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headspace-hotel · 5 months

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Nature is healing.

I burned the Meadow a couple weeks ago. At first it looked like nothing but charred ashes and dirt, with a few scorched green patches, and I was afraid I'd done something terrible. But then the sprouts emerged. Tender new leaves swarming the soil.

My brother and I were outside after dark the other day, to see if any lightning bugs would emerge yet. We had been working on digging the pond. That old soggy spot in the middle of the yard that we called "poor drainage," that always splattered mud over our legs when we ran across it as children—it isn't a failed lawn, and it never was.

Oh, we tried to fill in the mud puddles, even rented heavy machinery and graded the whole thing out, but the little wetland still remembered. God bless those indomitable puddles and wetlands and weeds, that in spite of our efforts to flatten out the differences that make each square meter of land unique from another, still declare themselves over and over to be what they are.

So we've been digging a hole. A wide, shallow hole, with an island in the middle.

And steadily, I've been transplanting in vegetation. At school there is a soggy field that sadly is mowed like any old field. The only pools where a frog could lay eggs are tire ruts. From this field I dig up big clumps of rushes and sedges, and nobody pays me any mind when I smuggle them home.

I pulled a little stick of shrubby willow from some cracked pavement near a creek, and planted it nearby. From a ditch on the side of the road beside a corn field, I dug up cattail rhizomes. Everywhere, tiny bits of wilderness, holding on.

I gathered up rotting logs small enough to carry and made a log pile beside the pond. At another corner is a rock pile. I planted some old branches upright in the ground to make a good place for birds and dragonflies to perch.

And there are so many birds! Mourning doves, robins, cardinals and grackles come here in much bigger numbers, and many, many finches and sparrows. I always hear woodpeckers, even a Pileated Woodpecker here and there. A pair of bluebirds lives here. There are three tree swallows, a barn swallow also, tons of chickadees, and there's always six or seven blue jays screaming and making a commotion. And the goldfinches! Yesterday I watched three brilliant yellow males frolic among the tall dandelions. They would hover above the grass and then drop down. One landed on a dandelion stem and it flopped over. There are several bright orange birds too. I think a couple of them are orioles, but there's definitely also a Summer Tanager. There's a pair of Canada Geese that always fly by overhead around the same time in the evening. It's like their daily commute.

The other day, as I watched, I saw a Cooper's Hawk swoop down and carry off a robin. This was horrifying news for the robin individually, but great news for the ecosystem. The food chain can support more links now.

There are two garter snakes instead of one, both of them fat from being good at snaking. I wonder if there will be babies?

But the biggest change this year is the bugs. It's too early for the lightning bugs, but all the same the yard is full of life.

It's like remembering something I didn't know I forgot. Oh. This is how it's supposed to be. I can't glance in any direction without seeing the movement of bugs. Fat crickets and earwigs scuttle underneath my rock piles, wasps flit about and visit the pond's shore, an unbelievable variety of flies and bees visit the flowers, millipedes and centipedes hide under the logs. Butterflies, moths, and beetles big and small are everywhere.

I can't even describe it in terms of individual encounters; they're just everywhere, hopping and fluttering away with every step. There are so many kinds of ants. I sometimes stare really closely at the ground to watch the activities of the ants. Sometimes they are in long lines, with two lanes of ants going back and forth, touching antennae whenever two ants traveling in opposite directions meet. Sometimes I see ants fighting each other, as though ant war is happening. Sometimes the ants are carrying the curled-up bodies of dead ants—their fallen comrades?

My neighbor gave me all of their fallen leaves (twelve bags!) and it turns out that piling leaves on top of a rock and log pile in a wet area summons an unbelievable amount of snails.

I always heard of snails as pests, but I have learned better. Snails move calcium through the food chain. Birds eat snails and use the calcium in their shells to make egg shells. In this way, snails lead to baby birds. I never would have known this if I hadn't set out to learn about snails.

In the golden hour of evening, bugs drift across the sky like golden motes of dust, whirling and dancing together in the grand dramas of their tiny lives. I think about how complicated their worlds are. After interacting with bees and wasps so much for so long, I'm amazed by how intelligent and polite they are. Bumble bees will hover in front of me, swaying side to side, or circle slowly around me several times, clearly perceiving some kind of information...but what? It seems like bees and wasps can figure out if you are a threat, or if you are peaceful, and act accordingly.

I came to a realization about wasps: when they dart at your head so you hear them buzzing close by your ears, they're announcing their presence. The proper response is to freeze and duck down a bit. It seems like wasps can recognize if you're being polite; for what it's worth, I've never been stung by a wasp.

As night falls, bats emerge and start looping and darting around in the sky above. If the yard seems full of bugs in the day, it is nothing compared to the night.

I'm aware that what I'm about to describe, to an entomophobe, sounds like a horror movie: when i walk to the back yard, the trees are audibly crackling and whirring with the activity of insects. Beetles hover among the branches of the trees. When we look up at the sky, moths of all sizes are flying hither and thither across it. A large, very striking white moth flies past low to the ground.

Last year, seeing a moth against the darkening sky was only occasional. Now there's so many of them.

I consider it in my mind:

When roads and houses are built and land is turned over to various human uses, potentially hundreds of native plant species are extirpated from that small area. But all of the Eastern USA has been heavily altered and destroyed.

Some plants come back easily, like wild blackberry, daisy fleabane, and common violets. But many of them do not. Some plants need fire to sprout, some need Bison or large birds to spread them, some need humans to harvest and care for them, some live in habitats that are frequently treated with contempt, some cannot bear to be grazed by cattle, some are suffocated beneath invasive Tall Fescue, Kentucky bluegrass, honeysuckle or Bradford pears, and some don't like being mowed or bushhogged.

Look at the landscape...hundreds and hundreds of acres of suburbs, pastures, corn fields, pavement, mowed verges and edges of roads.

Yes, you see milkweed now and then, a few plants on the edge of the road, but when you consider the total area of space covered by milkweed, it is so little it is nearly negligible. Imagine how many milkweed plants could grow in a single acre that was caretaken for their prosperity—enough to equal fifty roadsides put together!

Then I consider how many bugs are specialists, that can only feed upon a particular plant. Every kind of plant has its own bugs. When plant diversity is replaced by Plant Sameness, the bug population decreases dramatically.

Plant sameness has taken over the world, and the insect apocalypse is a result.

But in this one small spot, nature is healing...

#plants #native plants #native plant gardening #proplifting #sorta #save the bees

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ammoniteblue · 2 months

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college rival! kenji sato who’s trying to break the stereotype that student athletes can’t be smart. his dad is a genius for fucks sake. so he takes the hardest classes. computer science. applied physics. chemistry. its hard. super hard and most days he falls asleep after practice still sticky and sweaty, with a book on his face. but he does it. and slowly people begin to recognise the freshman who waltzes into the library’s bio-chem section with a baseball mitt and jersey. it’s how you begin to notice him anyways. and then you realise the new starter for the college baseball team might actually give you some trouble.

college rival! kenji sato who starts to put his hand up to answer questions. at first it was just one or two, but soon he’s sticking his hand up for every. single. one. questions you would usually answer. he’s almost never wrong but when he is you make sure to be the one to correct him. it quickly becomes a competition. in lectures. in classes. the other students start to notice, and word of the budding rivalry between the quiet scholarship student and freshman star of the baseball team spreads.

college rival! kenji sato who refuses to leave the library till you do. he’ll sit at a table, books spread out, laptop open, taking notes and making flash cards, until his vision blurs and his fingers cramp. but he won’t be the first to go. absolutely not. it won’t be till the last person has left that the librarian will scuttle round to tell you both to get lost. as you both leave you make a point to ignore each other, but he can feel you shooting daggers at his back.

college rival! kenji sato who nearly crushes his water bottle when he reads your article in the school newspaper. he’s surprised to see you write for the sports column and even more surprised to see you’ve named him. till he reads the flurry of insults and unflattering idioms. “more ego than man”, “bad team player”, “distracted”. of course he’s distracted ! you’ve been on his mind for weeks. constantly making jabs at him in class, sprinting to answer your professors questions first in lectures. he’s not been able to eat, to sleep, not without thinking about your stupid fucking smirk as you try to remind him that he, a college athlete, belongs at the bottom of the academia totem pole.

college rival! kenji sato who tries to ignore you when you turn up at one of his games. he doesn’t understand why you’re there, till he sees your friends join you. It’s weird he thinks, when you’re with them laughing and smiling you don’t actually look that bad. but then your eyes find his and that laughter, that warmth, is gone and kenji remembers that nope you are an insufferable bitch.

college rival! kenji sato who finds himself at the same stupid house party as you. he’s with a few of his teammates, it’s after the game. they won. they’re celebrating. most of them are red-faced, drooling drunk. he’s nursing a beer, can in hand, when he spots you from across the room. you’re leaning against the wall in what looks like a casual manner, till kenji takes a closer look. then he sees the guy, some dude from you shared AP physics class. Paul or Pete ?? Kenji doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. not when he sees the guy lean down to kiss you, just for you to try and push him away. He’s by your side before he has time to register what he’s doing.

college rival! kenji sato who not only knocks a guy out for his class rival, but bails on a night out. he offers to take you home and doesn’t say a word when he gives you his letterman jacket, after noticing you shivering. it’s warm and smells of polish and freshly cut grass. neither of you say a word, which is what makes it even more bizarre when you lean up to kiss him. you’re nowhere near your dorm, outside some random humanities building, but you can’t help it. for weeks you’ve been puzzling over why he bugs you so much, why his constant presence in classes and lectures, in your favourite study spots, sends your heart into a flurry. sometimes anger and attraction can feel very similar.

college rival! kenji sato who finds himself in your dorm room, your roommate nowhere to be found. He lets you push him back onto the bed, lets you be the one to tug his shirt off. it’s been weeks of constant battling for control and yet here he is giving up so easily. Kenji gives you the victory you’ve been looking for just to see the smile on your face.

college athlete kenji = late night brainrot. if you enjoyed lemme know if i should do a part 2. Next part of Not a hero, Just an Author will be up soon <333

#kenji sato #kenji sato x reader #kenji x reader #ultraman #ultraman rising #ken sato #ken sato x reader

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sardonic-the-writer · 8 months

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𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐳𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: mentions of cannibalism and porn

↳ song: hit the road jack—ray charles

↳ notes: i can't believe i'm posting this (derogatory)

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• You had decided to move into the hotel after a particularly flashy poster caught your eye

• You were just walking to your run down apartment from a shift at your work, messing with the frayed ends of your sleeves, when a burst of neon red and yellow entered your field vision

• It was a poorly drawn advertisement colored head to toe in bright hues and glitter, advertising a hotel that would offer you a shot of getting out of hell

• With a shrug and a tug of the poster, you slipped it off the brick wall and into your pocket

• It’s not like you had anything else going on, and a free room was a free room. Besides; if the redemption thing turned out to be real, that would just be an added bonus

• Upon arriving at the doorstep of the hotel a few days later with a duffel bag in hand and the other rapping against the front door, you were nearly knocked over by a thin demon with red cheeks excitedly asking if you were there to check in

• “Oh my gosh hi! How are you! Because you look amazing and oh my gosh I’m so happy you’ve decided to check in!” She all but shouted in your ear. Cringing slightly, you leaned away from her embrace to slip inside

• “I’m guessing you don’t get a lot of guests?” You asked slowly as she closed the door behind you, some nearby dust stirring up at the action. The inside looked to empty to be a hotel

• “Nope!”

• Your first sign that you were getting more than you had bargained for should have been the sound of scuttling feet as a small demon made her way across your feet to impale a bug on her claws. She was lightly scolded for ‘accidently frightening our new addition’ before running off with the insect

• "Sorry about that! Nifty is really passionate about her job." The demon next to you laughed nervously. You just shifted your weight and nodded awkwardly in response

• Looking a few feet over to the living area, there was a lanky fellow covered in fuzz and lounging on a sad looking couch. He was flicking through channels on a T.V. You caught them occasionally landing on one and laughing before moving on, never staying entertained for too long

• The demon caught your eye, and waved two of his four hands at you in a lazy greeting

• “Oh, that’s Angel Dust! Our other resident." The woman, you now knew as Charlie, fussed. “He’s been with us for a few months, and has shown incredible progress! Something I’m sure you will find yourself doing!” She bounced on the balls of her feet happily while steering you around by the shoulders

• “Uh huh.” You couldn’t help but nod slowly, only now noticing that the channels Angel had been focusing on were blasting various types of porn shows

• A hasty tour was promptly carried out through the rest of the building. You were shown different rooms, all in various states of decay, while simultaneously meeting the other hotel inhabitants

• A fierce lady with a spear— Vaggie, as she had been introduced as —didn’t seem too up for conversation, only giving Charlie a peck on the cheek and you a suspicious glare before climbing a pair of stairs to take care of something else

• Back downstairs, the local bartender didn’t even bother to look at you, instead mumbling something under his breath while playing cards with a snake like demon

• “Don’t take it to heart. Husk is a big sweetheart, really.” Charlie waved at you with a closed eye smile, missing the way that Husk flipped her off grumpily. “And that’s Sir Pentious over there! Besides Angel Dust, and now you I guess, he’s our only guest.”

• The snake simply offered a loud and hissing hello before demanding with theatrical outrage that Husk was cheating. At least you think it was theatrical outrage. He seemed high strung either way

• But by far, the most memorable staff member you met on the tour was a tall demon with a red suit and fluffy ears; the likes of which you and Charlie had barged in on as he ate a plate of what looked like flesh. Whether animal, or something else, you couldn’t tell

• “Finally, this is our facility manager, Alastor! He helps out with all kinds of things here, and will be a key element in your redeeming process.” Your cheery guide announced. She seemed to ignore the slight tension in the air as the other member in the room smiled tightly, but the feeling disappeared as the tall demon stood up in greeting

• “Why Charlie!” Alastor’s voice crackled with heavy static, reminding you of audio from a gramophone. Or perhaps one of those old fashioned radio’s. “If I knew we were having company, I would have made myself more presentable!” He chuckled without ever looking anywhere but you

• You had to tilt your head up to look at him completely. There wasn’t a wrinkle on his suit, and every one of his hairs sat perfectly on his head. Even his monocle appeared to be freshly polished

• “Presentable.” You said slowly and without emotion, aware of Alastor’s highetened gaze on you. “Right.”

• Charlie was quick to get you to your new room after that

• It was weird, trying to fall into a rhythm with a group of people that had already become so aquatinted with one another, but you managed

• The trust exercises were cheesy and took too long, chores were a daily task for everyone, and Alastor snuck around in the shadows too much for your liking, but at least you had a place to live

• Besides. Who was to say you couldn’t make a few friends along the way?

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mariasont · 4 months

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Hello baby borl can you write a spencer reid x reader where they are kind of awkward but they still are relatively outgoing but they never EVER make the first move so they just vaguely flirt with him but very awkwardly like... maybe they have an obscure favorite animal and they tell him about it and then they compare him to it and its funny bc its like.. a slug or a spider (an animal that many ppl dont like and dont find attractive)

Arachnophobia - S.R

a/n: i dont know if baby borl was a misspelling or not but i am obsessed with it and i will now be referring to everyone as that from this point forward

ALSO thank you so much for the request i <3 an awkward reader truly

masterlist

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pairings: spencer reid x reader

warnings: spider! ah!, reader climbing on a chair like that's a little dramatic if you ask me, spencer being a little shit, fluffy fluff, cuties being awkward, comparing spencer to a female spider!

wc: 0.9k

"Oh my god!"

You didn't mean for your scream to be as loud as it was, it was more instinctive than anything, not having enough time to stifle it as you hopped upon the closest desk chair. Unfortunately for you, that chair happened to belong to the object of your affection—Spencer Reid, resident boy genius and pretty boy.

Pretty boy was the understatement of the century. He was the embodiment of aesthetic perfection in your eyes, a vision of loveliness that seemed almost otherworldly.

But that all receded to the edges of your brain, your gaze laser focused on the teeny tiny crawler scuttling across the carpeted floor beneath you.

"Is there a reason you're standing on my chair?"

Spencer's eyes were trained on your shoes, a frown forming as he undoubtedly considered the microbial invasion spreading from your soles to his well-maintained seat.

You couldn't say anything, mouth snapped shut as you just pointed to the hairy thing. He quirked an eyebrow, following your gesture before a soft chuckle escaped him, head shaking in the process.

You narrowed your eyes, not finding the same humor in the situation as he was. "Spencer, it's not funny. Get it please?"

"Well since you asked so nicely." He moved towards a box of tissues on his desk. But you grasped his wrist to stop him, your balance faltering, and a tiny squeal escaped you as you teetered on the edge of the chair.

His hold on your hip was immediate, the closest thing in order to stabilize you is how you rationalized it, saving you from an imminent face-to-floor meeting.

"Sorry," you said sheepishly, a low buzz spreading from your head to the spot where his hand enclosed around. "Don't kill it."

He gave you a pointed look, but then grabbed a plastic cup by the water cooler. You missed his hands on you the second he was gone.

He crouched down to where the spider was crawling around, carefully shoveling it into the cup.

"Don't hurt its legs!"

"I feel like there is a lot of protesting coming from someone who can't even put their feet on the ground right now."

That shut you up. A soft pout found its way to your lips as you folded your arms defensively. His smirk grew at the sight, and you couldn't stop the delightful warmth that bubbled up inside your chest, sticky and potent.

"Once the spider is at a safe distance then I'll come down," you said with a shrug.

He expertly secured the paper over the clear cup's mouth, trapping the spider inside. "All clear."

You watched his hands warily, your lips forming a tight line as you stayed put, eliciting an exasperated eye roll from him.

"It's not going to hurt you."

"You don't know that."

He angled the cup towards the light, inspecting the bug with a squint.

"It's unlikely you'll ever be bitten by a spider. They aren't interested in humans. They don't seek us out like mosquitoes or ticks do." He moved the cup in your direction. "This is just a common house spider, known scientifically as Parasteatoda tepidariorum. Completely harmless."

"It doesn't look completely harmless to me," you countered, wrinkling your nose and leaning back.

You almost lost your balance. Again. His hands found your waist. Again.

"How about you come down now?"

"Right, sorry I know you're probably freaking out about my outdoor shoes on your chair."

His hand moved to grab yours as you stepped down. "I'm more concerned about the potential of you cracking your skull."

You beamed, a wide smile lighting up your features as you planted your feet firmly on the carpet. "Eh, I'm pretty much indestructible."

"Tell that to the spider."

You tried to glare at him, but you were sure it came off softer around than edges than you intended, because you weren't really annoyed. Spencer's ease in teasing you was a recent development, it had taken ages to get to this point. The roles used to be reserved, but then you fell in love with him, and now every word you spoke had been nothing but overthought and stiff.

"He is a little cute actually." You stepped closer, gingerly at that, maintaining a safe distance just in case Spencer decided to pull any funny business.

"Well, he's a she."

"Oh, how impolite of me," you said, as you crouched down to bring yourself face-to-face with the spider.

"Interestingly, the female common house spiders are known for its problem-solving abilities when capturing prey. If the first attempt doesn't work, it will try different strategies, which shows a level of adaptability and intelligence."

"Awh, she's kind of like you, isn't she?"

You wanted to slap a hand over your face. You sounded like an idiot. His eyes narrowed, and then that charming little smile broke through, a little uneven, making him all the more appealing.

"That feels offensive."

You couldn't help but laugh, your eyes crinkling in response. "It's not, I swear, that was supposed to be a compliment."

"I'd be careful with those compliments, wouldn't want to inflate my ego too much."

Maybe tomorrow you'd tell him how you feel. Probably not.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x awkward reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you

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fungal-rot · 5 months

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Daddy’s Girl

summary: this is actually a part two of Sweet, Domestic Life. i’m glad y’all thought it was cute bc i love joel having a happy life and being a family man (but tbf idk if i like this or not) also i’ve been reading writing tips and whatnot and even had a friend go over this for me (she helped so much) !! i hope you can notice a (good) difference shskdhakal

warnings: your child is a menace (affectionate), f!reader, reader is referred to as mama, the daughter is nicknamed ‘Bug’, so sweet it’ll rot your teeth, i also don’t know how to properly write toddlers lol

w.c.: 1k

⁺˚°｡⋆♱✮˖☽𓋼𓍊◯𓍊𓋼☾˖✮♱⋆｡°˚⁺

A soft, content sigh escaped your lips as you sat on the bed, crossing your legs as you neatly folded laundry and separated each article of clothing into its own pile. Joel was not as contented; he chased your little girl up and down the hall, her high-pitched squealing bouncing off the walls as she scuttled away, and he followed in hot pursuit with heavy feet that thundered after her with every laugh and giggle.

You heard Joel ask with an accusing tone, "What do you have in your hand?" Your ears perked up, and as soon as you lifted your head, you saw your three-year-old come barreling in. With a wide, shit-eating grin plastered on her face, making her cheeks appear rounder, she held her closed fist out in front of her.

"Mama!" She hollered and rushed to the edge of the bed, her free hand gripping and fisting at the bed sheets as she clambered up the mattress and placed a tiny foot against the frame of the bed to hoist herself up, trying her best to reach you.

"Bug!" You exclaimed with a dramatic widening of your eyes, dropping the shirt you held, and raising your arms slightly before grabbing her and settling her onto your lap. Joel joined next and propped an arm against the door frame as his chest heaved from the chase he had just endured. His brows bunched together, but a playful smile stretched his lips, clearly thrilled to be a part of the game.

"Nuh-uh," he said with a shake of his head and walked forward, "Mama can't help ya." Then he reached for the toddler once again.

Your eyes narrowed as you were about to argue but stopped short as Bug screeched in your ear. The sudden noise made you recoil with a wince. Your neck craned to the side, and you arched your brows while you blinked rapidly and waited for her to simmer down.

After a minute, you tilted your head to look down at her, "You done?" You ask softly and tuck a wavy strand of hair behind her ear.

Her head bobbled in response, "Yeah," she sucked in her lips and shifted in your lap, grabbing onto the collar of your shirt to balance herself.

You nod back and carefully remove her hand from the shirt, preventing her from possibly tugging the collar too low. "Okay," you whisper, then turning back to Joel. You resume your theatrical act, cradling your daughter's head to your shoulder protectively as you give him a mock pout.

"Not so fast, Miller," you say dramatically, "You bein' mean to my girl?"

The little girl had her hands tucked under her chin as she peeked at Joel with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Your husband noticed this, of course, and shot her a lighthearted glare.

"If anything, she's the mean one," he retaliated with a vague gesture of his hand and moved to lay down beside the two of you. "Makin' an old man with a bad back and bad knees run around like that." He added, followed by a soft exhale as he brought his hands to his stomach and clasped them together.

You snorted faintly and observed him with mild amusement as he got comfortable. You then avert your gaze to the fidgeting child in your lap. "I heard Daddy ask what you got in your hand," you tell her, tilting your head curiously. "Wanna show me what it is?"

Her nose scrunched as she bared her teeth in a goofy grin and brought her hands from under her chin, splaying them open to reveal-

"Nothing?" Your head reeled back with a laugh. Ah, of course. She was getting her father riled up for the sake of it, truly a chip off the old block.

Joel chuckled under his breath, bringing a hand from his torso to rub tiredly at his face.

"Glad I've got my girls ta keep me on my toes." He mumbled, voice barely above a whisper as he opened his eyes again and glanced between you. Your daughter wormed free from your hold and crawled onto Joel's lap, her little hands splayed across his chest as she gazed down at him.

" 'S'a joke, Daddy." She explained, her shoulders bobbing up and down with a happy lilt in her voice. "Bellie told me." Ah, that would explain it. Joel couldn't deny that Ellie's favorite pastime seemed to be finding ways to get under his skin, and now that had also expanded to his other daughter.

" 'Course she did," Joel replied, flicking his gaze to you, his expression mostly neutral with a faint look of amusement. You noticed your daughter's lip slightly parted with a soft yawn, and her eyes dropped ever so slightly, which signaled the two of you that she was starting to get sleepy.

"Yeah, bein' a li'l menace is tirin' ain't it, Bug?" Joel cooed playfully and touched her back, gently lowering her to lay against his chest.

You watched the interaction fondly and felt your heart flutter.

You couldn’t deny it; your daughter was a daddy's girl through and through, always seeking out the time she could spend with him, running to him with open arms when he came home after patrol, and always being under his feet, which he would always welcome with equal enthusiasm.

You finished folding the rest of the laundry and gathered each pile, placing them in their respective spots within the dresser. As you worked, you listened as Joel quietly sang, "Bye, Baby Buntin," his words slowly trailing off as he did. You turned back to see the pair fast asleep, the two embracing each other.

A warm feeling rushed through your body, and you silently padded over to the bed, reaching for the comforter folded at the end and throwing it open. You placed it over the pair and gently kissed each of their foreheads before turning off the lamp, then snuggled in next to them and closed your eyes, savoring this moment of peace and contentment.

⁺˚°｡⋆♱✮˖☽𓋼𓍊◯𓍊𓋼☾˖✮♱⋆｡°˚⁺

sorry it’s so short ahh !! i just wanted to write something real quickie. thank you for reading and comments/reblogs are always appreciated <33

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #joel miller tlou #tlou #joel miller x you #the last of us #the last of us hbo #joel miller imagine #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller/reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #sweet domestic life

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leviathanleva · 5 months

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Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

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[5.3k words]

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Chapter 5 "The Coat"

“Get away. Get away! Get away!”

As if the radroach could fucking understand you…

You were perched up several feet above the floor, clinging to a boarded-up window so desperately the old wood was about ready to give under your nails.

After roughly two weeks of sleeping on the ground with your overstuffed backpack as a pillow or curling up uncomfortably in the back seat of a rusted dingy car while the ghoul slept in the front, you’d found shelter. An abandoned, crumbling building that used to be a school if you had to judge by what was left of the paint on the walls, the toppled-over and ransacked lockers, and the sloppy drawings. It was perfect for a night of rest; you’d stumbled upon a mostly empty classroom on the second floor in a good enough condition to make camp. You’d even managed to find a stained old mattress stuffed under a desk while scavenging.

Unfortunately, your exploration had caused enough disturbance and soon you learned that the place wasn’t abandoned, it was infested.

The ghoul had reacted as soon as he’d heard the scuttling of the roaches, flinging both you and the mattress inside the room before slamming the door shut before an orchestral of shots ensued. You would have cried in both love and appreciation if one of the damn things hadn’t crawled out from a crack in the ceiling, now you were just crying.

A nasty shiver wracks you to the core when the oversized bug stops vigorously bumping against the corner of the room and dashes towards you. The skin on your knuckles is scraped off as you rip your hand out of the tight crevice between the boards. Your fingers are soaked, wreaking of lavender as you spray another good chunk of your perfume bottle at the roach before it gets any closer.

It hisses and makes a sharp turn, away from the floral scent and back to trying to climb up the wall. Now you were both suffering, you because this was the only bottle of perfume you’d packed, and the radroach because it was choking on it.

Vile little thing…

You shriek when it skitters over to your backpack, lured in by the tasty goods inside, tapping on it with twitchy antennae. The rations, water, everything you owned were in there and your stomach twists with anxiety as your pulse skyrockets. The fact that the roach was trying to discern if it was worth ripping apart the zipper or not made the whole situation even worse.

It was big, ugly and maybe had an ounce of intelligence. Great…

Spurred on by hopelessness, you contemplate just chugging the perfume bottle at it to deter it.

“Get the frick away from there you nasty – ” with arm bent back and ready to fire you screech one last time because maybe it’ll listen this time.

“– The hell you screechin’ like a banshee for?!”

The gunshots cease shortly before your savior-to-be barges in, practically kicking the door open. When searching eyes find you hanging off the boards nailed to the window his scolding expression shifts, eyebrows knit together and his head tilts to the side. The intense lavender smell clashes into him and he waves a hand over his face with a throaty cough.

“What in God’s – ”

“ – Kill it. Kill it. Kill it! Please!” you stammer on, about ready to crawl up the ceiling if it gets any closer again.

At the sound of the door opening, the roach stops vigorously munching on the strap of your backpack and lifts its antennae high. It zips towards the exit, all scuttling legs and fluttering wings, and dodges the ghoul’s heel when he tries to stomp it dead. He aims the pistol as it dashes down the corridor, the barrel still heavy with smoke, then with a dissatisfied flick of his tongue decides otherwise.

Not worth it.

Then his attention is back to you and he rests his hands on his hips, rancorous that a radroach had managed to teach you how to climb while he’d failed.

“Get the fuck down.” he grumbles and stuffs his weapon back in its holster before shutting the door. The adrenaline subsides and you see his feet dragging as he approaches the laid-out mattress. It’s barely noticeable but after spending a decent amount of time constantly in his presence you’ve learned to distinguish the little changes in the way he carries himself.

He kicks the mattress to the wall and plops down with a gruff moan, leaning back and letting the tension sag off his shoulders.

You manage to pry yourself off the window, gently lowering yourself until your feet reach the floor. Wobbly legs guide you to the ruffled-up backpack for a quick inspection; one of the straps is nearly chewed off, hanging onto a few sturdy threads. You pinch the ruined fabric between your fingers, folding it from side to side with a concerned frown.

There was no way to fix this, not without a sewing kit, and despite practically stuffing the entirety of the vault inside the spacious bag, that was one of the few things you’d not thought of bringing along. There was a chance of finding something of the sort once you reached Tillburry, but for now, you’d have to carry it on one shoulder and pray that the one good strap wouldn’t snap under the weight.

“Mind tellin’ me why this place suddenly smells like a brothel?”

You turn to look back at the ghoul’s disgruntled face as he fishes his canteen out of his bandolier. The black expression already has him bracing for the utter bullshit about to spill from your mouth.

“Well,…the bug came out of nowhere and – ” your eyes roll to the side as you try to string together an explanation that didn’t sound bogus. “ – And you were busy with the rest and I didn’t know what to do.” you’re facing away as you struggle to drag the backpack to the mattress, then let out a small, strangled grunt. You sit on the edge, gracing him with enough room to sprawl out if he wants to. The zipper is forced open before your good hand sinks inside, rummaging for a box of band-aids you knew you’d have a reason to bring along. “And I couldn’t just run out cuz the door was closed…So I sprayed it. With perfume.”

You steal a glimpse of him over your shoulder, bottom lip sucked in between your teeth.

The bastard fucking cackles.

“Jesus Christ, woman…” he wipes a few stray droplets from his chin and you wish he’d do the same with that toothy smirk.

“Quick thinking?” you’re defensive and it makes him crack up even more. You scowl and avert your attention back to your provisions, peeking inside the pack with one eye squinted shut. “I had to do something.”

“That’s the best you came up with?”

The teasing makes your throat clench, but you keep your glare pointed down and away from him. He had the right to say whatever he wanted, he’d kept you relatively safe during your journey even if he made sure to be a prominent pain in the ass while doing so. You were a well-mannered lady, stuck to your moral code, and behaved in the polite way you had been taught. But sometimes the ghoul came dangerously close to having you cuss him out.

“Well, I don’t have a weapon, do I?” you snip and once your fingers finally brush against the familiar band-aid box, you clutch it with frustrated strength and pull it out. “I’m not exactly able to defend myself.”

The wasteland might have started getting on your nerves a little, either that or your friendly neighborhood bounty hunter was rubbing off on you. It was most likely a combination of the two. The lack of proper sleep, limited water, the constant blazing sun, you should have brought a hat, the fact that everything and everyone was suddenly out to have your head on a pike, plus his inability to offer a single sentence that didn’t contain at least one demeaning remark in it. Your patience was being tested, you were cranky, but you’d persevere, you were determined to do so.

“Ain’t gonna happen, Darlin’.” he shuts down your vague proposition, his tone dropping a few octaves as he rests his head against the wall. He lets one of his legs relax flat against the softness of the mattress, the canteen being tapped against his other, into the side of his bent knee and in a lazy fashion, an old habit. “Would sooner give my pistol to the radroach.”

“How nice.” you give him a sleazy smile before letting out your pent-up irritation on the squished box in your hand, ripping off the lid and tossing it away.

Your tantrum has him suppressing more than a few nasty statements. He grits his teeth, swirling his tongue around the sip of water locked in his mouth, a niche way of keeping his lips sealed long enough for his dissatisfaction with your passive-aggression. He swallows before smacking his lips once and swishing around the canteen to check how much more he has left, then finally speaks.

“Lose the attitude.” the typical rasp in his voice is smoothed out after he’s finally wet his gullet. He spares you a lingering glance without the usual dominating intensity present – a good way to ask you to quit it because it’s been a rough day, he’s tired and just wants to brood before shut-eye. “Ain’t gonna get you far.”

You comply with a nasal huff and scoot back against the wall before bringing your knees to your chest with a handful of band-aids tucked between your fingers. Your bleeding hand shakes a tad too much and you lay it over one of your knees to keep it steady. The dying sun rays seep past the boarded-up windows and bounce off your torn-up skin, the thin sheet of blood sparkles and it would have been disturbingly pretty if it didn’t sting like a bitch. You pinch the band-aid wrapper between your teeth and tear it open before covering up your first bruised knuckle.

Sometimes you wondered what was going on in that boiled egg head of his. On some nights he was willing to hold a conversation or re-tell a story from his younger days of surviving in the wasteland and they were gruesome but interesting. Then there were late evenings such as this one, where he’d just sit in silence, eyes distant and recalling scenarios that tugged at the corners of his lips when he thought you weren’t looking. You tried not to engage him when he was entranced, instead just scarfing down a granola bar or a few deviled eggs before curling up and forcing your eyes shut. You hoped he’d tell you one day, maybe when he trusted you enough to open up to deeper topics.

Still…

Talkative or not, he was pleasant company, even though he’d tied you to a tree once because he’d mistaken you trying to hide to relieve yourself as an attempt at running away and cheating him out of his caps.

Your lips purse at the memory.

That particular night had been a rather bumpy ride.

Once your scrapes are thoroughly covered you flex your hand, temporarily satisfied with your handiwork. The ghoul takes off his gloves and secures a beaten-up can of peaches from his bandolier, the distinct number of your vault plastered on the front. He hooks a finger around the clasp and pops it open, then his mouth pinches in a snarl. He pulls his thumb away, a shallow gash painted across and hastily filling with scarlet red.

“Shit.”

It was probably your constant presence over the past weeks and your welcoming and quiet nature synergizing with his spiteful and venomous one, but he didn’t spot you leaning closer until your fingers were wrapping your last band-aid over his cut. Your thumbs rub over his, making sure the thing sticks well.

It’s a stab to the heart because he’s aware there is no underlying intent behind your gentle display, it’s who you are – stupid and soft and too much for the world.

“Stupid t’ waste your last one considering is gonna heal in a few.” he means at as a scold, another lesson he never knew he’d need to teach, but it comes out too hushed, his words are faltering. His jaw locks and his lungs give out when you smile so tenderly and sometimes…

…Sometimes he lies to himself that you’ve only ever smiled like that for him.

After that, he sinks into an ocean of hatred, he gives you a cold shoulder, spits venom, and pushes you back at an arm’s length. Because what was a man to do when he kept beating down a stray dog and it kept nuzzling its snout in his palm? You were supposed to break a week ago, hell, even two weeks ago, start a fit and give him enough reason to leave you behind. The only thing he got was a grumpy hiss every so often when you were beyond sleep-deprived and missing a good cup of coffee.

“It’s okay.” you nod in reassurance and settle back. The sweet scent of his dinner softens the stench of lavender and it reminds you that you’ve been starving since early afternoon. “I have enough gauze to last me a while.” you dig through your provisions before scoring a package of saltines.

You don’t ask him if he wants any because he gives you a lecture every time about rationing your food. Instead, you take three intact crackers and dip them in his can. He stops digging his fingers through the mushy peaches and gives you a look, then speaks.

“Already said I’d take ya t’ Tillburry, Sweetheart.” his actions defy his condescension; he gathers a good amount of syrup on one cracker and presses it into his tongue, making sure not a drop is wasted. “Can stop tryin’a butter me up.”

“Hm?” you blink at him, then rush to fetch out a bottle of water when the crumbs tickle your throat. “I’m not, Mister…” you respond after washing down the tasteless saltines and gasping for air. “We’re a unit now, right? And you do most of the work…so it’s only fair.” it’s sincere and he might not see your face fully as you wipe your mouth and then keep it covered as you speak while chewing, but he’s learned enough to know that if you were hiding something you’d rather keep your tongue tied over lying.

Your reasoning sinks into him like the fangs of a deathclaw and he’s a little annoyed because he’s supposed to be the one telling you that:

“You need more food than me.”

Indeed, he does, but he’s a stingy man who’d rather starve a little and keep moving over stopping somewhere and restocking. He’d barely even taken any food from your vault, most of the tato sack was stuffed with Pip-boys and stimpaks intended for selling, along with a few spring water bottles.

The ghoul reaches over, plucking the larger half of your crackers and you have no plan of complaining, staying true to your word. But then he wiggles the lid completely off the can and sets it between you two and you’re suddenly so overwhelmed, but make no noise, afraid that whatever had possessed him would startle and leave. You scoot a bit closer and are the first to initiate your shared meal, dragging a syrup-dosed slice of peach and cupping a hand under your coated saltine to keep from making a mess of the mattress.

He waits until you’re done, avoiding your skin like the plague, but you only see it as a gentlemanly gesture, blind to the hidden war he’s forced to wage every time you come in contact.

The wasteland is merciless both day and night, the fluctuation of temperature’s had you feeling unwell rather often – going to sleep shivering and then waking up drenched in sweat. The sun had been slow in hiding behind the desolate horizon, but once it had and everything was dim, you noticed it.

There’s a nip in the air, it makes your fingers falter around your treat and the syrup pours down your chin before you’re able to properly stuff it in your mouth. You make a squeamish sound and brace to catch the sticky drops threatening to stain your dress, hunching forward to at least have them fall on the floorboards if you miss.

He clicks his tongue and wipes the back of his palm under your chin, gathering up the viscous sweetness.

“Sloppy girl.” he rumbles, self-taught to be unaffected by the cheery thumbs-up you give him because your mouth is too full for a proper thanks. Then he’s stuck as his first instinct is to lick the syrup off, he muses, and his tongue retreats from pressing against the back of his teeth; he wipes it in his coat instead.

The food might have not been enough to sate you, but a shared meal filled the heart more than the stomach, and you were satisfied with just a light snack spread between you both. The wrapper is crinkled up, but instead of throwing it to the side, you decide to keep it and stuff it in your backpack – a warm memory to keep you going when harder times come.

As you dust off the crumbs from your chest and lap he picks up the can and slurps out the remaining contents at the bottom. He milds out the sugar numbing his tongue with the last two sips of his canteen then lets his head roll to the side, whiskey-colored eyes trained on your sprawled-out legs.

“Y’know this gonna rip in another week or so.” he’s tugging at the stretchy fabric of your tights.

“Mm, probably.” you agree with lips curling back into your mouth, then your brows rise as you consider the unavoidable possibility. “But I’ll just fit in better with the folk here, right? So it’s not all bad. Plus, this won’t be my outfit forever.”

“Always the Positive Patty.” he scoffs with a twisted grin and takes off his hat, leaving it on top of his bandolier.

“Someone has to be.” you’re biting back a cheeky smile as you pull out a thin, creamy yellow blazer from the bottom of your pack and fling it over your shoulders. “You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine, Mister…No offense.”

“ ‘M too old t’ wag my tail anymore, Sweetheart.”

The temperature drop adds a tremble to your voice, the knitted top isn’t enough to fend off the nip at your skin, and regarding the fact that it’s still not pitch black outside, you’re starting to anticipate how much colder it will get. There’s no way for the ghoul to light a fire indoors either, there’s no ventilation for the smoke. Plus, despite the room stinking like lavender, there’s no telling how many radroaches you’ll be welcoming by tempting them with a constant light source. You’ll have to make do with what you’ve got.

“How old?” you cheep while untying your boots, then slide them off with a relieved breath.

Regarding all the difficulties and dangers of the wasteland, walking was your biggest enemy. Your boots were comfortable enough to prevent a majority of blisters, but you still suffered from a few. Your feet were pulsing from overexertion and some nights the discomfort was so intense that you had to knead it out of them.

You stretch your toes with a groan and roll your ankles, earning a few satisfying pops.

“Old.” he answers and you have a feeling that’s all he’s willing to give away.

Your shoulders ache as you flex them, skin raw and red beneath the blazer from the coarse straps of your backpack digging into them daily. You’re sore all over and it’s disheartening sometimes because you often compare your struggles to the ghoul who is unphased by everything. Then you’re reminded you’re still new to this and adjusting and he’s a strict teacher who would have no problem berating you if you weren’t living up to his standards. You’re not doing all that bad, you think, keeping things on a positive note because he sure as hell wouldn’t.

You’re about to reach forward and give your poor feet the love they deserve, but freeze for a moment and then turn to the side and stuff your good hand in the pocket of your pack.

“Now where did I put this thing…”

The sun wasn’t just cruel, it was dehydrating, and you were taught to drink water only when on the brink of passing out. You could manage that, but your lips took the most noticeable damage and you wound up having to coat them with Vaseline to prevent them from cracking.

“Ah, there it is!” you pop the cap off and dab a finger inside before lathering your lips and rubbing them together to spread out the greasy substance evenly.

The ghoul rests beside you, eyes sown shut and head dipped low, already succumbing to exhaustion.

You’re a perceptive little thing and sometimes you like to stick your nose where you shouldn’t so when you take him in while silently smacking your glossy mouth you notice that he is in a worse condition than yours. Thoughtless actions are a part of human nature and it’s been a while since you grew accustomed to the lack of personal space since starting your journey with him. You didn’t consider the potential consequences when you tilted closer to him with a Vaseline-covered forefinger extended, determined to give his chapped mouth a hint of relief.

But he’s also a perceptive man and he too acts on instinct.

A startled cry escapes you when you’re flattened on your back, pinned beneath him, and with a knife to your throat.

“The fuck you think you’re doin’?” he hisses and it’s dangerously prickly.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry.” you squeal and crane your neck to the side to ease the press of the blade. “I just thought your lips were chapped and – ” your eyes crack open to find him puffing ragged breaths only an inch or two from you, your arms are squished between your bodies. He catches your wrist when it bends closer to his snarling maw. “ – It’s just Vaseline. For skin conditions. It’ll help. Promise.”

“D’ I fuckin’ loo – ” he tenses when your finger dashes over the ridges of his mouth.

His entire body goes rigid as the wet sensation is registered in his brain and so does your audacity. The fact that you were this brave has him boiling. Who the fuck did you think you were?

There’s unease coiling in your belly as he stares down at you but doesn’t grasp that you’re there. You can almost see the cogs in his head turning and you make a vain attempt at escaping from his hold before he snaps back to reality.

You might have overstepped a tiny bit. Should have complied when he was about to shut down your act of care instead of forcing it on him before he could even finish speaking. Sometimes you forget the power imbalance because it’s not coded in your system that anyone would be unnecessarily violent with a woman. He’s proven you wrong plenty and it still fails to click and you can’t commit it to memory.

He presses his weight on your perked-up knees, uncaring how your feet dig into his stomach, practically forcing you to fold in half. His teeth grit so hard they threaten to crack.

When the veins on his forehead bulge, you know you’re in for a rough time.

“You fucking little – ”

He manhandles you on your stomach, knocking the air out of your lungs, and wrestles your hands behind your back.

“Ow, ow, ow. Ow!” you whine under him, wincing when he grips your wrists in place and the weight from your upper body disappears. Then you’re painfully aware of how cold it had become and a chill runs up your spine. You hear the ruffling of leather, then feel the coarse rope graze your sensitive skin. “Wait! No, no, no, no – ” you thrash between his solid thighs and he shifts his position to lock your wiggling legs between his knees. You try to look back but only manage to make yourself choke when your Adam’s apple bops against the mattress. “I just wanted to – ”

“ – Been too good t’ you.” he barks down your protests and once the rope is secured around your hands, he pulls hard enough to make you cry out. “Forgot ya place, Missy?” his tone was biting and you let loose a pleading mewl, but his gestures didn’t soften one bit. He turns you on your side, glaring daggers down at you. “Lemme remind you.” he leans so close you can feel his breath on your ear, hot and cold. “I ain’t your fuckin’ friend. I ain’t your fuckin’ daddy and I ain’t your Prince Charmin’.”

You’re curling in on yourself as he stuffs animosity down your throat. The scarce moonlight makes him look like a fiend. You hide beneath the collar of your blazer, shielding yourself from his scalding eyes and it brings some comfort to your battered mood.

Your doing…your mistake.

Jesus, you’d tipped him over real bad this time.

Over freaking Vaseline of all things…

You’d seen him like this before. It was his go-to façade when dealing with hostiles of any kind, it was him stepping back into the shoes of a merciless, vile creature devoid of humanity. You’d seen it plenty but never targeted at you.

And it was fucking terrifying.

“Only reason you’re alive is cuz you owe me caps.” he shoves you into the wall and your knees collide into it with a deaf thump. “Now keep ya mouth shut n’ go the fuck to sleep.”

Your bottom lip quivers as the dull pain in your knees spreads. Your feet ache, your wrists pulse and your shoulder screams from having to endure your whole weight. You swallow a mixture of ropy saliva and salty tears and breathe extra carefully just so you don’t let him hear you sniffling.

“Had enough o’ you.” he lumbers down next to you, back to back but no contact, and you’re just left shaken up and with a wide-eyed expression.

Once the air settles the chill of the night creeps up your legs, seeping through your tights and licking at your skin until you shudder.

You couldn’t blame his brutish punishment or his harrowing words even if they carved wretchedness into your heart. He’d given you the truth, no sugarcoating, straight and simple. Your safe transportation was business; you weren’t out on a magical adventure. He wasn’t even being cruel, he was being honest and pointedly agitated because you were getting too comfortable. You were the one trying to dazzle him with your charades and big dreams of making it into the wasteland like some fucked-up alternative to Hollywood.

He mumbles something pissy when you shiver for the second time, readjusts, and curls an arm under his head.

The deal was to get you to Tillburry and leave you there for a few weeks, let you adjust and gather up the caps you owe, then come back to collect his pay. You were wrong to think of him as a friend, he’d discarded the title each time you had flung it at him. But it was confusing when his actions refuted his tongue.

“Quit it.” the ghoul warns when you fail to suppress another shiver so prominent it makes your teeth chatter.

“Sorry, Mister.” you manage to say, forehead pressing against the cool wall as you try to steady your breathing and fight off the incessant jitters. “Is just cold…”

He was gentle when he’d eased the stimpak into your calf to save your infected ankle. He used you to lure out hostiles, but he always stuffed you in the safest corner he could find when you were settling down to sleep. He always rolled his eyes when your feet gave out in the middle of the road, but never left you behind. And sure, he was a ghoul, his regeneration and dulled pain receptors were commendable, but he still took bullets for you. You couldn’t be convinced that it was just his job because you didn’t want to be. You wanted him to care.

When another shiver takes hold of you he sighs. You feel the mattress dip next to your legs followed by the rustling of heavy fabric. Another apology is ready to shoot past your frowning lips, a thread of pleads to not kick you out of the room and into the roach-infested corridor on standby. Anticipation has your toes curling and your heart hammers because he’s doing something behind you and you can’t turn around to see. You almost want to cry because you can’t even let the man rest without being a menace.

He’d given you beyond what you deserved, but you were greedy and still coveted for more.

“Gonna be the death o’ me…”

You twitch when you’re abruptly shrouded in unfamiliar heat, a tattered blanket draped over you, covering your curled-up form completely; his coat. A shattered hum is all you can spare.

The faint scent of detergent still lingers, but there’s also something else, a musk, a rich odor that you can’t compare to anything you’ve smelt before. The smell of him. It clings to your skin like a needy lover, merges with yours and marks you up as part of his turf.

He settles back down without another word, away from you, of course.

You inhale deep and slow, let the aroma overwhelm your senses, and shut your eyes at the buzz it causes in your stomach. Your wrists tug at the restraints with the need to pull the coat tighter around you, then you’re reminded you’re tied up, but you can’t be bothered to care anymore.

Hot then cold, sweet then sour. He never sticks to one, always bounces between the two and it’s peevishly perplexing, but it makes his tenderness so much more addicting after a rough tussle.

When you’re drunk and sated, you emerge from the warm darkness, enough for your lips to feel the cold again instead of ghosting against the leathery fabric. Glazed over, heavy-lidded eyes, blown-out pupils directed at the wall, but all your consciousness comes up with is him.

“Don’t want you to be cold, Mister.”

You tuck your feet under the warmth and the blood returns to your numb toes. Your stomach bursts with an alien flutter that punches through you until it reaches your thrumming heart and nurtures a sparkling new emotion.

“Go t’ sleep, Sweet pea.”

Coherence has been slain by a vague opponent, leaving you bare to the current pumping through your veins. Self-indulgent and needy, your knees are used as leverage, sunken into the wall and pushing you away until you find solace in the curve of his spine. The heat emitting from him is even greater than that of his coat and it dusts a hue on your cheeks, slightly darker than your natural tone. The chill stings against your heated flesh.

Your eyelids fall and your nose burrowed back into the comfort of your blanket as you suffocate on his scent once again. It cradles you gently, until your head is spinning and you feel like body and soul are nearly split apart. You’re levitating, floating in a pitch-black sea that’s guiding you into the embrace of slumber.

A steady breath comes from him, he doesn’t move nor protest.

He’s a kind man. He indulges you, lets you wander through a foggy forest because soon you’ll be separated and he won’t have to deal with you anymore. That’s all you need from him and you’re so grateful.

It’s not him murdering threats that has kept you alive thus far, it’s just him being present. Because you’re not just alive, you’re living for the first time and he was there from the beginning.

“G’night, Mister.”

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 6 >>>

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