue the concert after resting the rest of today.

The doctors and nurses seemed to ignore my existence until it came time to fill out paperwork. I stared blankly at the offered clipboard as everyone watched and waited.

“He can’t sign himself out of the hospital?” I asked dumbfounded.

The nurse shifted, uncomfortable. “Claimed Omegas need to have their Alpha or Beta sign the paperwork before they can be released.” He explained.

“What if he wasn’t claimed?”

“Then he could sign himself out.”

“That’s the dumbest think I’ve ever heard.” I snatched the clipboard from him and without breaking eye contact, I handed it right to Bin. “He doesn’t need my permission to leave the hospital.”

The nurse pursed his lips in disapproval but accepted the singed paperwork from Bin.

As Hyunjin and Ayen helped Bin get ready to go, Seungmin approached me hesitantly, hiding something behind his back. “What is it, Min?” I was getting nervous, still too on edge.

He brought my camera out from behind him. In all the chaos I had forgotten all about it. When did I set it down?

“We found it on our way to the cars. The lens is broken out and some buttons are missing.” He handed me the camera gently. The lens was completely missing and the casing had cracks. I must have dropped it when my Omegas fell. I never even registered it. “I’m so sorry.”

I opened a hatch on the side and popped out an unharmed memory card. “The memory card isn’t damaged. The pictures are fine. Ill just replace the camera. It’s fine. Thank you, Min.” I was sad to lose the camera. I had cherished it for many years now, but I am more focused on my Omegas right now. They were what was important.

Chan rubbed my back. “We will find a place to fix it.” He promised. I just nodded and smiled at him. There were so few places out there that could fix it, and they were expensive. It would be cheaper to replace it entirely. But I didn’t feel like talking about it now. Now I wanted to get my Omegas back to the hotel and resting properly. I wanted to get back to my hotel room and finally let go so I could properly care for them with a clear head and steady emotions.

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General Taglist @stellasays45 @beebee18 @weird-bookworm @velvetmoonlght

Unwilling Alpha Taglist: @xxeiraxx @hanniemylovelyquokka @breadedloafs @songleepark @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @hyunjinhoexxx @kayleefriedchicken @vietjeb @hityoulikebahng @juju-227592 @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @royal-shinigami @bangchansfavoritenoona @straykidslvr @bookswillfindyouaway @h0rnyp0t @Svmmerstime @jennibahng @kpopandmusicpassion @jasmin-loves-k-pop @cookey-lock @possum-playground @demigoddreamon-blog @rei-reia @dreamerwasfound @jasmin-loves-k-pop @ms-flowergirl @princess-sunshyn @technicallyimportantsweets @mbioooo0000 @jisungs-iced-americano @bluesoobinnie @threeopossumsinacoat @kkamismom12

[we-stan-the-stans-27]

Sleeping Beauty AU?

@sixerstanley Here had this HUGE big brain idea and I immediately sprung into action to write a little something about it.

Basically, they read a merlin fic where a spell made it seem like Merlin was dead, but he was basically asleep and aware of everything going on. Arthur was not having a good time. (trauma and pain ensues) I'm going to replicate it, based on the idea alone.

(Also, I had no idea this would turn into an almost 4k oneshot, oops! Color me inspired, I guess! I can do this, but not my actual fan fiction. LMAO!)

Suffer with me. (JK, enjoy. XD )

For the first time in weeks, Ford had allowed himself a full night's rest downstairs. Why not reward himself, just this once? The rift is sealed, the universe is safe, and things are slowly getting back to normal. Or as normal as they get in the pathetic excuse for what used to be his home.

Ford still has a hard time calling it what it is, 'The Mystery Shack' is a little on the nose, isn't it? The exhibits are hardly anything close to a mystery. They're botched taxidermy projects.

Insults. That's what they are.

A slap in the face to his life's work.

Whatever, that's not his problem right now. Coffee is the first order of business.

It's early and no one else is awake, but the coffee pot is still hot with a fresh pot. One cup appears to be missing. Stanley must be awake then.

Ford takes his time pouring the life-bringing liquid into his favorite cup (it is amazing Stanley didn't break it or lose it after all these years) and adding in ample sugar, and a dash of cream for color.

He adds a single ice cube to cool it faster, listening to the sounds of the house. It's silent, too quiet.

Ford can't help that even in a peaceful environment it puts him on edge.

The TV is off and a walk through the living room reveals Stanley isn't sitting on the couch. The first-floor bathroom light is off, door is slightly ajar, but empty.

That's weird.

He really shouldn't be looking for his brother anyway since the only good that will do is start another fight. It's too early for that.

Ford settles back in the kitchen, hovering near the window and sipping his cup watching the clock on the wall tic on. Minutes pass.

The silence is no longer just putting him on edge, it's sounding alarms.

Why? There is nothing dangerous here in the house, they are perfectly safe here now that Bill has been dealt with.

What then?

To put his own stupid mind to rest he leaves the empty cup in the sink and goes upstairs to the attic, checking on Dipper and Mabel.

They are both still fast asleep in their beds. Dipper, drooling on his pillow with half the blanket on the floor. Mabel, hair stuck up in all directions, clutching one of her many stuffed animals like it might try to escape.

Waddles is here too, curled up on its makeshift bed on the floor.

He stays just long enough to ensure they are all breathing, and sleeping soundly, before noiselessly going back downstairs.

The second floor is as empty as the first, including Stanley's poor excuse for a room. It is a mess of half-packed boxes, several trash bags, and the always-unmade bed.

Soon enough the house will be normal again.

Stanley will be gone, the kids will go home- (Perhaps they'll visit again next summer? It's a shame Dipper can't stay) and the Mystery Shack business will be over forever.

This once secluded corner of the valley will be that way again, his haven away from prying eyes. And tourists.

With the interior of the house cleared that only leaves the yard and porch.

Ford makes his way out onto the one Stanley finds the most use out of and the worry he hadn't realized to be carrying vanishes. There he is, sitting back dead asleep on the disgusting couch. How old is that thing? It appears to be growing several kinds of mold along the bottom because of the constant rain this region gets.

One hand is barely holding onto Stan's coffee cup, the arm of the couch holding it up while its owner sleeps.

"Seriously, Stanley? Being old doesn't give you an excuse to sleep anywhere, much less flash the local wildlife in little more than boxers." It's a good dig, in his opinion, and he speaks loud enough to rouse Stanley despite how hard of hearing he has become over the years.

Except no quick response comes.

Stanley doesn't so much as twitch in his spot on the couch.

The fear comes back-

Oh, don't be ridiculous!

"Very funny, Stanley." He lets the door close, quietly, before moving to stand in front of his brother, hands on either hip.

He looks, really looks, at Stan.

And sees nothing good.

The first notable, and most concerning finding, is that his brother isn't breathing. He waits, watching, assuming this to be a breath hold.

A joke.

But that isn't the only concerning evidence. Stanley's eyes are also halfway open, looking over the yard. Empty.

Not funny anymore, very much NOT funny!

Ford does not panic, not yet. He moves and picks up the cup, plucking it out of his brother's hand- It lacks any strength, like taking a toy from a child.

"Stanley? Wake up. Very good joke, you got me. Stop it now." He kneels on the couch, next to him, after setting the cup aside on the porch by their feet.

For the second time since coming home, Ford touches Stanley. This time with a kinder hold, reaching up to press two fingers along the pulse point between the jaw and collar bone, off to the side of the Adam's apple.

Nothing.

'One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten-'

He could count on one hand the number of times true panic has overtaken him in his lifetime. It isn't a luxury one can often afford when coming face to face with death constantly in the multiverse-

But what harm can come of it when someone is already dead?

His hand stays right where it is, tucked into the still-warm skin-

"No, this isn't funny-" But Ford's voice shakes and he snatches the hand away quickly. If he can't feel the lack of pulse, it's not there. Simple.

How didn't he notice? When did this happen?

What happened?

No- Ford turns, looking around the peaceful yard. Dew covers the grass, the sun peaked up about half an hour ago basking the clearing in pink and yellow hues.

There isn't any blood.

Death is messy. He has seen it countless times, but it is never, ever, peaceful. Knives, guns, cracking bones, broken bodies...

Looking back at Stanley none of that is present. The skin is still pink, and warm, eyes open but- Dead.

No. That can't be. It just can't.

Stanley looks almost peaceful, asleep. His coffee, barely a sip or two taken from the looks of it. "No."

Panic takes many different forms. Initially, instinctively, Ford looked for the cause. It had to be someone, something, who did this. Who took his brother?

But there is nothing, no one, in sight. No blood.

"Stanley, who-" His feet stop, body stalling, in the middle of turning back from the yard to look at the corpse...

He had been about to ask, to question who did this. But a dead body can't answer. A dead body, a corpse.

There is a distinction between a vessel and a person, or so Ford had always thought.

Everyone dies and until then you live inside and pilot your body. Someday, it becomes a corpse and you leave it behind.

That is such a cold and callous way to look at it, in retrospect. Because this, is Stanley. He's just- Gone.

With quick hands, Ford begins looking, almost in a frenzy, for the cause.

No blunt force trauma to the back of the head. No perforations to the abdomen, arms, nothing. There is nothing.

But that's not possible, people don't just-

Except they do. Sometimes-

No. NO! Not them, not him! Stanley Pines wouldn't just die, not without a fight!

Death doesn't play favorites, anyone can go, anytime-

"Shut up! No, he wouldn't! He wouldn't leave me!" It comes out in a shout and shakes him.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

He never allowed himself to think very far into the future, how could he? Everything was always changing and it was better to live in the now anyway. So long as you were safe now, other things could be handled later-

Except later doesn't always wait for you to be ready. Time has its own plans and you have to work around it or something-

Stanley wasn't supposed to die. Isn't! he can't be-

Except-

There are no obvious injuries, but then again there don't have to be. They may not be old, but they're old enough. Brain aneurysms take hold suddenly, killing the affected almost instantly.

Leaving barely enough time to set down a cup of coffee-

Or a heart attack?

No, Stanley would have come inside, asked for help-

Wouldn't he?

"You idiot!" It comes out in a hiss from where Ford has shifted. He's kneeling right next to Stanley, hand on either shoulder, looking at his half-open but- Dead. Dead eyes. Empty. Gone.

Soulless.

Ford isn't sure who he's talking to. Himself? or Stanley? Both?

"I would have helped you, we could have called someone, I-" He has to pull away, sinking down into the empty space of the couch to hide the tears springing up without permission.

This can't be happening. Things weren't supposed to end like this-

Oh yeah, how was it supposed to go then?

With you, kicking him out next week? Leaving him homeless, again, just like Pa?

"Stop it! I don't know, not like this!" Stanley was always the stronger between them, persevering through everything no matter what happened.

Is this my fault?

What a stupid question.

It forces him to sit up again, one hand covering his face while half peering out at Stanley.

Of course it is. What did you expect? That he would take his life being uprooted lying down?

Did he do this on purpose?

In the rush to pick up the cup of coffee Ford almost knocks it over but finds he can't hold it without spilling some of it over the sides, down onto the porch, anyway. He is left with no choice but to set it back down to avoid wasting the sample.

Maybe.

Ford takes both a physical and mental step back, leaning against one of the columns holding up the roof over the porch, to look around.

Breathing is getting a little more difficult, coming in tight short inhales and smaller and smaller exhales.

What better way to get back at me? Thirty years of a life spent learning math, science, and engineering skills well beyond any normal human's comprehension, for what?

To get a brother back who first chance he got told him to pack it up and get out?

"What kind of brother am I?"

The kind who would rather be right than-

Then apologize. Forgive. Make up. Let go.

And now, it's too late. The train left the station, Stanley is gone, and its all my fault.

"He died thinking I hated him." That realization is what breaks the decade-old dam, tears finally escaping. Ford closes the distance, sitting on the stupid couch and pulling Stanley over into a hug, even if he's not here to feel it.

The lack of strong, still buff, arms encircling him, returning the sentiment only makes him cry harder into the thin and crappy tank top Stanley must have worn to bed.

"I'm sorry." He chokes out between sobs, "I thought I'd have more time, you'd have more time. I didn't think- How could I?" Nothing he's saying is making much sense.

The ramblings of a heartbroken lunatic.

As if we really deserve to be upset, like you'd of cared if it wasn't life or death-

Maybe his own thoughts are right. If Stanley had been alive, sitting here, having his morning coffee they would have traded morning insults before going their separate ways.

But that's not the reality they live in. This one is much worse, much darker.

I spent so much time running away, trying to break apart, and be unique. No longer part of a broken pair, or what I saw as one, I-

"I never expected to miss it when the other half was gone." He is still shaking, refusing to let go, with thoughts still scrambled in a million different directions.

CPR wouldn't do any good now, although it's a nice thought. If Stanley came out here directly after preparing his coffee then that was almost twenty minutes ago, give or take-

Oh god. What about the kids?

Without letting go Ford checks the time on his watch, wincing. A few hours at most, but he'll have to call the coroner-

What does he do?

For the first time, possibly ever, Ford feels lost.

Not only because his twin is currently dead, which is already world-ending, but everything that comes with it.

Who does he say the corpse belongs to? Stanley Pines has been dead for decades-

Is that why he did this? So that Ford could slot right back into his old life, fixing the broken and shattered history? No. This had to be an accident-

Only the testing of the coffee will confirm it or not.

Ford has never had to stick around and deal with a dead body before. Moving on was easier, and necessary. He can't remember attending a funeral, other than their great aunts when they were barely seven.

That's not the same. He'll have to make arrangements, put together pictures, and give a speech-

About a life he knows nothing about.

"God, I'm sorry Stanley. I'm so sorry." It feels safe to let his voice break here. No one is around to see how completely destroyed he feels. "All you ever did was love me, and I pushed you away. I crushed it, refused, and now..."

"Now you're gone. I can't even remember the last time I told you that I love you, but I do. So much, more than I could ever handle." Ford can't let go, but he does shift back to look at his brother's face, holding his limp body with one hand and clearing his own tears with the other.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad I'm here. Thank you, for bringing me back." He has to close his eyes, fresh tear tracks spilling across both cheeks, "Even if only so I could say goodbye. I'm glad I got that, at least. If only you were here-"

With a broken voice, Ford can't stand looking at Stan like this anymore. He reaches up, closing both eyes with feather-light fingers, before leaning close to press them forehead to forehead. Just like when they were young. Before everything.

It's odd. How fast do corpses cool? Not that Ford is going to complain. It lets him pretend, just for a few more moments, that Stanley isn't gone. That they could have this again.

Too little, too late.

"I love you, Stanley." It comes out broken and cruel, like the universe is mocking him. What was the point in protecting them from Bill if death came knocking anyway?

For the first time since coming home, Ford understands.

Finally, he can see why Stanley wasted so much of his life trying to bring him back. Because he loves so much, so big. To his own detriment.

He would do anything, even destroy the world, to have Ford by his side again.

"I'm so sorry, you deserved so much better." How different could things of been?

What would Stanley of done instead? Gotten married? Had kids?

A better family, that's for sure.

Ford knows he can't stay here forever. He needs to let go, head inside, and make some phone calls. To tell Soos to close the shack for the day, get an ambulance to bring Stanley to the morgue.

He needs to prepare for when the kids wake up and figure out what to tell them.

But first, he indulges himself a little bit more by leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Stanley's lips. It smells of coffee, cigars, and denture cream, but Ford can't detect any sort of drug or chemical from close proximity alone. It's nice.

Not what you'd expect from a corpse, but it's enough.

A goodbye, a real one in a weird broken way. Just their luck.

The absolute last thing Ford expects, upon starting to pull away, is to feel the body still pressed very tight to his own take in a very deep breath followed by Stanley's discarded hands coming up to grab at him.

"Stanley!" His voice is still broken, mixed with anger and joy in a typhoon of confusion.

And Stanley? He has the nerve to laugh!

"Don't think you're walking away from that so easily!" No longer locked inside his own body without the ability to do anything it's a relief to be able to breathe. But even better, he can pull Ford over on top of his lap, locking one leg in place against the side of the couch.

"Excuse me! I thought you were dead! What the fuck, Stanley! You can't just go around pretending to be dead to mess with people! What if the kids had found you, or Soos, or Wendy?! You would have scared them half to death, you scared me half to death!"

Truly, it's a complicated story. One Stan is pretty sure Ford doesn't want to hear right now when his mind is running a mile a minute.

He has other things that need to be said instead of explaining whoever that weird wizard was who came out of the forest.

Forcibly Stanley grabs Ford's face, bringing him down so they are face to face again, leaving no room for argument in their close proximity. "Shut up, will you?"

Being locked in was sort of a blessing because participating in the conversation is so much harder than he thought it would be moments ago. He steals his nerves anyway, "I love you too, I'm not dead, and I'm pretty sure forty years should have made you a better kisser than that. Otherwise, I've got my work cut out for me. Try again."

By now Ford's face is bright red both out of anger at being tricked and embarrassment at their current position. But Stanley's hands are no longer weak, holding him tightly in place. Not that he seriously wants to argue anyway.

Stan waits, but the longer Ford stares, the more unsure he becomes. Maybe he misunderstood? Or maybe Ford just has a thing for corpses and now that he isn't one, the interest is gone.

Fair enough, Stan knows he isn't much to look at. Age wasn't as kind to him as it was to Ford. All lean muscles, few wrinkles, and barely greying hair. It's stupid, really.

It would be hypocritical to go right back to being mad, wouldn't it?

Just because Stanley isn't dead now, doesn't mean he won't be next time. Or the time after that.

Anything could happen.

Ford knows he should pull away. They should talk about what the hell just happened. He should move off his brother's damn lap!

Or, he could give in to the very thing he's spent two-thirds of their lives running from. The details and tough conversation can be hashed out later, right?

It's the hold on his jaw loosening that yanks Ford out of his spinning thoughts back to the present. Stanley is pulling away, looking down-

How long was he lost in thought? It couldn't have been more than twenty seconds. Did he change his mind? No, then why does he look so-

Well. Stanley looks the same as he always does.

Oh. Briefly, for a few seconds, Stanley was being brave. He opened up and showed his hand. Let himself be vulnerable.

Idiot!

His hands had never fully left Stan's shoulders, but he tightens their grip now, shifting one up to cup along the underside of his jaw. He doesn't feel the need to say anything, because neither of them has ever really been good with words.

He leans down, surprising them both, with a much more insistent kiss.

A hello. And maybe? A new beginning.

[white-wolf-buckaroo]

Where the Flowers Don't Grow - Chapter 4

Word Count: 6.7 k oops

Warnings: basically everything you should be warned about with TLOU, honestly

Notes: This one might also be one of my faves (which happens every time Joel slightly acts like a dad... so yeah).

Fic Masterlist

Faith sat on an old rocking chair in what was left of a white veranda at the front of an empty house. She’d checked it thoroughly—three times, in fact—and declared it clear. No infected. No sign of recent human activity.

She’d made camp on the porch and had been sitting there for a few hours now.

The floor was rotting in places, the smell of damp and old wood thick in the air mixing with the smell of the ever persisting autumn rain. But the veranda had a roof, and she’d found a few spare blankets in a chest to keep her warm… or at least, not so cold.

She was looking at the distance, gun in hand and deep in her thoughts, when the door creaked and heavy steps made their way towards her.

“I’m staying out here,” She said, simply.

Joel looked at her, really looked at her, trying to find any small creak of doubt in her expression to make her change her mind.

“Faith,” he said, watching her wrap her jacket tighter around herself, gun firm on her hand across her lap. “You can’t keep watch out here all night. You’ll freeze.”

“I’ve done worse,” she muttered, staring slightly to the side, just barely to see the door to get inside the house. “And I’m not falling asleep so that she can bite me when she turns.”

Ellie heard her from the inside of the house, sitting next to the door Joel had left open. She picked on her nails listening to Faith, angry at the world and whatever reason she was immune. She had felt like Faith was finally warming up to her… and now they were back at how things had been the first day they met more than a month ago. She thought she’d finally have gained a friend in her, and now… all of that was gone because of a stupid bite from a stupid infected.

“I’m not takin’ any chances.” added Faith. “I don’t care if you’re mad at me or if I sound like a bitch, okay? I don’t fucking care.”

Joel sighed, rubbing his hands together for warmth. He understood, of course he did. He also hadn’t slept the first night after discovering Ellie was infected, watching her the whole night waiting for her to show signs of the infection while she slept. She hadn’t though. She’d woken up with the same snark and the same tolerance to bullshit she’d had when he met her. “She’s not gonna turn.”

“Yeah?” Faith looked out into the cold rain-soaked dark. “Tell me again in the mornin’ when she tries to rip your guts out.”

Joel wouldn’t argue, couldn’t, really. He knew Ellie’s case was rare, like, one in a billion rare. And he also knew that even if Faith was a fucking capable fighter and a survivor in her own right, she was also sixteen years old and fucking stubborn, and Joel had never been great at trying to reason with moody teenagers.

So he didn’t push again. He just walked a slow loop around the perimeter once more, then went inside the house to rest, coming back out just once to give her another blanket:

“I already have a blanket,” she muttered when she saw the old grey fabric in his hands.

“It’s freezin’ cold,” he said, as it was enough reason for her to accept it. It should’ve, really. He sighed, leaving it close to her feet. “Just… take it, okay?”

Faith stayed there the whole night.

She didn’t sleep.

She was used to staying awake longer whiles anyways, she could manage just fine.

Rain came and went in waves—soft and steady at first, then cold and needle-like in the early hours. Her jacket was doing barely nothing against the cold by morning. Her fingers were numb. Her nose red. But her grip never wavered. Her gaze never left the door where she expected an infected Ellie to come running out from.

She kept listening.

For the breath that would change.

For the sounds she’d never forget.

But they never came.

When the sky finally began to lighten, streaks of dull gray slicing through the clouds, Joel stepped out quietly again. His eyes fell on her—sitting exactly where he’d left her, shivering, silent, and covered by the grey blanket he’d brought her last night.

She looked up as he approached, and something in her expression cracked. Just a little.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned on the railing beside her, crossing his arms over his chest.

Then he said, softly, “She’s okay.”

Faith nodded once, slowly. And then, her breath hitched.

The tears came fast—hot and choking, unwanted. She turned her head away, gripping the edge of the stool as if to ground her. But Joel saw it. The shake in her shoulders. The grief bubbling over.

Faith tried to speak, but it caught in her throat. It was like the memory of Dahlia had followed her all night, standing there in the cold with her, refusing to let her forget.

All night she had been thinking of her, remembering again and again that torturous night from four years ago.

The memory slammed into her like a wave.

An infected roaring. A little girl, her little sister, screaming. Her father yelling at Faith while he fought off the infected that had crept its way into the house, attacking her sister. Faith had to be keeping watch. She’d only fallen asleep for a few seconds, it was only a few seconds…

“Faith!”

She had been frozen even as her sister screamed for her. Faith was only twelve years old, knees locked to the floorboards, her hand still clutching the old revolver her dad had given her in case anything happened while he slept.

She could do nothing but cry, watching the scene unfold in a blur of chaos and blood—seeing her father stab the monster again and again and again until it went still beneath him.

Then the silence. The horrible, fragile silence before the sobbing started.

Her sister’s left calf was torn open. Teeth marks. Deep.

Faith had taken a step forward, reaching—too late.

“What have you done?!” her father had screamed, his voice ragged, his face a mask of fury and panic, covered in the clicker’s blood. “What have you done?!”

She’d tried to say sorry. Tried to explain or to help. But the words never made it out, only broken cries as her father pushed her away, assessing the damage. There was nothing they could do, though.

Her little sister was infected.

Dahlia looked at her with tears rolling down her cheeks, reaching for Faith with scared eyes. Eyes too young to carry so much fear. Faith had held her later, Dahlia’s small hand in hers, feverish and cold all at once. Her screams were still ringing in her ears. Her silence now, was crushing. Their father was pacing the room, mumbling to himself, sweating and stressing and going mad all at once.

“I can’t let her… Can’t let her turn into a monster,” he mumbled, still walking up and down. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t… Monica would kill me if… She’d kill herself if…” he mumbled Faith’s mother’s name again and again like a mantra, trying to decide what to do.

In the end, hours later, he’d made his decision.

He couldn’t let Dahlia become… one of those things. She was already condemned. He’d just… put her out of her misery before it got worse.

“Daddy, no, please,” Faith clung to her sister as hard as she could, Dahlia still crying clutching Faith back. She was getting weaker, hour after hour, which only made Faith hold onto her tighter. “Daddy, there has to be something you can do, please, please-“

“I can only help her die herself and not a monster,” he grabbed Dahlia’s arm, tears falling from his eyes too as he separated the girls. His voice was hoarse from crying, and he carried Dahlia away to another room inside the old house as she cried too, reaching with her short arms towards Faith for the last time.

“I’m sorry,” Faith repeated, again and again, hoping her plea would make him change his mind. There had to be something they could do. Anything. It couldn’t be happening, not to Dahlia, not to them. “Daddy I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Minutes later, the shot of a gun in another room made Faith cover her ears, closing her eyes curling up into a ball on the floor as she cried. She hadn’t cried this much since her mother died. And now, Dahlia was gone too.

Because of her fault.

“It was my fault,” she cried, unable to hold back the sobs anymore. “It was my fault.”

“No, no,” said Joel, coming closer to her. “Ellie’s fine, she’s-“

“Not… Not Ellie,” Faith’s shoulders shook with each cry, each one coming from deep withing her own soul, buried for years and now free. “… My… My sister.”

Joel’s chest tightened as he crouched down beside her, the boards creaking softly under his weight.

“My sister,” Faith choked again, barely managing the words through the flood of grief. “Dahlia… she was just a kid, and I—” Her voice cracked, too raw to finish the sentence.

Joel didn’t touch her, he just let the silence hold the weight of it, let her cry it out. He could tell she was pouring it all out, most probably for the first time ever. It made him wonder how long she’d had to live with that grief to carry all on her own.

“I fell asleep,” she whispered, as if confessing a sin she’d held too long. “I was supposed to be watchin’. I had the gun, and I—I was so tired, and it was just for a second. Just a second. And then it was in the house, and she screamed, and I froze.”

“How old were you?” he dared to ask, his voice deep, steady, but also… hurt. For her. For what had happened to her that had made her become… this. An emotionally repressed and distant girl at only sixteen years old.

“I was twelve,” she muttered. “… Dahlia was eight.” she wiped her face roughly, the heel of her hand scraping across red, rain-chilled cheeks. “My dad blamed me. I blame me too. He kept sayin’ her name like he could wish her back, and I—I just sat there. Like a coward. Like a fucking coward.”

Joel stayed still, listening. His own jaw clenched, not from anger, but from the too-familiar ache of guilt. Of loss. Of all the things you couldn’t undo. Something flickered across his face at her words—grief, probably. Or recognition. But it passed, like a shadow.

“I held her ‘til she got too sick,” Faith went on, her voice getting softer, more distant. She wasn’t even really realizing that she was telling him this. It just slipped out, after all this time, a burden too big to carry on her own. After what had happened with Ellie… Faith had reach her limit. “She was holdin’ onto me so tight, Joel… But her grip, it just- she had less and less strength after each hour. My dad took her away from me. I begged him not to, but he—he said he couldn’t let her turn. That she deserved better than to... die a monster.”

Joel’s throat burned from solely imagining the scenario. The morning fog hadn’t lifted, and neither had the weight in his chest. “I’m sorry,” he said, and it was all he could give, but he meant every word. Now he began to understand small things about Faith, like how she had stormed out of the room when he had been talking to Henry that night, or how she had lingered just a second longer watching that infected little girl.

Faith nodded faintly, her eyes staring somewhere he couldn’t follow. “That shot… it still echoes, y’know? Every night. And I always wonder if she was scared. If she thought I let it happen. If she… If she knew I loved her.”

“She knew,” Joel said firmly. Gently, but with no room for doubt. His paternal instincts took over as he reached out a hand to Faith’s, squeezing it tightly. “You said she was holdin’ onto you, wasn’t she? Of course she knew,” he sighed, shaking his head. “You were just twelve. You were just a kid, too.”

Faith finally turned to look at him then. Her face was blotchy, her eyes rimmed red, with something else there too—something fragile. A kind of stunned relief at having said it out loud. At not having to carry the weight alone, if only for a moment.

Joel hesitated for only a breath before reaching out, setting a steady hand on her shoulder now. A silent gesture, full of meaning: I’m here, you’re safe now, it’s okay. Faith looked down at the hand on her shoulder. Then back at the horizon, still pale and gray with the morning.

“…I ain’t told anyone before,” she muttered, starting to feel a bit embarrassed by her emotional breakdown. “Not really... Sorry if, uh… Sorry if it was too much, I just– with what happened to Ellie, I– ”

Joel gave her shoulder the gentlest squeeze. “It’s okay,” he muttered. “I get it.”

Faith nodded again, slower this time. The sobs had stopped, but the ache lingered, hollow and heavy.

“…Thanks,” she murmured, just barely audible. “How… How is it possible?” she asked, a bit louder now. “Bein’ immune… It’s a fuckin’ miracle.”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head no. “She hasn’t told me. Probably doesn’t know herself. I just know… It’s real.” He still had doubts from time to time about it, but there was no twitching, no growing infection. Just… Ellie, still alive, still herself. “I’m sorry about not tellin’ you about it sooner,” he said, sincerely. “You deserved to know.”

“It’s okay,” she shook her head. “You barely know me, I- I get it.”

“Yeah, well… You’ve been with us for a month. At first I thought you’d ditch us after the first week, but now… I was kinda hopin’ for you to stay around,” he shrugged, as if it was nothing. “You’re good at covering our rear, and, uh… Ellie seems happy when she’s with you, and if she’s talking to you she lets me be, so…”

Faith’s lips curved into a small smile, twitching for a moment into something wider. Joel saw, and his heart made a little flip, as if reciprocating her smile even if he couldn’t show it with his face. His eyes, though, did soften, and Faith could swear they darkened a bit, turning a shade warmer.

“All good now?” he asked, reaching out a hand for her to stand up.

She nodded, accepting his hand. “All good now.”

(…)

Faith didn’t really know how to apologize to Ellie about the whole incident -pointing her rifle at the girl, almost shooting her, not believing her when she told Faith that she was immune-, because she wasn’t really good with words.

She didn’t need words, though, to show Ellie that she cared about her and that she felt sorry.

After leaving the house to continue their journey west, they’d been walking for hours. The air was cool and dry, the kind that made your breath puff out white even if the sun was still clinging to the sky. Trees flanked the broken road, brittle leaves crunching under their boots. No one had said much since morning.

Joel had led the way, rifle slung over one shoulder, his eyes always scanning. Faith trailed just behind him, trying not to glance too often at Ellie, who was unusually quiet—arms crossed, shoulders tight, head down. She hadn't cracked a joke all day. No sarcastic comments. No humming. Just silence.

Faith knew why. And she didn’t blame her.

Faith had nearly shot her—actually had her finger on the trigger, believing Ellie was infected, thinking she was lying. Even though everything had settled down since, the tension was still there. The silence said what neither of them had.

They stopped near the edge of a clearing where trees thinned into the remnants of an old orchard. Joel glanced around, then motioned with a subtle jerk of his head.

“We’ll take ten. Stretch your legs. Hydrate,” he said.

He moved off toward a fallen tree and sat, pulling a water bottle from his pack. Ellie dropped her bag onto the grass and crouched beside it, picking at the strap. Still not talking.

Faith didn’t really know how to apologize. Not with words, anyway. She just… wasn’t good at that kind of thing.

But as she stepped away from the trail, something red caught her eye. A thicket of hawthorn bushes sat at the orchard's edge, their leaves thorny, little red berries dotting the branches.

She crouched down, brushed off a few leaves, and picked a small cluster. Her mom had shown her these once—how they were tart but safe, how they could help a person feel steady when their heart was pounding too fast. ‘Good for hearts,’ she used to say. ‘Not just the bleeding kind.’

Faith stood, berries in hand, and turned back.

Ellie was sitting now, elbows on her knees, eyes distant. Faith hesitated, then walked over.

“Hey,” she said, stopping a few feet away.

Ellie looked up, eyebrows raised slightly. Still wary.

Faith held out her hand. “These are hawthorn. They're safe to eat—just chew around the seeds.”

Ellie stared at the berries for a second. “What is this? Are you… making peace with fruit? Or are you just trying to poison me because the bite didn’t do its job?”

Faith’s mouth twitched. “Something like that. Thought you’d maybe like to try fresh fruit, for once, that’s all.”

There was a pause. Then Ellie reached up and took one. “If I die, I’m haunting you.”

“Fair.”

She popped the berry into her mouth and chewed, face scrunching a little. “Tart as hell.”

Faith sat down beside her. “Better than another can of beans though.”

Joel looked over from his perch across the clearing. He didn’t say anything, but his gaze lingered on them for a few moments longer than usual. Then he shifted back to scanning the tree line, letting them be.

Faith reached into her backpack and carefully pulled out a small, worn bundle tied with old twine. She set it down between them and unwrapped it.

Ellie leaned in. “What’s that?”

“A journal,” Faith said softly. “My mom’s. It’s got notes on wild plants, stuff about how to find food, treat scrapes, how to stay alive if the world ever went to shit.”

Ellie smiled a little. “So, like… a pre-apocalypse apocalypse guide?”

“Pretty much.”

Faith flipped to a page marked with a pressed flower. In tidy handwriting, it read: Hawthorn – good for hearts. Not just the bleeding kind. A small ink drawing of the berries curled in the corner.

Ellie’s fingers brushed the page. “She was smart.”

“She was,” Faith said, her voice quieter now. “She taught me how to spot safe plants, how to know when the wind’s about to change. I didn’t pay much attention back then. But… she tried. Now I’m thankful for the effort she put into it.”

She turned to another page with a rough sketch of nettles, and then another—blueberries. Each note was gentle, patient, almost loving.

“After, uh, my sister was born…” she bit her lip, struggling to find the words. She desperately wanted to show Ellie that she was trying to… make things right again. She figured that sharing a part of her past was a good peace offer. “My parents decided we’d have to leave the QZ. KC was getting more dangerous every day, and well… You’ve seen it yourself. They didn’t manage until a few years later, though. I was eight when we escaped, and my sister was barely four.”

“What were their names?” asked Ellie, timidly, her curiosity getting the best of her. “Your sister’s… and your parents?”

“My mom’s name was Monica,” she smiled, actually smiled. It had been very fucking long since she’d last said her mom’s name out loud. She loved the ring of it. “Dahlia was my sister. And my dad was named Eric.” she didn’t linger long on the memory of her father. That was still.. Too much. “Anyways, uh… When my parents escaped with me and my sister, we were with a few more families. When we finally settled somewhere a bit stable, my mom would teach me how to live from nature. I wasn’t the best listener, but she was stubborn and kept teaching me stuff anyway.”

“You got your stubbornness from her, then,” Ellie joked. She couldn’t help herself. And she knew to appreciate that Faith was sharing something personal with her.

From his spot a bit further away, Joel was listening too, pretending not to, though.

“Guess so,” Faith shrugged, smiling softly. “If you want, uh… I could teach you some stuff. You know, about wildlife, and, uh… You know, plants. To survive and, well, not eating anything poisonous.”

Ellie stiffed back a laugh at Faith’s awkwardness. “Sure,” she said, after a beat. “I wouldn’t mind not dying from eating the wrong mushroom.”

Faith huffed a small laugh of her own. “Good goal.”

There was a pause. Not the uncomfortable kind from earlier—but something softer, like a fragile thread being tied between them again.

“Your sister,” Ellie said, more gently this time, “Dahlia. What was she like?”

Faith didn’t answer right away. She looked down at the open journal, at her mother’s looping handwriting. When she spoke, her voice was quieter than before.

“She was... loud,” she said, smiling faintly. “Like, never stopped talking kind of loud. A bit like you, I guess. Just, without the horrible puns,” she joked softly. “She used to sing to herself—little songs she made up. Sometimes they didn’t have words. Just sounds.” Faith rubbed her thumb over a corner of the page. “She had this way of making everyone pay attention to her, even when she wasn’t trying. Drove me crazy back then.” she swallowed hard. “I’d give anything to hear her hummin’ again.” she caressed a pressed flower from the book, ever so gently. “This is a Dahlia,” Ellie frowned silently, her eyes dropping to the journal and the single pressed flower between the pages. “My mom loved these. Dahlia was obsessed with finding one herself, always asking if every single flower we came across was a Dahlia.”

“Did she find any?”

“No, sadly,” she smiled sadly. “I also haven’t seen any myself, to be honest. Maybe Dahlias are just not fit to grow in the apocalypse.”

Joel interrupted them, telling them they’d be leaving in a minute. The girls nodded, starting to pack their things up.

“She sounds like she would’ve been cool,” Ellie said, and there was something real in her voice. Not just sympathy—recognition.

“She was,” Faith murmured. “She really was.”

The quiet settled over them again. But this time, it felt companionable. Faith reached down, picked another berry, and popped it into her mouth, grimacing.

“Told you they were tart,” Ellie said.

Faith nodded, chewing. “Yeah. But they’re good for you.”

Joel stood then, brushing off his jeans and slinging his rifle back over his shoulder. “Let’s move.”

Ellie stood too, slower this time, and didn’t look quite so closed off. She glanced at Faith, then nudged her elbow lightly as they walked to rejoin him.

“Hey,” she said under her breath. “Thanks. For the fruit and the... not talking like a total asshole.”

Faith smirked. “You’re welcome.” She paused for a few seconds, and then added, in a softer voice, sincere. “I know I messed up. Back at that town. I shouldn’t have reacted that way.”

Ellie didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

“You scared me,” she said finally, as they kept walking. “I wasn’t sure you were gonna listen. I thought you’d shoot me, like, for real. Game over.”

“I wasn’t sure I could trust what I was seeing,” Faith admitted. “But… I should’ve believed you. I do now.”

Another quiet moment passed between them.

Ellie held up another berry. “Well… this helps.” She grimaced at the taste again as she chewed on the fruit. “You still owe me a proper apology,” she said. “This was just snacks and soft feelings.”

Faith huffed a laugh. “I’ll see if I can find you a pie next time.”

Joel glanced back briefly between them, silent but visibly less tense.

He smiled softly, seeing them laughing again.

(…)

The trip didn’t go as smoothly for the next few days.

They’d barely made it a mile past the orchard when the weather turned yet again. Gray clouds swelled and sank low over the mountains like warning signs, and by nightfall, the rain came. Cold, steady, and endless. The kind that soaked through even waterproof gear and made the world feel like it was shrinking around you.

They kept moving anyway—what else could they do?

The roads became slick, the trees offered little cover, and the cold bit down harder than before. Ellie grumbled about her socks. Joel cursed under his breath more than once when his map got wet. Faith said… very little.

By the second day, her voice had gone hoarse. A sniffle turned into a cough. A cough turned into her pressing the heel of her hand against her chest every few minutes like it ached to breathe. She didn’t mention it—Faith wasn’t the type. But Joel noticed. And so did Ellie.

It wasn’t hard to guess what had started it. That night back in the abandoned house, Faith had been out in the cold for hours. Sitting alone, waiting, rifle in hand, expecting Ellie to turn into a runner.

Joel felt the guilt creep in every time she stumbled a little, or when he saw her blink too slow, like she was trying to push through the ache. If he only had told her the truth sooner…

They finally stopped near an old roadside gas station with half a roof and an office just barely dry enough to sleep in. Joel got a fire going in an old rusted barrel while Ellie unrolled their sleeping mats.

Faith was quiet, sitting with her back to the wall, wrapped in her coat, eyes glassy.

Ellie sat beside her. “You okay?”

Faith nodded automatically, but it was a lie. She was shivering. Her lips were pale.

“You look like shit, though.”

“I’m fine,” Faith said, and then winced as another cough rattled through her chest. She barely got her hand up in time.

Joel, crouched by the fire, turned to look at her. “That ‘fine’ comes with a fever?”

“...Maybe a little.”

He stood and walked over. She looked up at him, eyebrows drawn, too tired to keep up any kind of front. Joel knelt beside her, back cracking slightly as he crouched. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead without asking. Warm. Too warm.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Faith blinked at him, surprised at the softness in his voice. “It’s not that bad.”

He ignored her. “You got chills?”

She nodded, teeth clenched.

“Headache?”

Another nod.

“Chest feel tight?”

She hesitated—then nodded a third time. “Are you a doctor now or what?”

Joel exhaled slowly, running a hand down his beard. “You’re burning up. Probably caught something out in that cold, maybe even pneumonia.”

Ellie’s eyes widened. “Wait—pneumonia? That’s like, serious-serious?”

“It can be,” Joel said. “Especially if we don’t rest her up. No more walking tomorrow.”

Faith looked like she wanted to argue, but didn’t have the strength.

Joel got up, pulled a blanket from his pack, and draped it over her. “Lie down. Drink something if you can.”

Faith murmured a faint thanks, and sank onto the mat, shivering even under the blanket. She fell asleep quickly, discomfort still written all over her face but also clearly exhausted. Ellie sat beside her again, chewing her lip.

“I should’ve made her come inside that night,” Ellie whispered, not wanting to risk waking her up. “She didn’t believe, and I was pissed. I just let her sit out there.”

Joel didn’t respond at first. His gaze lingered on Faith’s slumped figure.

“That ain’t on you,” he said finally, voice quiet. “She was scared. Didn’t know what she was dealing with. I would’ve done the same as her. Maybe I would’ve shot you.”

“You didn’t shoot me when that infection machine detector thing turned red,” Ellie said, recalling the night they escaped Boston QZ.

“Yeah, but if I’d seen an infected bite you, maybe it would’ve gone different.”

Ellie didn’t deny that possibility. “… Guess that would’ve been a chance. I’m glad it didn’t happen like that with you, then.”

Ellie turned back toward Faith, whose breathing was shallow but even. For a moment, it was just the crackle of the fire and the patter of rain.

Ellie shifted a little closer to Faith and pulled the blanket up to her chin.

“You shouldn’t sit that close to her,” said Joel, gesturing between the two girls. “Can’t have you gettin’ sick too.”

“It’s cute when you’re actually nice,” Ellie said, smiling softly. “And show that you care about me.”

“I don’t care about you.”

Ellie smirked. “Sure.”

Joel muttered, “I just know if you get sick too, I’m screwed.”

Ellie laughed. “That’s what this is about?”

“I ain’t playin’ nurse for two teenage brats. One’s already a full-time job.”

“Wow. So much love in this room right now. I feel it radiating.”

“You should feel my foot radiating toward your ass if you don’t get some sleep.”

They didn’t fall asleep until a while later; Joel stayed up, keeping watch over the two girls, readjusting Faith’s blanket when she moved in her sleep, tucking it around her carefully, like muscle memory.

By early morning, Faith was still sleeping while they prepared something for breakfast (a can of beans to share, again). Ellie watched Joel as he kept glancing at Faith, his face… down.

 “You okay?” she asked him.

Joel didn’t answer right away. He glanced at Faith, then over at Ellie.

“I should’ve told her about you sooner,” he said. “Could’ve saved us all some trouble.”

“You were trying to protect me.”

“Still,” His voice was low. “She got sick on my watch.”

Ellie hesitated, then reached into her pack and pulled out the tattered joke book. “She’ll be okay,” she said. “She’s tough. Like you.”

Joel gave her a look, half-skeptical, half-grateful.

(…)

Faith was seriously sick.

Ellie wasn’t helping, asking Joel if he thought she’d die. He told her to keep those thoughts to herself, when really, it was so he didn’t have to hear the same questions he was already asking himself out loud.

He wouldn’t let her die. Just… no. Not happening. Not on his watch.

They stayed in that room for five days. Five very long days.

The storm outside made it easier to stop—sleety rain coming in waves, too cold to risk exposure. The gas station they’d holed up in wasn’t ideal, but it had a storeroom that locked, and a few shelves still mostly intact. Joel got a fire going in a broken-down metal drum using chair legs and shelving bits. He used a small camping pot they had to collect rainwater and boil it so they’d have something to drink, made sure Faith was bundled up with all their blankets and the two sleeping bags zipped together… She coughed through the night, and Joel didn’t sleep, only during the day for a few interrupted hours, never too long, just the minimum to keep functioning.

On the second morning, Ellie sat cross-legged beside Faith, poking at the blanket.

“You know, for someone who likes plants, you sure didn’t dodge the whole nature trying to kill you thing very well,” she said, glancing at her. “It’s okay, though. I found a joke that might cure pneumonia.”

Faith blinked blearily at her. “God help me.”

Ellie grinned. “What do you call a fake noodle?”

Faith squinted. “…I dunno.”

“An impasta,” Ellie said proudly.

Joel, who was crouched by the fire feeding in more scrap wood, groaned. “You’re gonna finish her off with that crap.”

“She laughed a little,” Ellie pointed out. “She snorted. That’s progress.”

Faith rolled her head to the side, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “I regret ever telling you I liked dumb jokes.”

Joel muttered, “Takes one to appreciate one.”

“You sayin’ I’m dumb?” Ellie said, offended in the most theatrical way.

“I’m sayin’ anyone who thinks impasta is comedy gold might be running a fever themselves.”

“I’m brilliant, actually,” Ellie said, flipping her hair over her shoulder with exaggerated grace. Then she softened, reaching over to adjust the blanket tucked around Faith’s chest. “Seriously though, you need anything?”

Faith gave a weak shrug. “Dunno. Maybe some kind of tea. I have dry herbs in my bag. My mom had stuff in her journal, for coughs. Headaches. Might be something useful in there.”

She reached for her bag with trembling fingers. Joel was already beside her in a second, gently taking it and setting it in her lap.

“Easy,” he muttered.

Faith managed to undo the flap and pulled out the small, twine-bound journal. Her hands shook as she handed it to Ellie.

“You can look through it. Just… be careful.”

Ellie took it with something close to reverence. “Promise.”

She sat down beside the sleeping bags, flipping carefully through the pages. “Whoa… your mom had pretty handwriting.”

“She was a botanist,” Faith murmured, her eyes fluttering closed. “She taught science before…”

“Before the world went to hell,” Ellie finished for her, quieter.

Joel didn’t say anything. He was standing now, arms crossed, watching the way Faith was breathing. Shallow. Uneven. He hated the sound of it.

Ellie turned a few more pages. “Okay, okay—here! Look. It says something about pine needle tea. Good for colds, vitamin C, and uh… something about 'clearing the lungs' or something. It also says to avoid yellowed needles, and don’t use any from... Ponderosa, whatever that is.”

“It’s a type of pine tree,” muttered Faith, letting out another cough.

Joel came over. “Let me see.”

Ellie handed him the journal, pointing at the page. Joel scanned it, lips tightening as he read.

“Yeah. We can work with this.” He looked toward the boarded-up front of the gas station. The rain had eased into more of a mist, but the wind still howled like it was pissed at the world. “If I can find a decent tree out there, I’ll get what we need.”

“I’ll come with you,” Ellie offered quickly.

Joel shook his head. “You’re stayin’ put. She needs someone here if she takes a turn.”

“I’m not a nurse, you know.”

“You’re better than nothing,” he said, already checking the pistol in his belt and shrugging on his jacket.

Faith stirred, frowning faintly. “Joel…”

He stopped at the door.

“…thank you.”

He just gave her a short nod. “Be back soon.”

The wind was brutal, but he returned about half an hour later with a handful of green pine branches, rain dripping from the brim of his jacket. He crouched by the fire, stripped the needles, and tossed the safe ones into the pot with freshly boiled water. The smell that rose wasn’t great—but it wasn’t bad either. Kind of foresty. Clean. Alive. Hopefully also healing.

“Bottoms up,” Ellie said when the first batch was ready, holding the camping mug out to Faith, who took a sip, wrinkled her nose, but kept drinking. After a few seconds, she leaned her head back on the pile of folded coats Ellie had tucked under her and sighed.

“Hey,” Ellie said brightly. “While you enjoy your botanical brew, I have more jokes. You can’t stop me.”

“God,” Faith whispered.

“That’s not the joke, but good guess,” Ellie said, flipping open a crumpled page of her book. “Okay, okay. What do you call a can opener that doesn’t work?”

Faith blinked. “I don’t—”

“A can’t opener.”

A groan came from both Faith and Joel this time.

“Oh, c’mon, you both walked right into that one.”

“Ellie,” Joel said slowly, “if she throws up now, it’s your fault.”

Ellie snorted. “That one was worth it.”

Faith leaned weakly against Ellie’s shoulder for a moment, the warmth and laughter seeming to lift her a little. Her fever hadn’t broken yet, but the colour in her face looked less frighteningly pale. Joel noted it quietly, didn’t comment.

Later that afternoon, after Ellie left to check what was left in the gas station shelves for anything useful—snacks, meds, literally anything—Faith finally let herself cry.

It wasn’t loud or messy. Just silent, stubborn tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as she lay back in the sleeping bags, half-sitting now, the mug of tea still clutched loosely in one hand. She hadn’t said anything, but Joel had noticed. Of course he had.

He didn’t say anything either. Just moved over and slowly, gently, sat beside her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered suddenly, her breath hitching a little.

“For what?” he asked.

“For slowing us down. For being—”

“No.” His voice cut clean through her self-blame. “No, Faith. You get sick, we stop. That’s how this works. That’s how I work. You understand?”

She hesitated, then nodded.

Joel looked at her again, sensing all of her walls crumbled down by the sickness that had overtaken her body. What remained, was a lonely sixteen year old girl that had been alone for far too long, since she was far too young.

He placed the back of his hand against her forehead. It stayed there a beat longer than necessary.

“Seems like your fever is finally breakin’” he muttered, relieved. “Was ‘bout time, kid.”

She smiled weakly, leaning her head back onto the wall. She looked at him, just looked at him with something… something Joel couldn’t really place. Was it sadness? Nostalgia? Or were her eyes just glassy because she was sick? He couldn’t tell.

“What is it?”

“I forgot how it’s like… when, uh, someone takes care of you,” she said timidly. “It’s, uh… it feels good to not be sick on my own, for once.”

He nodded, understanding. “It’s nothin’” he shrugged.

“But it is,” she corrected him quickly. “It means a lot, Joel. Really,” she bit her lip debating if she should keep on talking or not, but she did before she could think otherwise. “You’re good at this Seems like… Like you’ve done this before. Takin’ care of someone,” he didn’t answer, but she noticed how his face hardened. “You don’t have to tell me anything about it. I… I get it. You know I’ve lost people too. And it’s… fucking hard letting someone else in after losing someone you love, so… I guess I’m just tryin’ to say thank you. For not ditching me, and, uh… Bein’ here, even if it hurts. That’s all.”

Joel didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.

He just stared into the fire, the way he always did when his thoughts got too heavy for words. But then he shifted closer, just slightly, like his body moved before his brain allowed it. He looked at her—really looked at her—and something in his expression cracked open.

The silence stretched again, but it didn’t feel empty. It was full of all the things they weren’t saying.

Faith shifted closer too, maybe half an inch, her padded shoulder touching his. And that was it. No dramatic sobbing, no big declarations. Just a girl letting herself feel comfortable for the first time in years, and a man remembering what it felt like to be there for someone who needed him.

“You’re not a burden,” Joel said quietly, his voice rough. “You’re with us. And you’ll get better, and we’ll be back on the road again in a few days. You’ll just be sick from hearin’ Ellie’s horrible puns, m’kay?”

Faith nodded, smiling sheepishly. Yeah, that sounded good.

Next Chapter

Taglist: Taglist: @kitdjarin1@christinamadsen@abtjudex@hongjoong-titties @cokoladasljesnjakom

[denalidear]

Sleepy

a/n: oops. forgot i said i was gonna do this whole thing. well here a little fic i wrote a while back and never posted.

summary: wil is so eepy.

word count: 886

warnings: none?

- - -

It had been a long day for him, you knew. Between streaming, working on new music, and how late the two of you had stayed up the night before; he was tired. So when you asked to cuddle and watch a movie, you had put two and two together to start your master plan. You strategically placed yourself underneath him, his head on your collarbone as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Love I’m going to fall asleep if you keep on playing with my hair.” He warned, adjusting so his arms were tucked well around your torso. He yawned and leaned into you more and you smiled.

“What if I told you that was the point?” You teased, trying to contain your laugh as to not disturb the sleepy boy.

“Then I’d tell you you’d better be comfortable because I won’t be moving once I’m asleep.” He mumbled, now pulling the blanket covering you two further up his shoulders.

“Bring it on, buddy.” You said, turning your attention back to the movie while continuing your ministrations in his hair. Soon enough you felt his weight sink into you, his breath coming out in soft puffs over your neck. He had fallen asleep and your plan was a success.

-----

Wil was a sleepy guy. After the first nap he’d had cuddling with you, he requested more and more. It became a regular occurrence for him to seek you out straight after finishing a stream, only to fall asleep in your arms.

But today, he was determined to prove he didn’t need a nap. You’d dragged him all around London, going to shops and cafes. He played along happily for the first four hours, but after dinner came and went his resolve was sarting to wear thin. He happily carried your tote bag that you’d filled with the goodies you’d acrewed, but he was nearly nodding off as you sat at the station waiting for the next train home.

“Wil.” You tapped his knee, “The announcer said it’d be pulling up soon.”

“Ok.” He nodded, resisting the urge to lean into your shoulder. Soon the train pulled up and you boarded. Wil fought to stay awake as he sunk into the plush of the seat.

“Baby you can sleep on my shoulder.” You said patting his leg to comfort him.

“No, I’m not tired, I promise.” He said quietly. As miuch as you wanted to believe him, not two minuets later his head was on your shoulder and he was snoring away. You couln’t help but smile.

-----

The band said goodnight to the crowd, passing out the set list and spare picks. The main lights came up as the audience began to leave and the band got off stage. Wil came straight up to you, as was post gig tradition, for a kiss and a very sweaty hug.

“You did great, handsome!” You smiled, holding his face between your hands. As you looked into his eyes, you could see the adrenaline slowly leaving his system as his eyelids began to slouch.

“Thanks darling.” He smiled, leaning in for another kiss. You decided it was time for him to go to bed, leaving the venue in favor of the quiet tour bus. He held your hand tight as you lead him to the bunks in the back, speaking quietly about how he thought the concert had gone. You tucked him in like a little kid, teasing him about being a toddler while he laughed.

“But will you cuddle with me?” He said, grabbing your hand before you could pull away.

“Of course, baby.” You smiled, kicking off your shoes and sliding into bed. Would you regret not changing into PJ’s when you woke up? Probably. But this moment was perfect, and you wouldn’t ever pick a shower over sleeping with your boyfriend.

-----

“Chat, guess who just got home from work?” Wil smiled as he looked at the text you had just sent him, confirming you made it safely to his house. He quickly typed back a response, saying he was on stream but that you should come and visit him. He continued speaking to chat before he heard a small knock on the door.

You creeped into his office, dragging your feet after a long day of work. “Hello, love.” Your boyfriend spun around in his chair and st up to greet you. He lifted his arms to invite you onto his lap and into a hug. “How was work?”

“Good. Just tired.” You mumbled into his neck. “You can keep playing. I’ll just cuddle.” He rubbed your back and turned back around to his screen.

“Chat, my darling has had a long day, so she’s a little tired. I’ll finish this up and then we are gonna go to bed.” He smiled, reaching around your body cuddled up to his chest and began to play again.

He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as your head lulled back and your weight sunk into him. “I think she fell asleep.” He whispered to chat. He looked down at your peaceful face. “Yeah she’s totally out.” He giggled, keeping his voice low.

“That’s my cue to leave, friends. Thanks for tuning in. I’ve got to get my love into bed, poor girl. Good night, everyone.”

[payasita]

Speaking of fic stuff: The Lamb and Nari wake up one morning covered in bandages, surrounded by empty bottles. They have ZERO recollection of the night before. Now what?

He awakes to a taste like bile and rust, and with one hand wrapped in at least twenty layers of gauze.

Narinder takes a second to stare at it, wiggling immobile fingers and contemplating the mechanics of sitting up with a head somehow filled with both cotton and lead. He drops the hand and decides against it, rolling over and pulling a blanket over his head. The movement does absolutely heinous things to his stomach.

A slow minute passes before he realizes he is not under a blanket at all. It's comfortable regardless, so he cannot summon the effort to care. Far softer than anything yet available in the commune. The familiar scent doesn't hurt, warm and securely claimed with his own, and indeed does a good job in blocking out the currently unmanageable stench of the outside world.

Until it's nearly pulled away from him. He clutches onto it with a hiss, and instantly regrets moving so quickly.

"Oh good, you're alive." The Lamb gives it another tug. "Give me back my fleece."

Narinder vaguely remembers having lost a battle against them while at his full divine potential. He'd even had both hands available to him and everything. He cannot truly imagine the odds are with him now.

"Thank you," they huff when he unlatches his claws. He searches for something else to cover his face while they clothe themself. His skull appears to be imploding.

"I am dying," he declares. There's a few seconds of silence. Contemplation on the Lamb's end. Abject suffering on Narinder's.

"Nope. Not sensing it."

"Your competence with the Crown is dubious at best."

"You're not dying," they assure him, lightheartedly, "It just feels like it."

He groans, rolling over and hitting himself in the face with the large gauze lump in his attempt to throw his arm over his eyes. He snarls, and begins blindly picking at it with his free claw to find the edge.

The Lamb snorts, leaning over him. They have an armful of empty bottles under an arm, and are looking infuriatingly chipper.

"How'd you go and do that to yourself?"

He glares at them, pointedly.

"I clearly cannot have done this on my own."

"What, you don't remember?"

"...No," he admits. "What happened, then?"

"Oh, hell if I know," the Lamb laughs, and is saved from having that smile shorn off their face by his vertigo alone.

They move around him and pick up another bottle, inspecting it. "I was at the same feast you were, y'know. And if you'd had all this yourself, you probably would be dead," they gesture to the bundle under their arm, already five or six strong and slipping a bit.

"... Actually, we should probably both still be dead," they tut. "I don't even know what the flock puts in this stuff, 'sides from berries. But wow, they're good at it. Hey, actually, do you think maybe we have the makings of something worth exporting to the outside world? Plimbo's always making trips back and forth to who-knows-where, I bet we could--"

"Lamb."

"Mm?"

"Your chattering is causing me physical pain."

"Oop. ...Guess I should be grateful for the divine healing factor, huh?"

Narinder ponders the irony of wishing Death incarnate to choke, and finally finishes unraveling his hand. He squints at it. He sees no damage whatsoever that might have compelled anyone to waste medical resources on him. Not a strand out of place. He inspects his claws, and finds a bit of blood under them. Odd.

"There must be, like, a dozen bottles of wine in here. Do you think I drank most of it? I remember everyone in the temple cheering when I started chugging one. ...Or, uh. Three," the Lamb recounts, setting the pile down on a nearby table. Narinder watches them, scanning down their body for any abnormalities. No claw marks or stab wounds remain, but they would be gone by now. Still. The fact that he feels metal when he pushes his hand under his pillow is probably worth noting.

"You have a basket around here?" the Lamb asks after a point, "I need somewhere to put these."

Narinder says, "I do not live here."

"...Whuh?"

"This is not my hut."

The Lamb pauses. They glance around, newly curious. Narinder grasps at the bit of metal under his pillow, and retrieves a dagger. It is smeared with blood. He eyes it, vaguely toying with the way light plays off of the dull blade.

"Did I attempt to kill you last night?" he asks idly. The Lamb looks over. They see the knife.

"...Nnnno?" They try, not even attempting to sound certain.

"I believe," Narinder mutters, hardly feeling bothered to spare the focus, "I might have killed someone."

The Lamb looks at him, having the grace to at least look troubled. Narinder, on the other hand, remains far more concerned with the roiling in his stomach.

"... Okay, wait. Wait, I think I remember-- yeah," the Lamb snaps, and points at him. "Yeah! You lost your hand privileges."

"What," Narinder says.

"Yeah! You were doing-- something," the Lamb waves off vaguely, "Yeah, I think I remember-- I had to take the claws away? I mean. That would explain the bandages?"

Narinder glances over. It certainly sounds like the sort of logic they would act upon, in the event of his own uninhibited violence.

"...So I did try and kill you, again."

"Iiii, dunno? I mean. Maybe?" Again, they don't sound remotely sure. The "divine healing factor" does not, it appears, account for episodes of alcoholic blackout. Good to know.

So, trying to kill his spouse was one possible explanation. Admittedly, it wasn't even a far-fetched one. But the ambient stench of this hut offers another.

"Lamb," Narinder sits up, winning a valiant battle with his own vertigo, "Whose shelter is this?"

The Lamb pauses. They look around again at all the bottles strewn about. They look up. At the same time they do, a droplet of blood plops onto their cheek.

"...I think his name was Bremar," the Lamb hums.

"You think?"

"I mean, the Crown can only tell me so much. 'Specially when the corpse in question has somehow been reduced to... uh... streamers."

"Ah."

"So, uh, we should--- we should go."

Narinder growls. His stomach does not agree with the prospect of standing up anytime soon.

"Ten more minutes."

"Nari," the Lamb deadpans, "You eviscerated a guy."

"...Five, then."

[anonymous-existences]

Chapter 7 : A Familial but Amusing Mess

Summary:

Sleep Deprived Tim confront Danny and Dante about who they are, passes out because of Nocturn residue that lingers around Danny when Danny is with Nocturn in their dreams.

Dante brings Tim back to Wayne Manor.

Gets along with Alfred

Gets the approval of Damian and somehow didn't get the attempted stabbing.

Dante is amused

[𝙱𝚊𝚡𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝙼𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚛, 8:30 𝙰𝙼]

"Hey guys, it's 8:30 AM I know I'm like vlogging too early but y'all have to see this shit— Tim Drake Wayne. Is at my door.. well the Manor's door— which one of you guys messaged Tim Drake that My Friends look like- like uh. Resemble... Bruce Wayne." Tucker said yawning as he does so and pointing the Camera at the window where Danny, Dante and Tim were Talking.

"One of you have got to have said it— oh god." Tucker says with a sigh and Tim saw him and he Slightly waved. "It's my Crush Dash—" Tucker was cut off by a groan. "I don't care if you wanna suck Tim Drake's Cock." Dash groaned and on the floor sleepy as shit. "ANYWAYS guys ignore my Gay Brother, There's Valerie on the window— VAL DON'T JUMP—" Tucker tries to stop Valerie and she jumped from the 3rd floor to the ground effortlessly and ran beside Dante and Covering Danny as if to protect him.

"Please calm down the both of you.." Danny says softly with a sigh and Dante growls under his breathe and Valerie Crosses her arms and Danny rolled his wheelchair forward Infront of Tim. "Hello again Sir Tim. I am Danny. Or Daniel... But I prefer Danny." He raised his hand and Tim shook it. "Please come inside and let's settle and have a discussion." Danny politely says and a half asleep, No sleep for 4 days Tim nodded. "You're Bruce's so—" Danny raises his hand in a way to silence Tim. Danny smiled and tilts his head. "Inside." He states sternly his eyes nearly devoid of light but pure disdain and caution that warned Tim that if he pushed further without following instructions he will be kicked out and so Tim nodded.

"Guess we're talking with Waynes~ Dash how does it feel to crush on ANOTHER Wayne." Tucker laughed and Dash Groaned "I used to think Dick Grayson is the hottest but it's totally Jason Todd. And If Danny IS the son of Wayne then he's the hottest but for now it's Jason Todd." Dash scoffed, "Based." Tucker laughed and Dash laughed along as they said goodbye to the current early viewers and turned off the vlog, as the two headed downstairs they heard Danny with a stern voice, "I wish to have some Normalcy in my life for the meantime so I will not be involving myself with the Wayne's until we feel that we need to or we have to." Danny stated with a blunt tone along with Dante and Valerie's Grunts of Approval.

"Can I ask why not?" Tim asks groggily fighting the sleepiness that's overcoming him, he doesn't understand why the coffee is suddenly not working even tho he was fully awake for a moment when he faced Danny he immediately felt... Sleepy and Tired.. "I'd like to be friends at first.. please.... We want to feel safe... And normal for a tad bit long—" Danny stopped talking when Tim Passed out asleep. "Right... Nocturn's side effects—" Danny says pointing out how He and Nocturn had been chattering in his dreams and sometimes he leaves residue of his powers around Danny that scatters that affects NORMAL people but somehow not liminals. "Oop... He's uh. Gone Dead silent?" Tucker asks with a bemused smile and Dash tilting his head before speaking up.

"Alright Dudes... Let's... Set him aside before grama and gramps wakes up." Dash shooed them away as Dante carries Tim over his shoulder and lets him fall on the overly comfy couch in their personal lounge and covers him with the overly soft Blanket. Something inside Dante Bubbles up, care? Perhaps. It felt like the urge he feels when Danny also sleep, the urge to care for family. Dante chuckled to himself and drags his hand down his face as he curses himself mentally.

"I'm so fucking stupid..." He groans and looked back to see the 3 are back to sleep and Danny yawning again.

Right..

It's too early to worry about this.

Dante carried Danny to the softer side of the Couch that turns into a bed and let's Valerie sit on the chair couch and Tucker on his Gaming Chair with Dash on the rug. He carefully puts the softest blankets he could find for all of them especially putting pillows for the three who were sleeping in the most random places. He took their mugs which were already empty, He turns off the lights and the other unnecessary lights on the lounge room. Dante smiles subtly and grunts in approval and pride as he puts on his bluish Red Cap and puts on his facemask whilst walking down the stairs.

"Oh, good morning ma'am." He greets the elder grandmother politely, "oh Dante! You're awake early today little dearie! Would you be a darling and help me with the plants and feeding the barn animals and the horses? the husband is still asleep after all." She laughs endearingly, and Dante nods politely, he saw these elders as his family as well as the feeling of excitement stirred inside his chest, he helps the elderly woman walk out the Manor and into the barn to help with feeding the animals and the 4 old horses that has been thriving well and amazingly.

For all Dante has acquired knowledge of, the Horses were bought and adopted when the elderly woman was around her 30s and now she's the charming elderly lady that being around 60 years old as Dante has confirmed. Dante has asked clockwork himself to extend their lifeline and the Clock listened and obliged to his wish for the first time which in turn made Dante's core buzz in happiness knowing the elderly people will be protected until they reached past the age of 100, "Can I know their names again Mrs Baxter?" Dante asks with a softer tone and Mrs. Baxter perked up.

"This is Butterscotch, she's a Mare as implied by her name, she is a show horse back in my days but now she's a retired Friesan, she's won around 3 gold Medals! She's such a beautiful old girl of mine .. my first darling. Here is Walking Abyss, He is a Stud and a pure black Clydesdale, he is the reason me and Harold(Her Husband), we fought over him and eventually this truck large stud brought us together through our resilience. Now this is a much younger girlie of mine, dearest SnowBat." She chuckled, "Yes! I remember her... You named her SnowBat because you found her abandoned in the winter and found that she had odd Bat like patterns on her Bareback." Dante states to express that he listens to her talk about her animals.

Berta, the Sweet Old Lady Chuckled in amusement and nodded, "it is also because I've found her sleeping whilst standing with bats hanging from her stomach, it was such an odd and peculiar sight but it adds to her charm. Now this... This is dear old RedIvy.. such a sweetheart." She mutters gently as she opens the Horse's Pen, the Older horse was Pregnant with a new Foal and She was resting and snorting in happiness as Berta scratched her chin. "Such a sweet heart you are... My beautiful Red Quarter Horse, she's such a dearie isn't she?" The elderly Lady Chuckled and Dante nods, "Can we name her foal once it is born Mrs. Baxter?" Dante asks kneeling beside RedIvy as he also scratches the Horse's Chin and Berta Perks up. "Ofcourse dearie! You little twerps can think of a name for the soon to be foal!" She says Enthusiastically and Dante nods.

An hour passed and Dante helped Berta come back to the Manor to meet Harold the Grandfather again, the two couple kisses softly for a brief moment and chuckled which made Dante smile, his Heart softening at the sight, it reminds him of how Vlad and Clockwork looks at each other despite their constant bickering as two technically old couples. Dante smiles under his mask before he bows his head and hops on his bike to go on his daily Gotham City Ride just to help him immerse himself further into the New Scenery and Change of Atmospheres. He also wants to meet Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn hopefully to get their autographs for Sam's Grave.

Sam has always wanted to meet them... So Dante would rather get it for her and put it by her grave in the Ghost Zone. He took a deep breathe before speeding faster and making himself intangible and invisible once again as he drove past Wayne Manor, although invisible his Tires left a subtle sparkle star like trail that is so subtle that you won't notice it unless you know it's actually a trail. Dante's mission for today is to find Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn... Wait... Isn't the Q for Baxter's and Foley's Middle Name Quinzel? Is Dash and Harley related? Dante parked his bike slowly by the sidewalk in confusion as he processes his thought for a moment.

He blinks and ruffles his own hair and shook his head, maybe he could meet Waylon too, Dash has a healthy obsession with the rogue going even as far as to say that the crocodile man is cool which doesn't really surprise anyone of them.

Dante stopped near the Wayne Manor Gates again, He just watches from afar but this time his distortion to cameras is back, he stares at the Manor from afar as if it's... A lost home where he couldn't come in... Why was he here again? Fuck. Dante smacks himself for subconsciously driving near Wayne Manor as if expecting something to happen. Dante drove back home carefully hoping the others are still asleep.

The elderly couple was out for the day and the others were still asleep in the lounge as Dante had checked, Dante looks at the sleeping Tim and Carried him carefully to his car and tones down his distortion before driving back Wayne Manor to drop off the sleep deprived Wayne. Dante stopped at the gates and took a deep breathe before fixing his jacket. He ringed the bell for the gates and Conversed with the older sounding man through the speakers.

"Uhm... I have a Uh— passed out asleep cuddled into a pink giant blanket Timothy Drake-Wayne and I was hoping to drop this guy off because he seems really REALLY tired..." Dante mutters and heard a slight Gasp before the gates opens for him to head inside. "Thanks Gramps— oop— i— uh— Sorry if I called you Gramps—" Dante stutters, and the voice answered with a soft & gentle tone, "it's quite alright Young Sir." He chuckled.

Dante drove inside carefully as to not wake Tim up and He stopped Infront of the doors and Carried Tim out like the little fucking sleep deprived princess he is and Dante saw a butler around in his mid or late 40s or older as Dante thinks about it, perhaps late 50s. "Can I put him somewhere sir? I don't want you to carry the man—" Dante grumbled almost shyly as the butler chuckled, "Right this way sir." The butler let's him in as he followed the older man on where to put Timothy. "Can I know your name Sir?" The butler asked politely and Dante nodded his head as he introduced himself, "Dante. Dante Jamie Masters Sir." He says politely, "Oh please, just call me Alfred." The butler laughs softly and Dante nodded.

In the distance as they walked through the hall Dante sees a boy no older than 13 , "Alfred who is this Man? Did Father bring another ward without prior notice or warning to the rest of us?" The child Glared, by the kid's tone Dante could easily identity that he is Damian Wayne. "No sir, I'm merely here to drop Tim Drake-Wayne Off as he fell asleep whilst on an interview discussion with my Twin Brother.... You can take a picture."(translation:this moment can earn you blackmail points with your siblings.) Dante winks softly to hint to Damian and the Little Wayne didn't hesitate to take pictures as he pulled out his phone swiftly. "Master Damian, This is a Guest of ours! His name is Dante Jamie Masters if you are worried." Alfred clarifies to Damian who nodded, "Just Dan is fine please." Dante adds earning a small smile from the little gremlin.

"Can I interrogate you as we head to Drake's Chambers?" Damian asks still with the same tone and Dante laughs and Nodded. "Yes Sir Little Wayne, ofcourse you can." Dante gives him the Go. Dante didn't know that he emitted the same aura like Danny's just heavier and can be somewhat intimidating but comforting and warm nontheless, "Well we have a barn and horses in the Baxter's Mansion, so yeah I love animals and me and my twin brother converted to being vegan around 2 years ago." Damian looked at him with fascinated eyes, "If your family allows you , you can always visit the Baxter's Barn, Mr and Mrs Baxter would love seeing someone who enjoys animals as much as they do." Dante smiles under his mask. "Perhaps! I will ask my father about it in the later future as such you should expect me when I am to come!" (Translation:Please wait for me because I need to get permission from my dad because I might take an animal home from your Barn.)

Dante tipped his hat in amusement and nodded, they reached Tim's bedroom and Dante entered anxiously as he placed the man down on his bed. "Please do tell him to give back the blanket later, We really love these blankets as much as he visible loves em." Dante says as he groans and stretches him back and follows Alfred out. Alfred tried to convince Dante to stay a little while longer to eat but Dante refused but he did Exchange contacts with the Little Wayne, It seems Damian has become fond of Dante that He's actually using the Man's nickname. 'Dan'.

"Thank you for making me come home with these extremely delicious cookies, maybe I can learn from you sir! I want to make these for my brother too." Dante chuckled as he munched on one of Alfred's remarkable Baking, "It's my Pleasure to have such a pleasant student as you Master Dante if you ever wish to visit again I'll teach you with great pleasure." Alfred laughed softly and Dante Nods approvingly, he turns to Damian who was staring at him. "We have a Clydesdale and his name is Walking Abyss, if you want you can ride him because he's very gentle giant. Damian perks up before nodding. Dante tips his cap again before bowing and hopping back in his car to drive off.

He saw Damian in the rear View Mirror hesitantly wave goodbye. "such a cute kid. Guess they aren't too bad as I thought." Dante laughs as he puts a cookie in his mouth and continued to savor the taste of these cookies. "This is heavenly. I really need to get the recipe." Dante just nodding to himself as he turns up the volume in the car radio and let's his playlist turn up, Bruno Mars is his Jam. "Mr and Mrs Baxter would be happy to have a new little Visitor such as that kid, he's cute." Dante drove home visibly pleased with himself as he sang along to "Die with a Smile" by Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga, It's his Jam always will be.

As he parked his car in the garage neatly he heard the commotion inside, Danny and Dash were blushing as he entered the house. "Alright Gang, what the fuck is going on." Dante asks sternly as he places the cookies in the kitchen counter and onto a small plate neatly, "Danny Walked in on dash naked." Valerie laughed. "he what." Dante had to double-check on what the fuck they just told him.

"I walked in on Dash Naked and the first words I fucking said was "Nice Dick"... Fucking No Filter Brain..." Danny was suffering burying his face on the pillow and Dante facepalms, "Where's Dash?" Dante asks in defeat. "Suffering in his room in Embarrasament after Danny said in full volume "Nice Dick." Tucker laughed along poking fun at Danny, "TUCKER FOLEY STOP REMINDING ME YA BASTARD!!" Danny yells and throws a sandal at Tucker's Face.

"Deserved tbh." Dante stares at a stunned Sandal headshotted Tucker and Valerie just laughs louder this time at Tucker.

"I love this family." Dante combs his hair with his hands and smiled endearingly at the people he sees as his family.

Wholesome stuff before I may or may not do something brutal in the next chapter.

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024, #18 blanket

The Blanket Detective

John woke up from a terribly loud bang that seemed to have happened right in his head. He wondered drowsily what that might have been when another one happened. And another. And another. And then John realized that it had been his own teeth that were chattering so loudly.

Because he was cold.

John was freezing cold. His feet had turned into solid blocks of ice and his back felt like pressed into a corset, having gone stiff from the arctic temperatures that enveloped his body.

John, still half-asleep, pawed around to find the blanket that should have been covering his body to provide comfortable warmth and coziness but was obviously missing.

Fully awake now, John sat up in the kingsize bed he was sharing with Sherlock. Where was the blanket? Did it slide down when he turned in his sleep? Had he kicked it out while dreaming?

No and no. There was no blanket on the floor of the hotel room.

John looked at Sherlock who gently snored on the other side of the bed, tightly wrapped into a blanket. He resembled a giant burrito with a human filling.

John looked closer, suspecting that Sherlock might have hogged John’s blanket as well, but Sherlock only had one. Odd. When they had gone to sleep last night there had been two, one for each of them.

Anyway, John was freezing to death so he poked Sherlock into the back until he opened his eyes and asked, quite grumpily, “What?”

“My blanket is gone and I’m freezing. Do you have it?”

“Well, you stole mine two hours ago and I woke up freezing cold so I took yours.”

“What?” There was something utterly wrong with what Sherlock had said. “I didn’t steal anything. I woke up without the damn blanket.”

“Then you must have kicked the one you stole from me out of the bed because I woke up first being cold and therefore I took yours.” Sherlock explained petulantly.

“So, this is my blanket you’re wrapped in.”

“Yes. I needed one after you stole mine like I’ve already repeated.”

“But I didn’t steal yours!” John protested. “You stole mine as you’ve just confessed!”

Sherlock wriggled his arms out of the burrito and sat up, too. “Then why was mine missing when I woke up with chattering teeth? Before you did?”

They blinked at each other.

“Oh my God,” John exclaimed. “And you consider yourself a genius!”

“Insulting me will also not make me give back the blanket.”

John leant sideways, laying his chest over Sherlock’s legs to get a look onto the floor below Sherlock’s side of the bed.

“Ha! You are a mean blanket-thief! Just look at the evidence!”

Sherlock leant over to the side. On the floor lay the second blanket.

“I deduce,” John declaimed, “that you kicked out your blanket, woke up freezing and stole mine because you thought I had stolen yours first.”

“Oops.”

Sherlock pulled the blanket onto the bed and tossed it towards John.

“I’m not going to use it. It’s as cold as the floor and I don’t have any body heat left to warm it.” John’s teeth underlined this with an extra loud chattering.

“Okay, fine.” Sherlock grumbled and unwrapped himself. “We can share mine.”

“You mean we share mine.”

“Whatever, just come here John. The blanket is big enough for us both.”

They spent the rest of the night as a double burrito and enjoyed the heavenly warmth.

++++++++

tagging some people @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @peageetibbs @raina-at

[adoreispunk]

Out of Reach (joel miller au)

“My mind raced. Joel was still upstairs, probably racing around to hide things too, and I had no idea if he'd come in time to cover for me. What if she came into the kitchen? What if she saw my shoes at the door? My stomach twisted, the weight of our secret crashing down on me.”

wc: 2.7k

an: oop..

masterlist (15)

fifteen

Today was our last day together. The thought hit me like a brick. I didn't know what to do with it, with the ache it brought. We hadn't talked about what this was, what it could be. Was it just a fling? A reckless escape from reality? I didn't even know if I wanted a relationship with him. Not because I didn't care, but because it felt too complicated. He was older, tied to responsibilities I couldn't fully understand, and I was... what? A college kid, figuring out my life, caught up in this man who made me feel things I'd never felt before. The confusion swirled in my head, muddled by the tenderness of his touch, and I felt stuck, unsure how to process it.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push the thoughts away. I didn't want to ruin today with overthinking. I just wanted to enjoy him, to soak up every second of this before it was gone. Taking a deep breath, I focused on the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and tried to fall back asleep. But my mind wouldn't settle, the ache in my chest keeping me awake, my thoughts too loud to ignore.

Carefully, I shifted, easing out from under Joel's arm. He stirred slightly, his grip tightening for a moment before relaxing, his face soft in sleep. "Gonna get some water." I whispered, more to myself than to him, my voice barely audible. I slipped out of bed, my legs shaky from last night, and grabbed the throw blanket that had fallen to the floor, wrapping it around my naked body. The soft fabric brushed my skin as I tiptoed out of the room, closing the door quietly behind me.

The house was cool and quiet as I padded down the stairs, the blanket trailing slightly behind me. In the kitchen, I grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water from the fridge, the cold liquid grounding me as I took slow sips. My head was still a little foggy, but the water helped. I leaned against the counter, staring out the window at the soft morning light, trying to steady my racing thoughts.

My eyes wandered to the counter, landing on the snacks we'd left out last night chips, a half-eaten bag of M&M's, and our cans. The memories of our incident last night coming back to me. I let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head. But then—

Click.

The front door rattled.

My heart dropped.

I froze, glass still in my hand, eyes locking on the knob as it turned slowly.

No. No, no—

The door opened.

"Dad?" a voice called, familiar and far too close.

Sarah.

My blood went cold and my heart beat radiated through me. I was standing in Joel's kitchen, naked except for a throw blanket, my things upstairs, and his daughter was here.

Fuck, this is so bad.

My eyes darted around, searching for somewhere, anywhere to hide. The pantry was too far, the living room too open. The only option was the narrow space between the fridge and the counter, a cramped corner partially hidden by the kitchen island.

I scrambled over, clutching the blanket tighter, and squeezed into the gap. My back pressed against the cool metal of the fridge. The glass of water was still in my hand, and I set it down carefully on the floor, praying it wouldn't tip. My heart was pounding so loud I was sure Sarah would hear it. I held my breath, trying to stay as still as possible. The blanket slipped slightly, and I tugged it up, my hands shaking as I listened to her footsteps moving closer.

"Dad? You awake?" Sarah called again, her voice louder now, coming from the living room. I heard the rustle of a bag, the soft thud of her dropping something on the couch.

My mind raced. Joel was still upstairs, probably racing around to hide things too, and I had no idea if he'd come in time to cover for me. What if she came into the kitchen? What if she saw my shoes at the door? My stomach twisted, the weight of our secret crashing down on me.

I pressed myself deeper into the corner, the cold floor biting into my bare feet, and prayed he'd get her out of the house soon. The confusion from earlier, the sadness about our last day, was still there, but now it was drowned out by the immediate need to not get caught.

Then Joel's voice broke through, rough with sleep but steady, calling from upstairs. "I'll be right down, baby!" he shouted, and I exhaled shakily, a sliver of relief cutting through the panic. He was awake. He'd handle this. He had to. The creak of the stairs followed, quick and uneven, like he was taking them two at a time, and I pictured him throwing on clothes in a rush, trying to erase any trace of me.

I stayed frozen, my back pressed against the fridge, the blanket slipping slightly as I adjusted my grip. The glass of water sat on the floor beside me, untouched, a small anchor in the chaos. I listened as Joel's footsteps hit the living room, his voice warm and a little breathless as he spoke. "Hey kiddo," he said, followed by the soft sound of him pulling her into a hug. "God, it's good to see you."

I could hear the smile in Sarah's voice as she hugged him back. "Hey, Dad. Didn't mean to scare you." Her tone was teasing, but there was a warmth to it, the kind that made it clear how much she loved him. It made my chest ache, a reminder of the life Joel had outside of me.

"What're you doin' home?" Joel asked, his voice steady but laced with curiosity. I imagined him looking around, his eyes scanning the room for anything out of place, just like I was doing in my head.

Sarah laughed softly, her sneakers squeaking as she shifted. "I came to surprise you yesterday afternoon to stay for break, but you weren't here. Figured you were stuck at work or something, so I stayed over at Jess's place with some friends."

Joel chuckled, and I could hear the effort to keep it natural, to keep her from suspecting anything. "Shoulda called, kid. I was out late with some of the guys from the site. Didn't know you were plannin' a visit." His voice was warm, convincing, but I knew he was on high alert, probably clocking the same things I was.

"Yeah, well, surprises are more fun," Sarah said, and I heard her moving, her voice getting closer to the kitchen. My heart leapt into my throat, and I pressed myself deeper into the corner, the blanket slipping again. "Whoa, Dad, what's all this?" she said, her tone shifting to confusion laced with amusement. "Uh, a Smirnoff? Since when do you drink those?"

My stomach plummeted, a cold wave of dread washing over me. Of course she'd notice my drink. I bit my lip, waiting for Joel's response, hoping he could talk his way out of this.

Joel didn't hesitate, his voice smooth and casual, like it was no big deal. "Yeah, had some of the crew over last night. One of 'em brought that. Think it was Tommy's buddy, Mike. Guy's got a weird taste." He let out a low laugh, the kind that sounded so effortless I almost bought it, and I marveled at how quick he was.

Sarah snorted, and I could hear the grin in her voice. "Mike? Seriously? That's amazing. " She paused, and I heard the crinkle of a bag. "But candy? You're going soft, Dad."

I stayed still, my legs starting to cramp, the cold floor biting into my feet. My heart was still racing, but Joel's quick cover had bought us some time. I wasn't out of danger yet. If Sarah came into the kitchen, if she saw my shoes by the door or noticed anything else.

I listened as Sarah rummaged through the living room, her voice muffled as she talked about her friends, her classes, her plans for the break. Joel kept her engaged, his responses calm and easy, and I could tell he was trying to keep her distracted, to give me a chance to stay hidden. Today was our last day, and I'd wanted to savor it, but now I was hiding in his kitchen, naked.

The confusion from waking up, the sadness about leaving, it all swirled together with the fear of getting caught. I felt overwhelmed, unsure how to process any of it. I just wanted Sarah to leave, to give me a chance to slip back upstairs, to figure out how to face Joel and this day without everything falling apart.

Joel's voice floated back into the kitchen like a lifeline. "Hey, what d'you say we go grab some breakfast?" he said, easy and warm, but I could hear the underlying urgency. He was trying to get her out.

"Yeah, I'm starving," Sarah replied, cheerful and unsuspecting.

Joel's voice followed her. "Wait in the car for me, alright? I'll change real quick and be right out."

"Uh huh," Sarah said, teasing. "Don't take forever." Joel chuckled, the sound hollow underneath. "Yeah, yeah."

Footsteps thudded across the floor, lighter this time. Sarah heading for the door. The door opened. Slammed shut.

Silence.

"Olivia?" Joel's voice, quieter now, just above a whisper.

I exhaled, slow and shaky, then stepped out from my hiding place. My knees buckled a little as I straightened, the blanket clinging to my body, barely hanging on. Joel stood in the doorway to the kitchen, wearing the same sweatpants from last night, his hair tousled, his face drawn and tense.

He looked at me, eyes scanning quickly, like he needed to see me to believe I was okay. "You alright?" he asked. "Did she see anything?"

I shook my head. "No," I whispered, my voice tight. "I don't think so."

His shoulders dropped a fraction, a brief flicker of relief passing over his face. I bent down to pick up the glass I'd left on the floor and held it to my chest like it might shield me from the weight in the room.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, before I could stop myself. "I shouldn't have come down. I—I didn't think—"

"Don't," he cut in gently, his voice low. He took a few steps toward me, stopping just short of touching. "You didn't do anything wrong. You couldn't've known."

I nodded, but it didn't help. I still felt awful and humiliated. There was something about being caught like that, or nearly caught.

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Look... it's probably best if you head out when we do," he said, voice careful. "Sarah's home now."

My heart clenched. I knew he was right, but it still hurt.

"Yeah," I said softly, looking down at the floor. "I figured."

We stood there in silence, the space between us suddenly full of everything we weren't saying. I wanted to ask him what this meant, what happened now, if he regretted it. I wanted to tell him I didn't know how to feel or what to do. But the words stayed locked in my throat, stuck behind the knot forming there.

Joel broke the silence first, "I'll be quick. You can take your time. Get your stuff ready and head home."

"Okay," I whispered.

Joel glanced toward the window that faced the front yard and motioned for me to stay close behind him. We moved quickly, careful not to be seen. We crept up together.

At the top of the stairs, he gave me a tight nod and turned toward his bedroom. I watched him disappear into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. I turned to gather my things, trying to be quick but not too rushed, as if hurrying would somehow make this feel worse. I pulled my shirt over my head and stepped into my jeans, heart still thudding in my chest.

I glanced around the room; his flannel shirt still draped over the chair, our clothes laid out together on the floor, the bed still messy from where we'd slept. I didn't want to leave it like this. Honestly, I didn't wanna leave at all.

Joel reemerged a few minutes later, fully dressed now in jeans and a worn T-shirt that clung to his chest. He looked like himself again. Joel, the contractor, the dad, the man who wasn't supposed to be tangled up with me. He moved with purpose now, pulling on his boots by the edge of the bed.

"I'll text you when it's clear," he said, not quite meeting my eyes.

I nodded. "Okay."

He didn't say anything else. No kiss goodbye. No soft touch or lingering glance. Just grabbed his keys and wallet and walked out of the room like he'd already separated himself from it, from me. A part of me waited for him to stop in the doorway, to come back, say anything but he didn't.

I heard his footsteps move down the hall, then the creak of the stairs. A pause. The front door opened. Then closed.

Gone.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers gripping the blanket we'd shared. The silence settled around me like dust, heavy and suffocating. I laid back, pulling the sheets up over my chest, burying my face into his pillow and breathing him in. It smelled like him. Like comfort. I'd let myself believe it might've meant more than it did.

I felt stupid. For thinking this could've gone somewhere. For letting myself want more than just a weekend. For falling so fast and so hard for someone who couldn't hold space for me once his real life came back through the door. But the weight in my chest told me that something had shifted. Joel hadn't kissed me goodbye. And it felt like a sign.

And now I had to go to work with him tomorrow. Pretend nothing happened. Pretend I didn't already miss him.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

I sat up too fast, heart leaping in my chest. I scrambled for it, a breath caught in my throat as I unlocked the screen. One new message.

Joel: It's clear. You can leave now.

That was it. No sorry, no I'll call you later, no thank you for staying, or even I wish things were different. Just a sentence, flat and distant. Like I was someone he barely knew. Like I hadn't just spent the night wrapped up in him.

I stared at the message until the screen dimmed. Then I opened the Uber app, blinking back the sting behind my eyes as I booked a ride. Four minutes away.

I pressed the phone to my chest and took a slow breath, but it didn't help. I moved around the room quietly, grabbing my bags. I paused by the bed, my hand brushing over the place where he'd slept.

Downstairs, the house was still. The blanket from last night was crumpled on the couch. The bag of M&M's lay open, half-eaten, the cans from our drinks scattered carelessly on the coffee table. Our laughter still seemed to echo faintly in the space, like it hadn't fully caught up to the fact that the mood had changed.

I walked to the door, slipping on my boots. Dust from the trail gravel still on them. As I turned the knob, I took a deep breath. The morning light was bright, like a flash waking me up from a dream. I closed the door behind me and the Uber was already waiting at the curb.

I didn't look back.

[lulu-bin]

how dark can my thoughts get.

The idea: John and Sam having an argument about something, (most likely something small that John blew way out of proportion) and John leaves the motel for a while, then comes back and "puts Sammy to bed"

TW: incest, rape, CSA (no graphic descriptions), Dean worships Sammy and doesn't think John deserves Sammy.

A/N: I didn't proofread this and also I'm high so if I ramble or mess up grammar.. Oops

Sam and Dean are curled up in one of the motel beds, slipping in and out of sleep, just listening to the sounds of the city. They know they can't actually fall asleep, if John catches them it'll start another argument all over again.

John thinks Sam is too old to be sleeping in the same bed as Dean, and yet half the nights the three of them actually spend together, John chooses Sam's bed, although for the past few weeks he was in Dean's bed. The older brother had praised himself for holding his father's attention for so long.

Not because he wanted his father's attention, that was only a small part of it. Dean hated sharing Sam. His Sammy. No one else's, not even their father's.

Dean subconsciously tightens his arms around his baby brother, causing Sam to press harder against him. His crotch fit perfectly above Dean's hip as they lay in a position not too similar to how a mother would hold their toddler.

The older brother took a deep breath in, to calm himself and to get a lung full of the warm musk Sam started having as he grew up. Even under the offensive smell of Irish Spring the boys use, Dean can smell it.

A low hum escapes Sam's lips as he tries to stay awake, "What time is it?" his voiced cracked like porcelain.

As if on cue they both hear the sound of the impala pulling into a parking spot in front of the motel. The light from the highbeams peak through the curtains, illuminating Sam's face enough for Dean to see his frown. "Dad's back." Sam says, his voice muffled against Dean's collar bone.

Dean sighs in response and untangles their limbs, they had laid so close to each other, as if they to crawl under the others skin. Sam immediately feels cold without the perpetual furnace of Dean's body pressed against his.

As soon as they were both curled up in separate beds, the door opens, shuts, then locks. The boys listen intently as John sets his keys and dagger on the table, then removes his boots. He still seems to be pissed about the argument, though not as explosive anymore.

Dean wills himself to not tense up as he feels weight on the bed next to him, he holds his breath and waits for what he expects, but after just a few seconds the weight is gone. He listens as his dad moves from his bed to Sam's.

Panic alarms fire off in Dean's head, he'd managed to keep John focused on him for weeks, it was only a matter of time before his interest shifted back. It was hard to not just roll over and offer himself to his dad, but Dean knows that won't work. He'd just be told 'stop being ridiculous and go back to bed'

Unlike Dean, Sam was unable to keep himself from flinching when John leaned over him. His dad's breath was hot against his ear and the man smelled like whiskey. Sam opened his eyes and looked up at John, just as he had many nights before.

His wet eyes gave John a look that begged.

Begged to he left alone. Begged for John to just lay down and go to sleep. Begged for mercy.

All this did was fuel the fire in John's stomach, the flames licked up inside him like the hellfire that will consume him for the things he does. John leaned forward and pressed a stubbly kiss to Sam's cheek, the boys trembled as his dad pulled the blanket off of him.

The moments between being rolled onto his back, then having his knees pushed to his chest seemed to blur together. Sam was lost in his head until he felt the burn; everytime feels like the first time. He cried when John put him to bed. That was until he was 11. By then he'd learned how to tense his shoulders and relax his spine to ease the pain.

Sam never liked to close his eyes when John put him to bed. He didn't want the feeling to be associated with actual sleep. Even as a young kid, Sam was smart enough for his own good. Now as an adult he has no trouble sleeping. As long as he's not on his back.

Dean listened with a tight chest, he desperately wanted to jump up and tear John off of Sam. He wouldn't win that fight, and he knows it. Dean's mood soured further as he heard the sharp sound of his dad's zipper.

The ratty motel bed squeaked lightly as John put Sam to bed. John is never fast and rough with Sam, much to Dean's happiness. Sammy couldn't handle fast and rough, he needs to be treated tenderly.

Dean clenched his jaw, and a low, wet sound filled the room. Jealousy rises in his chest, though it's not an unfamiliar sounds, Dean will never get used to it. A few minutes pass and he hears John sigh loudly and now they both know it's over. Their dad places another kiss to Sammy's lips before he rolls over and lays with his back to both Sam and Dean.

Sam turns his head and peels his eyes from the ceiling. Dean rolls to face Sam and their eyes lock.

Only now do the tears come, hot streams paint his cheeks and causes a pang in Dean's chest. He wanted to take Sammy and run away, to keep him safe and treat him how he should be treated.

Dean reaches his hand out, and Sam mirrors him. Their hands lock together, Sam's are almost as big as Dean's already; soon it will surpass his. For now Dean is content with Sam's small hand dwarfed in his.

[bcbdrums]

A Touch of Warmth

A Soul Eater fanfic. Read on: AO3 | FFn

Sixth in my series of 31 prompt-based one-shots (filling them out of order; this is prompt 5). Prompts from this list.

A/N: More of the academy days for my faves, but super early this time. I wanna say...maybe just a few months of partnership here. And living in cheap academy dorms haha. Imagine a sad college dorm room I guess. Stein is only 10 years old and Spirit is 13. Long, long, rambly stream of consciousness relationship stuff that I wrote like...in the first week of December. And then didn't finish until just now (late March) and there was only a little bit left to go. Oops. Wonder how much that gap impacted the story/writing style... If you like long rambly things that don't really have a point, well, here you go. Enjoy. 5. Puzzling

A Touch of Warmth

An icy chill like breath across his cheeks was what roused Spirit from sleep. He shivered and then blinked twice before tightly closing his eyes again. Even the air was cold, assaulting the tender moisture beneath his lashes like the slap of cold water.

After taking another moment to realize he was awake and not dreaming, he fully processed the freezing sensation as one he should not be feeling on a desert morning. He clutched his blanket close to his chest and sat up in bed, squinting. White was what overwhelmed his blurred vision, and he snaked an arm out of his warm cocoon and felt almost blindly along the windowsill until his fingers met something very cold and wet.

He gasped and drew back, blinking until his sight clarified to reveal what it was he had touched.

Gathered on the sill near the open window were a line of melting snowflakes.

Spirit's jaw fell slack as he reached out to touch a cluster again, watching it turn to water rapidly even as it cooled his fingertips. But when he looked up and out the window his eyes went wide.

Where there should have been dirt, stone, and dried grasses in the backyard of the dormitory there was only white, and the sky was gray as snow fell in lace-like curtains, thick and silent, covering the landscape as far as the eye could see.

It was several moments of staring, captivated by the scene and breathing the icy air, before Spirit reached out to slide the window closed. And then he spun around to face the bed of his roommate.

"Hey Stein, wake—"

Spirit blinked. His very young meister was not in his bed.

The red-haired teen took stock of their tiny dorm room quickly, noting the boy's blankets uncharacteristically tossed back and his pair of shoes sitting neatly next to his desk. It appeared as though Stein had gotten under his bed at some point, because the corner of a box was sticking out near where the blankets were carelessly draped down to the floor. Then Spirit noticed the door to the hallway was ajar.

"Stein?" he said again as he glanced once more around their small room. The boy was definitely not there.

Spirit threw his own blankets aside and hurriedly dressed, selecting warmer clothing than he would ever choose for a day in Death City but something he was more likely to wear on an extracurricular assignment far further north. He gaze was continually drawn to the astonishing view through the window as he fumbled with a pair of boots, still not quite believing that a seeming winter had arrived in the middle of Nevada.

He had experienced snow a couple of times in his life, but never at leisure, and nothing at all like what he was seeing outside as it seemed to be sticking to sand and stone, transforming the barren landscape to one of wonder and quiet mystery.

"Stein?" Spirit asked again, peering down the hallway after pulling the door open. The dormitory was dark and silent.

Spirit's brow furrowed as he turned toward the bathroom that all the students in his wing shared, wondering if that was where the boy had gone. His meister operated like clockwork, and it was the startling deviation from the norm that had Spirit perplexed and was driving him to find his partner almost as much as the desire to share his newfound excitement at the change in the weather.

Most of the students in their building had gone home for the holidays, but both Stein and Spirit had declined that privilege, neither offering any explanation to the other. And Spirit was glad for his decision, knowing the snow wasn't anything he would have seen otherwise.

"Stein?" he whispered, peering into the darkened bathroom but already fairly certain of what he would find. Every stall door was open, the showers and sinks were silent, and the lights were off.

Spirit stuck his lip out in annoyance at the same time his brow furrowed in worry. He'd wanted to enjoy the experience of the fresh falling snow with his meister. But as Spirit turned to walk toward the front door concern began to overtake his initial elation. Just where was the boy?

It wasn't that he didn't think Stein couldn't handle himself; the few combat training classes they'd already had proved that he could. But the meister was just so young, and he looked it. Spirit was barely thirteen and this was the first time he'd been on his own, but in the few months they'd been roommates he could tell that the silver-haired ten-year-old was already accustomed to fending for himself.

Spirit had no background on his meister, and the boy was distant without being blatantly rude. He seemed to genuinely not know how to interact with their peers along with something else Spirit couldn't yet place. But the teen was patient, and Lord Death had specifically chosen Stein to be his meister. That alone was worth everything.

He pushed through the front door of the dormitory and a biting chill rushed in along with a few flurries of snow. Spirit grinned, a chuckle rumbling in his chest as he closed his eyes and took in the feel of the ice hitting his face like unforeseen kisses, softly leaving their mark before vanishing and stirring his thoughts toward the ethereal and imaginative. There was a promise of something new in the snowfall, and Spirit wanted to take advantage of every moment of it.

He stepped fully through the door and into the wall of white, his boots almost soundless as they pushed through the drift that had already built up in the uncovered entryway. And that’s when he saw the single point of color: a telltale shock of silver hair.

Next to one of the benches that lined the sidewalk to the dorms knelt Franken Stein. Snow had collected in a thin layer atop his head, shoulders, and the backs of his legs, though one could hardly tell for the plain white pajamas he wore, causing the boy to be almost invisible in the newly whited-out landscape. He was bent over some small mechanical device placed on the bench, his concentration so full that he didn’t notice when Spirit closed the door. Another point of color were the pale soles of his feet; he wasn’t wearing any shoes.

“Stein?” Spirit asked in surprise, hurrying forward. His delight at the weather had wholly evaporated at the sight of his young meister barely clothed out in the cold. “What are you doing?”

The boy didn’t reply, but scowled at whatever it was he was looking at. He reached for the device and Spirit recognized a microscope as he approached. Stein had picked up a small glass slide, and Spirit watched as he leaned back from the bench to slowly wipe it on the hem of his shirt, and then hold it out to catch a few falling snowflakes. His hands shook as he replaced it under the lens and quickly leaned down again, turning the focus knob to bring his subjects into clarity. As Spirit finally stopped next to the bench he could see it wasn't just Stein's hands, but his entire frame shaking from head to toe, and his usually colorless lips were a frightening shade of blue.

“Stein!” Spirit cried in protest, his voice rising in pitch.

“Don’t breathe.”

Spirit blinked, the harsh but monotone directive confusing his train of thought.

“What?” he asked, but held his breath nonetheless.

“They melt too fast if you breathe.”

Spirit rapidly went through the arguments in his head that he wasn't even near the snowflakes on the slide, and that Stein himself was so cold now that he'd be surprised if he had any warmth left in his lungs. But none of those words came out as somehow, as always, he was drawn like a magnet to his meister's side and knelt down, curiosity rising in him despite the chill beginning to penetrate his coat.

"What are you looking at?"

"The structure of the snowflakes."

Spirit looked at the cluster of white that had in fact already begun to melt on the slide under the lens, and then back to his meister, his face hidden as he stared down through the microscope.

"So far they are perfectly symmetrical and each one has six branches, but no two are alike. The probability of two being the same eventually is strong, but..."

Stein stopped suddenly, and Spirit watched the meister move his hand away from the focusing knob, place it between his thighs where his left hand was already hidden.

Spirit frowned.

"Get up."

"What?"

Stein was still peering into the microscope.

"Get up or I'm picking you up."

That got the meister's attention. His eyes snapped to Spirit's, confusion overlaid by defiance and something else hard and threatening. It had only been three months, but it had taken less than a day of acquaintance for Spirit to learn that the boy would not tolerate being touched without express permission.

"You can't do this like this," Spirit continued. "You're going to freeze to death."

Stein's expression didn't change.

"If you want to be helpful you could get me a notebook to record my findings. You don't have a camera, do you?"

Each word was spoken through trembling blue lips, and Spirit noticed that the rest of the boy's unnaturally pale skin was rapidly changing hue. His heart began racing as he made his decision, not knowing what the ramifications would be but knowing that he had no choice.

Stein didn't speak when Spirit stood, but when the weapon's gloved hands came down under the meister's armpits he jerked away with a strength Spirit wouldn't have thought him capable.

"Don't touch me!" was the protest that sounded before the boy began fighting back, pushing and beating against Spirit's shoulders, but the weapon was determined.

It was a battle of hands and arms and legs and feet as he half-fought, half-dragged Stein back into the dormitory hall, tuning out every word of protest that was laid against him with each step. He only finally paid attention again when Stein managed to free one arm just inside the door and landed a glancing blow against Spirit's cheek.

He shuddered in response, not letting go but halting the movement of his feet. The hit may not have fully connected, but it was still hard and for a moment the world was spinning and Spirit's only point of focus were his hurried breaths and the heavier panting of the younger boy upon whom he still had an iron grip.

When his eyes refocused on Stein's face the meister appeared shocked—quite the change from his typically guarded expression—but his skin was still unnaturally blue, and there was something off about his eyes even past the unusual expression. It sent a wash of fear through Spirit that rapidly overrode the pain of the punch.

He reached past Stein and kicked the door closed hard.

"Stein. I'm not going to let you die out there because you were too stupid to get dressed before running out to play in the snow."

"I... I wasn't..." Stein began, still breathless and something definitely off about his vision.

Spirit ignored the pulsing of pain in his cheek and while Stein was distracted, he scooped the smaller boy up like he would a toddler and stalked hurriedly down the hall.

"Hey! Stop it!" was Stein's weak protest this time, and Spirit noted he was struggling a lot less than when they'd been pushing through the ankle-deep snow outside.

When he reached the bathroom he all but dropped Stein for how much he was twisting to escape. When the meister's feet hit the tile he slipped on his wet, bare soles and would have hit the floor had Spirit not still had his hands on him. Stein clung to Spirit's arms in surprise, not having expected the backward plunge, and when Spirit had righted them both he finally let go.

He reached back to hit the light switch and Stein flinched away, holding a hand up to cover his eyes as his breaths still came far too heavily for the minimal exertion of the struggle to get indoors. When he finally squinted at Spirit his expression fell to shock again. It finally occurred to the red-head that there was something other than the fact that he'd interrupted Stein's ill-conceived experimenting that had shaken the boy, and he turned around to see his face in the mirror.

Spirit nearly gasped for how utterly terrified he looked. Terrified and furious, perhaps in a way that his young partner had never seen another person look before, if the way it froze the boy in place was any indication.

Spirit knew he needed to calm down, calm his expression and be reasonable so he could explain to his meister just how dangerous his actions had been. But as he turned back to face the boy he only felt the anger swell to a greater presence in his soul.

Stein's clothes were nearly soaked through, the white of the pajamas turned gray from moisture and his hair darker for it. The color of his skin was wrong. He was visibly shaking from head to toe, and his vision was hazy and seeming unable to really see Spirit even though his eyes hadn't left the red-head since the moment he'd let him go.

Spirit opened his mouth to speak, but the movement of his jaw caused his cheek to sting where Stein had punched him. He hissed and reached his fingers up to the spot before jabbing his other arm past Stein to point, the motion causing the boy to jump.

"Get in there," he commanded coolly, his voice low and laced with threat. "Get under some hot water and sit down. I'm going to get you some dry clothes."

Stein's expression of shock remained, the boy still frozen by the look on Spirit's face. They remained unmoving for several moments, but when the meister's breaths began to even out he finally turned toward the showers to comply with the weapon's words.

It wasn't until Stein had fully obeyed, letting the shower run until the water was warm and then stepping under the stream and sitting down to lean against the tiled wall, that Spirit finally turned to go.

He let his anger carry his feet briskly back toward their shared bedroom, blindly going through the motions once there of making Stein's bed, dragging the only spare blanket from the closet to place atop it, and then yanking his own bedding free to add on top of that. Horrible scenarios were racing through his head of what he might have found out in the snow instead of his insatiably curious young meister studying the patterns of snowflakes had he slept in a little later, or decided to enjoy the surprise of the weather from the comfort of his bed.

Spirit stopped abruptly from where he'd been casting off his winter outerwear and blinked at nothing as the realization struck.

Stein had been looking at snowflakes.

The fear crashed fully over Spirit's anger, obliterating it as the teen sat down on the floor and began to cry. He could have lost his meister, might still lose him, because the boy had been just as excited about the snow as he was.

If he hadn't immediately gone outside to play...

Spirit didn't know how long he cried, but the sudden realization that he could still lose Stein drove him back to the present. He didn't know anything about frostbite or hypothermia or any other manner of freezing-induced ailments. They were all alone in the dorm and he had no one to call for help since everyone had left for the holidays. And just how long had he left Stein alone in the shower with his vision hazy and his pallor looking near death?

Spirit stood so fast it made him dizzy, made his cheek throb where he'd been hit, and he rummaged through Stein's drawers until he finally found the boy's thicker socks for winter assignments along with underwear and more pajamas. As an afterthought he grabbed his own thick bathrobe and then both of their towels before turning to run back down the hall.

He slowed his step before entering the bathroom, terrified of what he might find. At least he could still hear the shower running, but...was that a good sign? Instead of entering he peered cautiously around the doorjamb.

Stein looked exactly as Spirit had left him, seated against the tile and curled tightly in on himself as the warm water poured over him. His arms were folded atop his raised knees and his hands were tight in fists, and his face was hidden where it lie on his arms. Spirit licked his lips and took a cautious step forward, and then another. There was no reaction from the meister.

Spirit paused, took in a silent breath...and then he flicked his eyes sideways to the mirror. He didn't look angry anymore, although he could still see it rise behind his eyes the moment he thought about it. No, now he looked every bit as scared as he felt, perhaps even more than when he'd drug Stein back indoors, and his eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying.

Any other time Spirit would have been annoyed by his transparency, but since it had seemingly helped to get his meister to comply he decided he didn't care.

He turned back toward the small, gray form in the shower, felt his heart rate quicken as he mustered the courage to speak.

"Stein?"

Stein lifted his head.

The relief Spirit felt was enough to make his knees go weak, and he leaned on the counter to steady himself as he set the clothing down and draped the two towels over his arm. He sucked in a few breaths, looked up to the mirror again and saw a brightness fitting itself behind the fear in his eyes, and he grimaced before turning to approach the meister.

"You, uh... You ready to come out of there?"

Stein didn't respond, only watched Spirit's approach, watched him stop about five feet distant, his expression having returned to its usual dull, esoteric impassivity. And as his eyes locked on Spirit's the red-head thought he looked even more withdrawn than before. But, blessedly, perhaps less hazy.

He didn't know if staying under the warm water longer would be better or worse for Stein's recovery, but his own anxiety couldn't stand the inaction. He pursed his lips and stepped forward, reaching around the stream to turn the water off.

Stein slowly began pushing himself upright, his eyes not having left Spirit's face even to blink.

"Uh...here," Spirit said, holding out the two towels. After a moment, Stein slowly reached across the distance to receive them. "There's clothes on the counter, uh..."

Spirit realized he needed to give the meister some privacy to change, and he thought quickly.

"I'll go get you something warm to drink. I'll uh...I'll be right back."

Spirit turned and hurried out of the bathroom as quickly as he could, making long strides down the hallway.

The tiny kitchen that could hardly be called such was at the other end of the building, and Spirit didn't want the meister out of his sight for any longer than was necessary just in case there was some delayed danger to whatever cold-induced condition he'd brought upon himself.

As Spirit passed the main entry he took careful steps to avoid the melted snow that had found its way inside from the struggle through the doorway, and then something occurred to him that halted his rush.

He turned and dashed back out into the icy air, his breath catching instantly as cold assaulted his body. He grimaced at the irony that it was now he who was under-dressed and risking himself in the elements, but he picked his way through the piling snow to the bench where the microscope was gathering a larger collection of specimens than it was designed for. Spirit tucked the freezing object safely against his chest and hurried back inside to be free of the snow falling into his face and the chill already seeming to seep into his bones.

He didn't hesitate but to close the door behind him, and then took the microscope the rest of the way down the hall and into the small kitchen.

Inside the narrow room he quickly opened the freezer and considered a moment before pulling out a few boxes of frozen meals left by other students to make space, and then he carefully placed the heavy instrument inside. He turned the freezer's temperature lower and then quickly closed it, blowing into his hands to warm them as he tried to remember his original purpose, his mind still awash with fear.

The microwave dinners on the counter was what returned his focus, and he quickly filled two mugs with water and set them to heat as he considered the beverage options. It took less than ten seconds to decide on tea, considering he didn't even know if there was hot cocoa mix around and he still really didn't want Stein out of his sight any longer than necessary.

Another thought occurred to him as he watched the microwave's timer tick down, and he turned and ran silently on his toes back to the bedroom. Once inside he didn't even look before diving for the box sticking out from beneath Stein's bed, and sure enough it was the box the microscope had been housed in. He carefully removed every delicate glass slide that remained tucked in the Styrofoam, and then cradling them gently, he ran back to the kitchen.

Once there he opened the freezer and carefully brushed a few snow clusters from the microscope onto each slide, including the one still beneath the lens which he removed. He brushed the remaining snow off the instrument into the freezer, and then carefully lifted the heavy device out.

He was methodically drying it with a dish towel as the microwave sounded completion, which he ignored in favor of caring for the delicate equipment. He didn't know for sure that moisture would damage it, but it seemed a fair guess, and he went at its crevices carefully with paper towels until the microwave beeped a second time.

He realized with a jolt that he had left Stein alone for well over five minutes now between all he'd been occupied with, and he hurriedly grabbed the mugs from the microwave and then pocketed a small handful of tea bags and sugar packets from the basket on the counter next to the stove.

He forced himself to keep his pace to a brisk walk this time, mindful of the steaming mugs in his hands. He was so lost in the anxiety of too many what-ifs and the need to hurry, hurry, hurry that he almost bumped into his meister as the younger boy was standing waiting outside their bedroom door, chin dipped low to his chest. Spirit gasped and startled back a step, then hissed as a splash of hot water hit his hand.

The meister had no reaction to Spirit's pain, looking downright sullen in the oversized bathrobe. But Spirit noticed his hands were tucked deeply into the pockets, and his hair was still wet although it showed signs of having been towel-dried.

"Stein..." Spirit breathed, continuing his visual assessment; was he imagining it, or was Stein's skin less blue?

The boy met his eyes through a curtain of damp hair, and Spirit sighed. As ever, his young meister was unreadable, except Spirit knew that somehow, in some measure...Stein was very displeased with him.

"Come on. You're getting into bed."

Spirit carefully gestured with one mug, and he expected to have to put forth an argument, but atypically Stein simply obeyed. Spirit watched for a moment, and then followed the boy a few steps inside the door and pulled it closed with his heel. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until his chest began to burn, and he let the air out slowly in hopes of not drawing Stein's attention.

The meister had paused in the center of the room, clearly making note of all the changes and liberties Spirit had taken before he seemed to resign himself to his fate and climb into his bed. But instead of lying down, Stein shifted his pillows up against the wall to sit and face Spirit's bed and the window on the wall between them. Once he was settled with too many blankets piled atop his lap and tucked up to his chest, hands buried deep inside the cocoon he'd made, he drew his knees up and shifted his eyes to settle on the window. Spirit didn't need to look to know it was still heavily snowing, and his breath hitched again when Stein slowly dragged his dull gaze back to him.

Spirit covered the gesture with a slight cough and then stepped forward to set the mugs on Stein's desk.

"Do you like sugar in your tea? And uh..." He pulled his small hoard from his pocket, some of the packets falling to the floor in the process. "I grabbed... Earl Grey, chamomile, mint, peach oolong... What's oolong..."

"Mint," Stein replied quietly, and Spirit realized it was the first word his partner had spoken since he'd deposited him unhappily in the dorm's bathroom.

"Sugar?" Spirit asked, after putting the tea bag into one mug.

"No, thank you."

The meister's voice was somehow more void of inflection than usual, and Spirit felt his stomach twist in unease as he ripped into one of the packets of sugar for his own mug and poured it in. He realized he'd forgotten to grab any stirring sticks and stepped back to his own desk to procure a pen to use as a substitute. He had decided on the peach oolong, the only other flavor appealing to him being the mint, but apparently he'd given the sole bag to Stein.

When he stepped nearer the meister's bed to hand him the tea, it was a moment before Stein moved to extricate his hands from the blanket-nest he seemed to be burrowing deeper within. His fingers brushed against Spirit's when he wrapped them around the mug's handle and the distinct chill the weapon felt at the contact set his heart racing in fear again. Stein had been under a hot stream of water for at least fifteen minutes if not longer, but he was still cold. Should Spirit have let him stay there longer? Was that even the right thing to do?

Spirit felt his head begin to ache and he rubbed his brow, feeling the pinch of his skin where it twisted in worry. He absently stirred the sugar into his mug with the back of the pen and tried to push his feet out of his boots. The laces were too tight however, and the result was him stumbling against his mostly-stripped bed and barely preventing the tea from spilling as he lost his balance entirely, his knees hitting the floor hard.

He cursed under his breath and then bit his lip in regret. His young meister had likely never heard such foul language, and he shouldn't be the one to introduce him to it.

He set his tea on the windowsill and then reached down to loosen his bootlaces just enough to tug them off, and then pushed himself back on his bed against the wall in a mirror of Stein's pose. The room was still chilled from the window having been open all night, and he shivered despite himself as he drew his knees up high to his chest, tucking his hands under his rear for warmth.

It was only after another shiver that he let his gaze travel across the room to meet his meister's eyes. The boy looked slightly more curious than he had before, but overall he still appeared more detached than the weapon was used to seeing. What Spirit didn't know and wished he did was whether it was just from the upset at his pulling him away from his fun, or if it meant the fun had already had a dire consequence.

"Uh..." Spirit said, feeling suddenly very awkward. Stein lifted his head slightly, sipped from the tea, but his expression didn't change. "Are you, uh... How are you feeling?"

Stein stared at him blankly, and while Spirit thought three months had gotten him used to how unfeeling the meister seemed from his countenance, he realized that it only counted in a predictable context. In class or on a mission, Spirit was learning what to expect. But Stein was about as antisocial as anyone he'd ever met, and it suddenly pressed against his mind just how little he really knew about the boy he lived and partnered with.

"Cold," Stein finally said, so quiet Spirit almost didn't hear.

He looked at just how very small Stein looked wearing the large bathrobe, bundled as deeply into the blankets as he could get while still upright. His hair was looking less wet but still a darker shade of gray than its usual mystifying silver. When he lifted the mug to take another sip of tea, Spirit noted how small the meister's hands were as they clutched tightly to the cup for the extra heat.

He tried not to think of Stein as a child. He hardly thought of himself as more than that, when he was honest with himself. But between the two he was the far elder and more experienced, and as the weapon it was his responsibility to protect his meister. Even from himself.

Spirit glanced away and out at the snow falling less in thick curtains now and more just in scattered flakes, still dense but allowing a view toward the other dormitory buildings before the scene faded into a white haze beyond which he knew the rest of Death City rose up above the sand. But for the moment it was as if the tiny bedroom existed separate from the rest of the world, and Spirit and Stein the only two people in it.

"Have you, ah...ever seen snow before?" Spirit continued, fishing for conversation.

Stein looked up past the rim of the mug again, seeming to analyze Spirit with every question, and then shook his head no.

Spirit swallowed under the scrutiny, and continued. "I've seen it a couple of other times, but...nothing like this."

The red-head shivered again and watched the way the flakes fell, most tiny and notably slower than rain, but others in large clumps that hurried past their smaller companions. It was captivating, and when he turned back to Stein the boy had resumed looking out the window.

"I had hoped we would see it on the assignment to Alaska, but...then that got canceled," Spirit said, dropping his gaze to the gray of his jeans.

There was still only silence in response, and this time Spirit let it linger, only briefly lifting his eyes a couple of times to find Stein still watching the display through the window. The curiosity in the boy's eyes had turned to something deeper; there was a longing now, and endless questions racing somewhere behind the brilliant, green eyes.

Spirit's gaze snapped up to focus as he realized with a flood of relief that the clarity was returning to Stein's vision. It had to be a sign, he hoped, that the surprise winter wasn't going to steal the life of his young meister after all.

The red-head looked at the window again and sniffed once, his nose starting to run due to the cold air in the room. The wonder and beauty of the snowfall began to fade as he considered again the terrifying possibilities of what could have happened. Suddenly the soft, white landscape seemed just as barren as the desert sands.

And yet...

"I'm sorry."

When he looked away from the window Stein was watching him, his brow risen in slight surprise. Spirit dropped his gaze as he shivered, moving his arms to wrap around himself and tuck his fingers under his armpits. He focused on the lines of denim across his knees as his eyes burned with the threat of tears, hoping that in saving his young meister he hadn't irreparably damaged their relationship when it had hardly started.

It was true they had been able to resonate practically immediately upon partnering, surprising everyone except Lord Death. But Spirit knew that the road ahead of them would require far more from them both than the superficial connection they had made so far. And in dealing so harshly with the boy, he could have undone their three months together and hurt the chances for their future.

"I'm not sorry for saving you, Stein. I was just so scared, and... Your face was all..." He gestured briefly to the still-unhealthy hue to the boy's skin. "But I... I probably could have...done that differently... And, you're not stupid. I shouldn't have said that. Sorry."

He didn't look up, only pressed further back against the wall and tucked one set of toes under the other in search for warmth as he became more aware of the chill to the room. He suddenly realized that since all of the students had been expected to go home, the heating had likely been shut off to the dormitory. That, in addition to his window having been open all night to the unexpected winter weather, explained the bitter chill he was feeling in the usually comfortable room. It wouldn't reach dangerous temperatures, but it was still a bit much for the simple jeans and t-shirt Spirit had hurried into after waking.

Stein didn't reply, and Spirit sniffled again, grateful the cold air at least gave him an excuse as he fought back tears. His mind began racing with a whole new set of horrible fears. What if Stein decided he didn't want to be his partner after this?

"You didn't need to give me your blankets and pillows."

Spirit sniffled again and looked up. Stein was watching him and the weapon studied his blue-gray pallor, the rising brightness in his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat as concerns of illness rose and shook his head.

"You need them more than me."

Spirit had no sooner rested his cheek—the uninjured one—on his knee, than he heard faint slurping across the room. He raised his head again to see Stein tilting the mug all the way back and finishing the tea, after which he settled his head back against the wall, continuing to clutch the now-empty mug. He shivered.

Spirit frowned and considered offering to microwave another mug, and then looked at his own forgotten tea on the windowsill. Steam was still rising from the liquid.

He slowly uncurled himself from against the wall, feeling the little warmth he had gathered seep away in seconds as he slid his feet back to the floor and picked up the mug.

"Here, I didn't drink any," he said when he offered it, Stein's brow rising, and then, "...Oh."

He pulled out the pen he'd used to stir the sugar in and frowned, making a mental note for the future that Stein preferred his tea without the sweetener. After a moment the boy reached out with a shaking hand and they exchanged mugs. Spirit set the used one on Stein's desk with the pen inside before turning back toward his bed.

"You can sit here."

Spirit stopped and looked at the meister, blinking in confusion as he failed to process the words.

"What?"

There was silence for a moment, the weapon watching the meister's small hands clutching tightly to the cup for the warmth it provided as he sipped the steaming liquid. Then the green-eyed gaze rose again.

"You can sit here, too."

Spirit's mind slowly pieced the meaning of the words together, his brow rising in surprise as he considered. It wasn't the sort of offer he would have expected from the meister in any typical situation, and especially not after he'd manhandled him indoors and ordered him around. But he was growing too cold too fast to find any reason to protest, and after a moment he climbed onto the bed and pulled the blankets back to tuck himself in next to Stein, his back against the wall and a few inches of space between them.

Stein tugged one of the pillows from behind him and pushed it toward the weapon, and Spirit gratefully shoved it behind his back, his spine instantly feeling the relief. He adjusted the blankets perhaps more than was necessary, making sure Stein still had enough to bury as deeply beneath them as he wanted, but grateful for the added warmth immediately.

The view out the window wasn't nearly as good as it was from his own bed, but at least Stein had the better position to continue watching the snowfall. He peripherally observed the meister take another tentative sip of the tea, purse his lips at the taste, and then balance the mug on his knees, both hands still wrapped tightly around it.

Spirit sighed lightly. If nothing else, at least it would help keep Stein's hands warm.

"Thanks," Spirit said quietly, suddenly finding he couldn't meet the meister's eyes. After the way he'd treated him, Stein's kindness was startling, and he wasn't sure how to respond other than accept the offered protection from the cold and continue to hope the younger boy would be all right.

"My microscope cost almost three hundred dollars."

Spirit was startled by the non sequitur and turned to look at the meister. The boy's eyes, definitely no longer glazed, were hardened in the way they looked when they were in class and he was frustrated by something their professor was saying. Spirit swallowed nervously just before words bubbled out of him faster than his brain could keep up.

"I was very careful, I promise! I didn't touch the lenses and I got every crevice. I even went over it twice to make sure it was dry!"

Stein had turned to look at him during the rush of words, and it took Spirit a moment to realize his expression had changed. The hardness had left his eyes, his usual aloofness now the dominant expression, but there was question and curiosity and surprise hidden beneath it. The boy's lips were parted, his jaw ever so slightly slack as he stared unblinking back at Spirit. The intensity of it startled Spirit so much that his words stopped for a moment before he licked his dry lips and fumbled for something else to say.

"And I...I put snow on each slide for you to look at later. They're in the freezer, I turned it down so they shouldn't melt. Sorry I... I should have asked before touching your things. I'm sorry."

Spirit licked his lips again and looked down. He should apologize for going through Stein's clothing too, he knew, but he was suddenly feeling very self-conscious and like he was the one under the lens of a microscope as Stein continued staring at him.

He thought the three months had gone well, all things considered. He wasn't used to being around someone as stoic as the partner he'd been assigned, but he had been trying very hard to learn what made the boy tick and how to be the best partner he could, responding to the meister's quirks and for the most part simply staying out of his way since privacy was what Stein seemed to value most. And Spirit had violated that repeatedly that morning.

He suddenly felt a yawn coming and restrained the action with effort. As his heart raced with the excess of nerves he glanced over to check the time on Stein's alarm clock on his small nightstand. It was just after eight o'clock. He chewed some of the dry skin from his lower lip and considered how to voice the question pressing against his mind after the embarrassing outburst of moments before.

It turned out he didn't have to, because when he turned back he found Stein had been following his gaze.

"I was outside before seven," Stein offered.

Something was different about his tone, and Spirit shifted his gaze to meet his partner's. Stein's expression had changed again to something the weapon had never seen and didn't know how to interpret. His eyes had lost the hardness almost entirely and seemed to be seeking something. Before Spirit could even try to figure it out, Stein surprised him again by handing him the mug of tea. He took a sip and then immediately a larger swallow as the liquid coated his throat, soothing some of the strain he hadn't realized was there as he continued worrying.

When he returned the cup to let Stein keep using it to warm his hands, his fingers brushed against the meister's cooler ones. He frowned at the contact and looked away, his gaze flitting between the window and the clock as he worried.

He wanted to believe that Stein would be fine. But he'd been out in the snow for over an hour and his hands were still cold, despite the heat of the shower, despite having been wrapped around the mugs of hot tea for several minutes.

Spirit felt the sting of coming tears again. He bit his cheeks in attempt to fight off the instinct, let his eyes dart over the room in search of some anchor that would help distract him from the fears and anxiety swirling through his soul. But just as he felt his emotions would collapse, Stein surprised him once more.

"I'm sorry I hit you."

Spirit's brow rose. He had nearly forgotten about the glancing punch and lifted his fingers to lightly press to his cheek. The flesh was tender, but it was nothing like the hits he'd taken in their combat classes or on missions. Of course those were different too, having been taken in weapon form.

"It's okay," he answered.

Stein was looking up at him almost like he'd never seen him before. The curiosity in his eyes was different somehow—not the clinical gaze he favored most things with, nor the apathy that came after the boy determined something held no value to him. There seemed to be almost more color to his eyes as they remained locked on the weapon's, and fascinated by the meister appearing so human, Spirit held his gaze.

The fear that had been consuming him changed somehow, under the inquisitive look that Stein had set upon him. The situation no longer felt hopeless or beyond control. In fact, the way his meister was looking at him now, his eyes held perhaps more life than Spirit had ever seen.

"Hey, ah..." he said, his voice quivering suddenly from an emotion he couldn't place. "When you're feeling better, maybe we could have a snowball fight."

Confusion joined the curiosity that Stein had fixed him with.

"...Snowball fight?"

Spirit smiled. "Yeah. You make balls out of the snow, and throw them at each other. For fun. Snowball fight."

Stein finally blinked, once, but didn't break eye contact. The intensity of his gaze was starting to feel unnerving, but Spirit found he couldn't look away. Not when he was so worried. And not after the long months of trying so hard to understand the enigmatic, private boy. Something had finally seemed to spur the beginnings of a mutual connection, and he wasn't about to waste the opportunity.

"Or...or maybe build a snowman?" he suggested, realizing suddenly that throwing hard-packed snow at his meister after nearly freezing was probably not a good idea, even if it would be several hours later. "I've always wanted to play in the snow..."

Stein continued to stare at him. He offered the tea to Spirit again, who took it and only sipped from the mug this time, not wanting to steal away the hot liquid that was helping Stein warm his hands. He held the eye contact, and Stein didn't so much as blink even after the mug was handed back.

Spirit began to feel self-conscious under the meister's gaze, though he couldn't determine why. He reached up to run his fingers through his hair and watched Stein's eyes follow the motion, linger on the spot where he'd briefly scratched his head, and then slowly return to his face again.

"O-Or...if you just want to play with your microscope, that's fine too. We don't have to play together, if you don't want to. I was just thinking—"

"Okay."

The train of Spirit's thoughts that had started running out of control was suddenly halted.

"Huh?"

"A snowball fight sounds interesting."

Stein abruptly handed the mug back to Spirit, who blinked and sipped from it obediently; the tea had begun to cool. Stein's eyes finally left Spirit's face, and he buried his hands under the blanket and tucked it up higher to his chin as he turned his gaze toward the window.

Spirit looked back to find that the snow was falling in thick curtains again. If Stein did feel up to going out later, at least there would be no lack of the stuff to play in.

He leaned his head back against the wall, sipped the sweet tea again, and sighed. He felt Stein look up at him, but he kept his gaze on the window. Part of him wanted to fill the space with talk about the few times he'd seen snow in the past, but a wave of tiredness was hitting him rapidly. For once the best choice seemed simply to remain silent. He was sure Stein would appreciate it.

His eyelids began to feel heavy as he stared at the continuous rain of white flakes that left the room feeling small and isolated, and he realized he was no longer focusing on holding the mug. He swallowed down the last of the cooling liquid and then reached to set the mug down on Stein's nightstand. He knew he shouldn't doze off sitting in the meister's bed, especially since he should still be watching him to make sure his health wasn't in jeopardy. But the snowfall was hypnotic, and coupled with the sugar and the rising warmth from the blankets, and probably an adrenaline crash, it was suddenly very hard to keep his eyes open.

"It's pretty."

Spirit blinked and glanced down, surprised to hear the quiet voice. Stein was watching the unusual weather, but then looked up to meet his eyes again. His expression was still curious and seemed more relaxed somehow. The usual, calculating tension was absent from his jaw and forehead, and his green-eyed gaze—brighter now—slowly slid back to the window when Spirit didn't say anything.

Spirit was the one to stare now, noticing that Stein looked less tense overall. Only his head and shoulders were visible above the blankets, but he wasn't holding himself coiled up anymore the way he so often did, like a snake ready to strike. An ease that Spirit wasn't sure he'd ever before seen in the boy had settled over him, and he looked far more his young age as he looked out the window, his thoughts apparently having drifted back to scientific interests rather than being upset with the weapon.

"Yeah," Spirit said.

Stein glanced up briefly, as if expecting more, then returned his gaze to the snowfall. And then, wide-eyed and curious as he appeared staring out at the world of white, he yawned.

Spirit slowly let his head rest against the wall again as he watched his meister, and he smiled.

[somber-sapphic]

Compromised System

〘Day 3- "What happened to that phenomenal immune system, huh?"〙

〘Notes- This is drastically unedited and thrown together at the last second. The colors are also different because I forgot to save them. Oops.〙

〘Summary- When Lena gets sick, she really gets sick.〙

〘Word Count- 550〙

〘Pairing- Sick Lena x Reader〙

〚Main Masterlist〛⌶〚Sicktember Masterlist〛

You sighed and tucked a stray lock of Lena’s raven hair behind her ear, out of her sweaty face. Her chapped lips were parted slightly, each breath a bit raspy. Every so often you would grab a tissue to wipe her runny nose, accepting the fact that the woman was in no shape to do so herself.

Lena wasn’t even protesting, in fact, she wasn’t moving. She would open her eyes every so often to prove that she was awake but didn’t seem to care in the slightest that you were coddling her.

You dipped the cloth that had been resting on her forehead back into the cool basin of water on the bedside and brushed it across her skin, wiping away the sweat. She smiled slightly at the cool touch and licked her lips, working hard on preparing to speak.

“Thank you, Y/n.,” Lena croaked, words a mere whisper over the sound of Titanic playing in the background. The brunette wasn’t watching, neither of you were, but she had insisted that you put it on before she collapsed into bed.

Not being one to argue with your girlfriend, especially when she was sick, you’d done as she’d asked. It was roughly three fourths of the way into the movie, and you were incredibly bored. When you had looked it up on IMDB and seen it was 3 hours you had hoped she’d fall asleep soon so that you could turn it off. That wasn’t the case.

“Of course, my love. What happened to that phenomenal immune system of yours, huh?” You teased half-heartedly, your heart heavy with worry and guilt. You had given her this flu; it had been your fault. Of course, you hadn’t been nearly as sick. Probably due to the wonderful care of the beautiful woman laying in front of you.

“Mmm.” She hummed, shrugging under the pile of blankets. You were being incredibly careful in monitoring the CEO’s temperature, removing, and adding blankets as her shivering changed in intensity and frequency. Thankfully, although she was basically a vegetable, Lena’s temperature hadn’t gone above 102 degrees.

“Yeah, I think so too.” You replied, repositioning the cloth across her forehead. She had fought you on it in the beginning, insisting that she was absolutely fine. That had changed after only about ten minutes of her being horizontal.

You could tell that she was beginning to drift off, finally giving into her bodies pleas to sleep. As you sat on the edge of the bed, watching her breathing slow and her chest rise with the deeper breaths, you relaxed. It was easier to calm down knowing that she was asleep.

With one more large sigh, you shifted to sit beside her with your legs on top of the covers. You settled back against the pillows and eased Lena’s head into your lap, smiling to yourself when she instinctively grabbed your pant leg.

Even though she was bedridden now, your joke about her immune system hadn’t been wrong. Typically, it was amazing, she could work for days without sleeping and crash for a day only to end up perfectly fine. You were sure she’d been back to full health in a couple of days and go right back to work.

Only Lena Luthor could go from miserably sick to bouncing around again in a weekend.

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[nativestarwrites]

Number 7 for Ted Lasso?

Thanks for the ask! This one refused to be a drabble, and is closer to a flashfic, oops.

7. "Come on, breathe, breathe, don't you dare--"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It was an accident Roy, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. If it weren’t for you…” Keeley’s voice trailed off. She’d clamped herself to Roy’s side ever since she’d arrived at the hospital, her arm wrapped around his and their fingers intertwined.

Roy wanted to believe her, but she hadn’t been there. She hadn’t seen Jamie fall, his head impacting a rock before he went under the water. Roy had started running the moment it happened, had sprinted when he realised Jamie wasn’t conscious. He knee had already started throbbing in retribution for that.

But he’d been too slow. Too fucking slow.

“He’s going to be fine.” she said, rubbing his arm.

“You don’t know that.” Roy forced out tightly. They didn’t know anything yet, and his breath caught in his chest.

“Hey, c’mon, breathe, babe.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing Roy noticed after he’d pulled Jamie out the water was the complete stillness of his chest.

Jamie wasn’t breathing.

“No! No, you don’t do this, Tartt. Come on, breathe!” Roy shouted as he shook Jamie, hoping for a gasp, a cough, an anything.

Don’t do this. Don’t do this. Don’t make me do this. Shitshitshitshit.

Roy’s hands shook as he tilted Jamie’s head back and checked his airway. He could do this. He could do this. Basic first aid. He’d done the course and the refreshers. Taking a deep breath Roy pushed it into Jamie’s lungs.

Because Jamie wasn’t fucking breathing.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Jamie still wasn’t breathing.

Four times.

Five times.

"Come on, breathe, breathe, don't you dare--"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roy breathed, forcing himself to take in long deep breaths until the anxiety clawing at his insides settled. Keeley murmuring constant reassurances while her worried eyes watched him.

“I don’t know how long he wasn’t--” Roy confessed, it could have been sixty seconds, it could have been six minutes. He’d done a google search when Keeley wasn’t looking. He knew what that difference could make, and it was enough to make him want to throw up.

“You said he was awake, when the paramedics got there, right?”

“Barely.”

He loved that she was trying to be there for him, to inject hope and positivity into a terrifying situation but she hadn’t been there, she hadn’t seen him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jamie gasped.

Hacking and coughing and spluttering and Roy could listen to the harsh, wheezing breaths all day, if it just meant that Jamie kept breathing. Quickly rolling him to his side, Roy pressed his forehead into Jamie’s shoulder, his free hand rubbing his back.

“That’s it, get it all out, Jamie. Just keep breathing, keep fucking breathing.”

Lifting his head, Roy took a proper look at Jamie, brushing back his hair to see his face as his breathing started to even out and the coughs eased a little. His head was still bleeding, rivulets of blood mixing with river water across his forehead and his eyes were still closed, but Roy felt that Jamie was there, he was awake just not entirely there.

“Jamie, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?”

Jamie didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes and didn’t show any sign of hearing Roy, until his hand had reached out, weakly latching onto Roy’s shirt, fingers twisting into the fabric. And stayed there until the paramedics had gently pulled him away.

Roy had gone with him in the ambulance, sat at the bottom of the stretcher, his fingers wrapped around Jamie’s ankle beneath the blanket, promising him he wasn’t alone.

“You’re alright, Jamie, you’re okay. Just breathe.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Family of Mr Tartt?”

“Yes, that’s us.” Keeley quickly answered, Roy nodding mutely next to her as he pushed his exhausted body to his feet, bracing himself for the news they’d been waiting forever for.

“We’re going to be admitting him for observation, but baring any complications, he should be just fine.” She frowned, looking between the two of them. “He did ask if his grandad was waiting for him?”

“Little prick.” Roy whispered, shaking his head, as if it wasn’t the most reassuring thing he’d heard all day. He left Keeley trying to explain to the confused doctor, but Roy didn’t pay any attention after he’d heard the words that he could go see Jamie now. Fucking finally.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jamie was propped up with pillows, pale and exhausted, hooked up to frankly an alarming amount of monitors in Roy’s opinion, but he still opened his eyes when he heard the door and his face lit up when he saw who it was.

“Roy,” he croaked starting to pull the oxygen mask off, but Roy was already there nudging his hand out the way as he pulled him into a hug.

“Leave that alone, you muppet.”

Jamie was warm, dry and breathing in his arms, and at long last, Roy’s head was quiet. Jamie tucked his head into Roy’s shoulder and his hands came up to rest flat against his back, his body trembling ever so slightly. Roy tightened his arms a little, he clearly wasn’t the only one terrified by Jamie’s near-death experience.

“Don’t you ever fucking scare me like that again.”

“I won’t.” came the muffled reply.

Roy didn’t let go.

And Jamie breathed.

[darkmoonkestrel]

daily kestrel 17:

we ended up pulling out the giant 10 ft blanket for the bed last night, we deemed it cold enough (or rather, at least not too hot) to use it, and it was so cozy that i begged off making Peyton's traditional morning iced coffee to get an extra 20 minutes of sleep. had some really weird dreams about like... sanctioned dungeon crawling type of activities? idk how to describe it but it was an interesting alternate universe type of situation

i got to work early today and was bounced around for most of the day, including starting in the cafeteria. i then went to the early 2s room, the older 2s room, my room for a little bit, the kitchen to help unpack a food order, and did breaks for the mobile infants and infants teachers before going back to my room after break. it was a busy day, but overall pretty good. idk how i always end up doing lunch breaks in the mobiles room when it's spaghetti for lunch day though, this is like the third time and those kiddos get spaghetti in places you didn't know it could be (the back of the head??)

i stopped and got myself some whoppers as a little treat on my way home, a reward in advance for going to the optional chat my professor does for my online class every week that i've missed the last few weeks. turns out i was the only one there, so i just ended up chatting with my professor about AI and book banning and class assignments and diversity and stuff for a solid 30 minutes, but i actually enjoyed it, so that was good. at least it absolves my guilt for missing the next few bc I def don't plan to go back to them until the "highly recommended" one next month. i also noticed that my professor had steam on his computer when he was screen sharing with me and i really should have been like "so what do you play" but we were having an Academic™️ conversation so i didn't wanna ruin the vibes

i got Peyton & Paige little treats as well and Peyton's were gummy worms that we ended up using for a three way "throwing them into the other person's mouth" contest, with me still in the office, Paige on the couch, and Peyton in the office doorway alcove. he finally ended up catching one, after several rounds of both me and Paige missing our throws at him and him pelting us with worms. i net positive'd four worms to keep and eat, and one is lost somewhere in the office to be discovered at a later date. it's little things like this that make me appreciate how much i love living with my partners and the daily shenanigans we get up to

i'm still in the office and i was going to finish up this reading assignment for class but i'm not feeling it anymore so I'll just try to knock it out over lunch tomorrow. it is now time for some more slime rancher 2 before bed, and then another early day (7am work this time, so at least Peyton will get his morning coffee tomorrow bc i have to be awake at 6:15 anyway)

ETA: Paige bullied me into wearing my glasses at the house since we were talking about her eye exam tomorrow, and I took a 30 minute break in playing slime rancher to watch cat videos, the true purpose of the internet. i got really far in slime rancher which at my current place in the game just means unlocking a whole bunch of areas to explore, but i am being dragged to bed for my own wellbeing

except we're all super giggly tonight so we're playing around and haven't gone to sleep yet oops