#ill post AO3 link in the morning

[cybrsan]

Miracle Of The Season — J.JK

STORY SUMMARY: Cast out of Heaven after a painful betrayal, you find yourself having to navigate the intricacies of human life without any guidance from the Creator or the family you have always known. Things only get worse as the holiday season reaches its peak, with reminders of the life you left behind everywhere you look. When a familiar face pops up, you aren’t sure whether to consider it a blessing or a curse.

PAIRING: Angel Jungkook x Fallen Angel F!Reader

RATING/GENRE: M ; angst, fluff, smut ; second chance romance, angel AU, soulmate AU

WORD COUNT: 17.2k

WARNINGS: Heavy themes of religious trauma, an initially negative view of Christianity transforming into a more neutral/respectful view of individual faiths, initial dismissal of other religions, difficult self-growth journey, homelessness, very brief mentions of murder and rape

OTHER/NSFW WARNINGS: Sharing one-bed trope (kinda), mistletoe trope (teehee), first time, fingering, cunnilingus, hand job, unprotected sex

A/N: This is a lot. The story definitely got away from me, but I think that's because there was so much I wanted to say. I definitely could have made this longer, and if I had time/wasn't such a slow writer, I probably would have. It's a heavy topic, but it's one that is near and dear to my heart and one that I think a lot of people can relate to. If you do, I hope this story feels a bit healing.

A/N 2: This is based on the vibes of his song "Standing Next To You" and the m/v for it.

LINKS: Part of the Jingle All The Way! collab with my talented, wonderful friends. Cross-posted on AO3 and (eventually) Wattpad. Banner made by the lovely @kithtaehyung.

"—let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!"

You take a deep, calming breath as you pass the carolers. Their cheerful voices grate on your nerves, but you keep your head down and continue walking. Lashing out at them won't do any good, even if it might give you a moment of satisfaction. It's not like they're the source of your irritation anyway; the crowded streets are abuzz with the unrelenting chaos of the Christmas season, and you have been on edge all morning. 

Turning a corner, you enter a street closer to the shelter you have been calling home for the past year and a half. Immediately, some of your tension dissipates, and you feel like you can breathe a bit easier. There are fewer lights here and less noise, but a few decorations still attract your attention, like a moth to a flame. A nativity scene is proudly displayed in someone's window, and you stop dead in your tracks.

"Freedom of religion, my ass," you mutter bitterly as you tear your gaze away. Why does everyone and their mother seem to celebrate this stupid holiday? 

You know that for many, Christmas isn’t necessarily a holy season. Some humans just use the holiday as an excuse to wear obnoxious sweaters, play the same song on repeat, and spoil one another with gifts. Yet reminders of the celestial realm, of the life you have been cast out from, are everywhere. The nativity, for one. Then there are the carolers singing their songs, and the cartoonish cherub decals that can be found on shop windows, holding banners that proclaim, “Buy one, get one 20% off!” Even the name of the holiday is marked by one of His monikers. Christmas. 

It makes you sick. 

The weather doesn't help, either. Drawing your coat more tightly around yourself, you try to ignore the relentless chill that settles deep in your bones. You’re definitely not dressed warmly enough, ill-prepared considering the sensation of being cold is something you’re still getting used to. It is yet another item you have added to your ever-growing list of "whys.” The question of why God created snow joins the ranks of "why did He make spiders?" and "why is He the most selfish being in existence?" 

You sniff. Perhaps you let your emotions get the best of you at times.  

Emotions. Another thing that’s somewhat new. As an angel, you didn’t really have those. The only thing you ever thought about was following orders and how better you could praise His name. Ugh. It’s hard to believe now that you were ever so single-minded. Though, towards the end, you suppose that wasn’t the case. It all went awry when you started this “list” of yours—when you started questioning things. 

The moment that doubt had first crept into your mind seems like a lifetime ago. Reaching the status of archangel was something you had been working toward for millennia. It was a position that allowed you to work more closely with humanity; you were able to actually guide their paths and alter their destiny. 

At first, it was everything you had ever wanted. The miracles that occurred because of your intervention made you feel like you were doing something worthwhile. But you quickly learned that not all of your missions would be quite as fulfilling. 

You will never forget the first time you were put in charge of administering a holy test. The man had done nothing wrong, yet your higher-ups still insisted that he needed to be "tried by fire." The divine reasons were beyond comprehension, or so you were told. But watching the man suffer as everything he loved was taken from him, seeing the desperation and despair in his eyes… It felt wrong. That feeling stayed with you even as you watched the man's faith remain unbroken. Somehow, that made it worse. 

And then there were those who committed sinful acts and escaped punishment. You saw murderers and rapists living their lives in peace while innocent souls suffered unjustly at their hands. The scales of justice seemed unfairly balanced, and you began to feel crushed by the weight of your guilt.

Thus, the degradation process began. For the longest time, you thought it was a myth, a scary story told to keep angels in line. If you doubt, if you disobey, you begin withering away into nothingness. You'll start to feel things, to lose your sense of purpose. It will be painful and overwhelming and, eventually, you'll cease to exist entirely. You were told that if it were to happen, you must report it to a superior at once. But you were terrified. 

There was only one person you trusted enough to share the way you were feeling—your other half, your celestial counterpart. The one who knew you like no other did. Your Astrom, Jungkook. 

There is an old celestial folk tale that documents the first creation of an Astrom pair. It is said God took one star and split it into two. Neither half could live without the other, nor would they want to. It is difficult to describe the way you felt for him, as angels are devoid of personal desires or emotions as humans experience them. It was simply as if being with him was as natural as breathing. He was the only being other than the Creator that you felt beholden to, that you admired. 

When you first revealed your doubts to him, he simply listened, displaying a level of patience that you found comforting. He answered your questions about morality, about justice as best he could, trying to reassure you that everything happened for a reason. Yet no matter how persuasively he argued, your doubts wouldn't go away. 

Eventually, you began to start contemplating letting yourself fall from grace. The thought was terrifying, but at the same time, there was a certain allure to it. To Fall meant to renounce your celestial responsibilities, and that included no longer having to inflict pain on innocent souls. 

When you confessed this dangerous thought to him, Jungkook gave you a look that you couldn't decipher. All you remember is what he said next: "If you Fall, I shall Fall with you."

His words had been unexpected, and you didn’t know whether to take comfort in them or not. You didn’t want him to share your fate, to bear the burden of your guilt. Could you live with yourself if he Fell too? The answer was an obvious no. But the mere thought of being alone in your struggle was something you couldn’t stomach either. So, you attempted to keep your dissent to a minimum and perform your duties as required. But it wasn’t long before everything fell apart regardless.

Eventually, you were discovered and brought before the celestial court. You were accused of blasphemy since questioning Him was an unforgivable sin and sentenced to Fall, to be cast out from the life you have always known. Yet, the real blow came when you found out who had betrayed you. 

Jungkook.

Your Astrom. 

The one you had trusted implicitly, the other half of your celestial star, had betrayed you in the name of divine loyalty. The pain of the Fall, the feeling of your grace ripped from your body, the scorching burn of your wings as they turned to ash—none of this could compete with the raw, gut-wrenching anguish of his betrayal. 

Even now, months later, remembering makes you feel as if you can't breathe, as if you might die. Every memory of him is like a punch to the gut, and the city, so full of noise and life, does nothing to drown out the agony. Some days, the pain is so vivid and unbearable that it feels as though you are Falling all over again.

A rough shove against your shoulder makes you stumble, and the man who ran into you barely grunts out an apology before continuing past. At least the disruption is a timely one, allowing you to pull yourself out of your thoughts before you spiral. There’s no point focusing on the past when there’s nothing you to do to change it, especially not when you have a myriad of new human concerns to deal with.  

Your job hunt was, once again, unsuccessful. You keep telling yourself that it’s because it’s so close to the holidays and you’ll have a better chance once the new year comes. In reality, you’re sure it’s because you have no experience, no schooling, and no useful knowledge.

At least you’re familiar enough with the city now that zoning out didn’t prevent you from getting to your destination. 

Lost Star Shelter.

The place you’ve been calling home. It’s certainly not perfect, but little on Earth ever is. You feel awful stepping past the crowd of people waiting outside its doors, knowing that they, like you, have nowhere else to go. You've been fortunate enough to secure your spot due to your volunteering efforts and the fact that the manager, Naomi, seems to have taken a liking to you. But not everyone is so lucky. 

You step inside, greeted by the familiar smells of disinfectant and something cooking in the kitchen. The place is buzzing with activity as usual—mothers trying to soothe crying children, elderly folks chatting away in groups, and a few lone souls quietly scrawling job applications. 

"Long day?" Naomi catches your gaze from behind the front desk, her warm smile a stark contrast to the weariness etched in the lines of her face. 

"Isn't it always?" You head over and pick up the clipboard she slides toward you, scanning your list of tasks for the day. As expected, it's long hours of mindless labor, but you don't mind. Not only do you need to earn your place here, but volunteering gives you a sense of purpose similar to your previous heavenly duties. And you have the satisfaction of knowing you're actually helping, not harming.

"First on the list," Naomi points to an item at the top of your clipboard, "is the donations room. We just had a big drop-off and could use some extra hands sorting through it all. But grab some dinner before you start, okay?"

You nod, her straightforward nature getting a slight smile out of you. "Yes, ma'am."

You navigate your way towards the crowded dining area, where a line of people has formed, waiting for their turn to get served. The cooks, all volunteers like yourself, are bustling about, serving portions of the day's meal which looks to be a thick stew accompanied by fresh bread. The food is simple but hearty, more than enough to keep you working through the evening. You make a mental note to slip into the kitchen later and thank them for their hard work.

You find an empty seat at one of the long tables that occupy the space, making yourself at home amongst the people who are engrossing themselves in their meals or with idle chatter. You even join in on a conversation with some older women across the table, who are engaged in a spirited debate about soap operas. Your knowledge of pop culture is sparse at best, but they seem delighted to fill you in on the latest drama, their laughter infectious. 

After your meal, you make your way towards the donations room. The sight of piled-up clothes, toys, blankets, and other items is both overwhelming and heartwarming. Naomi wasn't kidding when she said they'd received a large drop-off. It's a daunting task, but you roll up your sleeves and get to work. You start by sorting through the clutter, meticulously separating everything into various categories—men's clothes, women's clothes, children's clothes, etc., and items that need repairs or cleaning. Hours pass by unnoticed, the rhythm of work almost meditative.

Your thoughts inevitably wander back to Jungkook. A pang of longing shoots through you. He was the one who would always be by your side when you had to perform menial tasks like this in the celestial realm. You wonder what he would think of your new life. Does he look down on you from up high with pity or disdain, or does he simply not think of you at all? You aren't sure if you even want to know the answer. 

As time wears on, the room gradually becomes less cluttered and more organized. You're just about to take a break when Naomi appears at the doorway, her aging features softened by the warm glow of the hallway light behind her. She takes in your progress with an approving nod. 

"You've done well," she says, stepping into the room. 

You can't help but feel a sense of pride at her words. "Thank you, Naomi." 

She strolls around the room, her observant gaze sweeping over the sorted piles, her hands touching a few items here and there.

"It's amazing," she finally says, "how much kindness there is out there, even when it seems like everything is falling apart. No matter how rough things get, we can choose to be generous, choose to help others. That's what makes us human."

Her words resonate with you. You’ve seen the worst and best of humanity firsthand; the same species that wages wars also unite in times of crisis, offering support and showing kindness to total strangers. How much is influenced by higher powers and how much is purely human nature, you wouldn't presume to know. Your very existence has blurred the lines between supernatural influence and mortal will. 

"True," you say, looking up at Naomi from where you're still seated on the floor surrounded by donations. "That’s a nice way to look at things."

Naomi's smile broadens at that, and she gives one last cursory glance around the room before saying, "Well, I'll let you get back to work. Don't stay up too late."

"Goodnight, Naomi," you call after her as she steps out into the hallway, half-waving at you as she goes.

A little over an hour later, you step back to admire your work. Each item has been categorized, ready to be cleaned and redistributed. You move on to your next set of responsibilities: cleaning up the common areas and helping close up for the night. 

The smell of cleaning supplies clings to your skin as you make your way back to your sleeping quarters—a small, shared room filled with single beds. Careful not to disturb anyone, you move towards your assigned bed, its familiar creaks and groans echoing softly under your weight as you settle into it. Exhaustion pulls at your muscles, but you need to wash up and change before you sleep. 

You grab your shower caddy, change of clothes, and quietly make your way to the women’s bathroom. The fluorescent white lights flicker to life as you enter, revealing a row of curtained shower cubicles. You choose one at the end and let the water heat up as you undress. The hot water cascades over your tired body, soothing your muscles and washing away the sweat and grime that has built up throughout the day. 

Shower done and teeth brushed, you pull on fresh clothes and make your way back to your bed. As you settle back down under the covers, you notice something strange on your bedsheet. A crisp scorch mark is visible against the fabric, and when you observe it more closely, you're shocked to realize that the shape almost looks like… fingers? Your heart hammers in your chest. 

"Impossible," you whisper to yourself. 

The sight of these burns is not unfamiliar to you; in fact, you have been the cause of such marks before. It is a common occurrence when celestial beings interact with the mortal world—remnants of their powerful energy left behind. But as you stare at them now, a sense of unease creeps over you. Could it be Jungkook? The thought flickers through your mind, but you quickly brush it aside. Why would he make himself known in this way and then vanish without even seeing you? You can't allow yourself to hope. 

Dismissing the thought, you force yourself to rationalize that it must have been an accident. Perhaps someone burned it while it was being ironed. It’s easy enough to convince yourself; after all, it’s only three and a half slender marks—it could be anything. But the unease remains as you lay down on the bed, your mind filled with questions. You eventually succumb to sleep from sheer exhaustion, your dreams filled with memories of Jungkook.

The next day passes in a blur—the usual routine of job applications, food preparation, and cleaning duties. The burn mark on your bedsheet remains a mystery. You track down the volunteer who did the laundry, and she swears she wouldn't be so careless as to burn someone’s belongings. Despite her assurances, it's the only explanation you are willing to believe. You return to your bed to find that the sheet has been replaced with a fresh one, the burn mark gone as if it never existed.

You spot an older man sitting on a bed in the corner; his mouth moves silently, and the rosary beads dangling from his fingers lead you to believe he’s praying. A small, faux Christmas tree, no larger than a water bottle, stands on a box next to him. The sight stirs something with you, an uncomfortable feeling once again settling in your gut. You don’t understand his faith. How can someone continue to pray to a God that has obviously forsaken him?

You wait until the man finishes and safely tucks the rosary beads into his shirt pocket, right above his heart, before you approach.

“Excuse me?”

He looks up at you with a smile, eyes crinkling around the edges. "What can I help you with, dear?" 

"I noticed you praying," you begin tentatively. Despite your personal qualms with religion, you don’t want to seem as if you are disrespecting him or his beliefs. "I hope you don't mind my asking, but how do you keep your faith? Under these circumstances?"

He doesn't seem bothered at all by your blunt question. Instead, he chuckles softly and pats the bed beside him, inviting you to sit down. You hesitate a moment before complying.

"Faith isn't about having all the answers," he starts, his voice a mere whisper in the quiet room. "It isn't about being rewarded for good deeds or punished for bad ones. It's about hope. It's about believing that things will get better."

“Hope? Still? Despite… despite being here? I mean, aren’t you upset with God?” Your voice is barely above a whisper as well, a mixture of curiosity and frustration seeping into your words.

He remains silent for a while, his gaze wandering towards the small Christmas tree on the box beside him. 

"No, I'm not upset with God," he finally replies. "Man is given free will, and it is man who chooses what to do with it. Crisis, poverty… God didn't create these. They're the consequences of human choices." His words are sincere, spoken with a calmness that only comes from years of contemplation. "God doesn't promise us that life will always be easy or free from hardships. But He does promise that He will be there in those times of trouble. You see, faith isn't about expecting God to fix our problems, but about having the strength to face them."

“I envy your strength,” you admit with a hint of admiration in your voice.

“Strength is born from struggle, dear. You’ll find your way soon enough.” 

“I hope you’re right.”

The conversation lingers in your mind long after the man's words have faded into silence. You sit on your bunk, staring at the ceiling, pondering them. His unshakable faith is both alien and inspiring to you. Even when you were an archangel, before any doubts seeped into your mind, your faith was nothing like his. It was a duty, an obligation, a resolute certainty that was less about personal beliefs and more about the world you were born into. 

His mention of hope sticks out to you the most. You look around the room again, taking note of the different symbols of faith scattered across the room—crosses, menorahs, and even a small prayer mat in one corner. Each person in this room believes in something larger than themselves, something that gives them hope. And you? You're not certain what you believe in anymore. But maybe, just maybe, some of your anger has been misplaced. 

As the daylight fades, you find yourself wandering outside, the crisp evening air bringing a kind of comfort you couldn't find inside. You walk aimlessly, your feet following the now-familiar sidewalks. You end up in a park, and you make a seat for yourself on a deserted bench.

Looking up into the sky, now painted with hues of orange and pink, you let yourself miss Heaven for just a minute. To miss Jungkook. Even the Creator. You can never go back to worshipping Him, nor do you want to, but you can't deny the connection that once was. As much as you wish everything never happened, you are grateful for how much you've grown since. 

Suddenly, you’re disoriented by a bright flash of light and a shrill, piercing sound that makes your entire body jolt. You shut your eyes and cover your ears, but it does nothing to dull the pain. It's as if the noise is coming from inside your mind. You half-crawl, half-fall off the bench, curling in on yourself, unable to think anything, do anything, until it finally comes to a stop. 

The world pauses around you; the birds stop chirping, the wind stops blowing, and people are frozen where they walk. A familiar feeling washes over you, and your breath catches in your throat. You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes. Even in this form, even as a human, his presence calls to your very soul. You hadn’t realized how incomplete you felt, how empty you were, without him by your side. He’s your other half, and he always will be. The realization makes you want to cry. You had hoped after the Fall, after you became human, that would cease to be true. You can’t stand the fact that you’re still irrevocably tied to him, even after all that he’s done. As always, fate is cruel.

“Y/N.”

He speaks your name with a quiet reverence as if he can hardly believe you’re there in front of him. The familiar, honeyed tone of his voice reignites your longing for him with full force, but you still stubbornly keep your eyes closed. You can’t look at him. You aren’t strong enough.

“I cannot believe you are alive.”

What?

His statement shocks you enough that your eyes fly open of their own accord, and for the first time in months, you're met with the sight of Jungkook. You're not sure if you perceive him differently now that you are mortal, but he's even more captivating than you remember. 

His dark hair curls softly atop his head and is tousled ever-so-perfectly. His skin is beautifully tanned, and the way his tall figure is silhouetted against the sun makes it seem like he's glowing. His wings are obsidian, gargantuan in size, seemingly consuming the entire park with their reach. He's magnificent, so beautiful it hurts.

But it is his eyes that have you frozen in your spot—those beautiful, brown doe eyes, filled with so much emotion that it takes your breath away. He's not supposed to be able to feel unless… unless he has begun the degradation process, as you had.   

“Y/N,” he repeats, his voice trembling. "I thought you were dead." 

“I don't understand,” you manage to choke out, trying to sound more composed than you feel. You pull yourself to your feet, grimacing at the pain radiating throughout your body. How much of it is physical and how much is emotional, you can't tell. 

He takes a step closer to you, his hands outstretched as if to ensure that you're real, but you recoil instinctively. He flinches at your reaction but still grabs your arms, grip unrelenting even as you attempt to pull away from him. 

“Protective markings have been burned onto your ribs.” Hurt flashes across his features. “Were you hiding from me?”

“What? No.” You manage to break free and back up a few steps, putting some distance between you. You feel exposed and vulnerable under his gaze, remembering how he always seemed to know what you were thinking even before you did. "I didn't even know I had them."

"I need you to explain everything," he demands. 

“You need me to explain?" You scoff and cross your arms over your chest defensively. "What about you?”

“Me?” He tilts his head slightly, his confusion obvious.

“Yes, you!" You take a step closer, anger simmering just beneath the surface. "After all, you’re how I ended up in this situation, right?” 

“What are you talking about?”

"You betrayed me!" you hiss. “I confided in you, and you told me you understood. That you were with me. And then you turned around and proclaimed me a blasphemer!” 

He doesn’t respond right away, and it’s as if you can see the cogs turning in his head as he pieces things together. “Y/N… I would never.” 

His admittance makes you pause. Angels aren’t supposed to lie, though you know not everyone abides by that law. However, Jungkook has always been one of the most dedicated to the commandments. 

“That’s not what Namsu told me.”

“Namsu? The Throne?” 

“Yes, the Throne. The one who exiled me on the orders of up high.”

His eyebrows furrow. “You… were exiled? You did not wither?”

"Wither?" you scoff. "That's a myth, Jungkook. A cover-up to hide the fact that when angels start to stand up for what they think is right, they get cast out. And it's thanks to you that I'm here now."

"I… no." The intensity behind the word takes you aback. "I just wanted to help you; I thought you were sick. I went to one of the Cherubim for guidance—I would have never turned you in for some kind of punishment." 

His words hang in the air, making your heart pound in your chest. He was trying to help you? The thought sends a flurry of conflicting emotions through you. 

"Help me?" You repeat his words, mocking him in your disbelief. "Your way of helping got me exiled! Cast down and made mortal."

"I did not—" He cuts himself off, his gaze dropping to the ground. "I never meant for any of this to happen."

"Yet it did!" you snap, crossing your arms tightly around yourself as if they could somehow shield you from the pain his presence brings. "And now I'm here, and nothing will ever be the same!"

"I am so sorry." His apology is whispered so softly that you almost don't catch it. But you do, and it hits you like a punch in the gut.

Your head feels as if it's about to implode. He didn't purposefully betray you—in fact, he was trying to save you. But even so, his actions have led to your downfall, and now you're stuck here on earth, far from the light of Heaven, vulnerable and mortal, while he remains immortal and untouchable. Perhaps that's the part that hurts the most. The fact that now you are separated not by betrayal but by the very nature of your beings. 

Your voice cracks as tears fill your eyes. "If all this is true, then why wouldn’t you have looked for me?”

“I looked everywhere at first, but I could not sense you anymore.” If it was possible, you think he would be crying too. “Namsu is the one who told me what happened. He said that you… that your doubt consumed you, and you did not survive.”

The information hits you like a ton of bricks. Your knees almost give out for a second time, but Jungkook reaches out and grabs you by the elbows, steadying you. 

"I… I had no idea." A bitter laugh escapes your lips as you look up at him. "You didn't know anything, and I presumed the worst of you." 

His fingers tighten around your arms in a reassuring squeeze. "We can always start over, Y/N." 

"Start over?" you echo, incredulous. "You make it sound so easy."

"And why would it not be? We were not the ones to blame for our separation. Come back with me."

"I'm human now. The only way I can come back is… is if I'm dead."

His grip loosens, his face paling at your words. "I did not mean to suggest… Of course, I do not want you to die," he hastily corrects himself, glancing down at the ground. His wings flutter uneasily behind him, betraying his discomfort. "There must be another way."

"If there was, would it even be safe? I mean, why would Namsu do this?" you ask, staring at him. You're not sure if you're asking him or simply musing aloud. Even so, the question hangs heavily in the silence between you.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Jungkook speaks again. His voice is barely above a whisper when he says, "I wish I had the answers you seek, but I don't. All I know is that I will do everything in my power to rectify this situation." He turns away from you, scanning the horizon as if searching for something. "I need to return and confront Namsu. He must account for his actions."

"No, it's too dangerous. What if he forces you to Fall, too? You can't risk it, Jungkook." 

He looks back at you, his expression hardening. "I will not let him get away with this, Y/N," he says resolutely. "Deception is not a virtue of a Throne, especially not in such grave matters."

"And you won't let him, but you need to go about this carefully. Going to him directly won't work—he's too powerful."

Jungkook tilts his head, regarding you skeptically. "It almost sounds as if you are asking me to be deceitful." 

"Not deceitful, just… stealthy?" 

He doesn’t respond immediately, his brow furrowed as he mulls over your words. After a moment, he exhales slowly, pulling back from you to pace the grass in thought. "Stealthy," he repeats slowly, his voice distant. "That would require careful planning. Secret meetings. Misdirection."

"Yes," you agree, watching him closely. "All of that."

He stops suddenly, turning to look at you. "Very well. I will do whatever it takes to get to the bottom of this."

Your chest tightens, and you gnaw at your bottom lip. His resolve both comforts and worries you. You don't want him to risk himself for you, but part of you is happy that he is willing.

"However,” Jungkook breaks your train of thought. "It sounds like I may need to be a little bit more human to pull this off. After all, none of this comes easily to angels, but mortals lie all the time."

You raise an eyebrow. "And how are you going to achieve that?"

"You will have to teach me, of course." He says this as if doing so will be the easiest thing in the world. “The degradation process has already started for me, as I am sure you are aware. It should be easy.”

"You're serious?" 

Jungkook had always been so straight-laced, the epitome of angelic perfection. The idea of him playing at being human is almost laughable.

"Completely," he responds, his intense gaze never wavering. "I am willing to do whatever it takes to bring Namsu to justice and try to fix this. Fix us. If that requires adopting some mortal habits, then so be it."

"Alright," you finally concede, shaking your head in amusement. "Time for a crash course in 'how to be a human' 101."

He smiles faintly at that, the corners of his mouth tipping upwards just so. It's a small thing, barely noticeable amidst the tension still hanging heavily in the air between you two, but it's enough. Enough to remind you that the way you felt about him in Heaven, despite not being able to feel, was some kind of love. You don't know where that leaves you now or what you're going to do about it, but procrastination is another human skill you have come to love. Maybe you'll teach him that eventually.

"Lesson one," you start, pointing a finger at him in mock sternness. "Humans don't always speak so formally or in such grandiose phrases. ‘I am going to bring Namsu to justice' sounds archaic or like something a two-bit superhero would say."

His lips quirk upward into a more genuine smile this time. "I see," he replies, his voice deliberately casual. "So how would a human say it?"

"Well, for starters, you could use slang," you suggest. 

Jungkook’s brows furrow, an almost comical look of concentration on his face. “Slang,” he repeats, testing the word on his tongue.

“Yes, slang. Humans don’t always pronounce every single word, and they often come up with new, shorter words to replace certain phrases. You could say something like, 'Namsu’s gonna get what he deserves.'”

He nods, repeating your words slowly. “Namsu... is going to get what he deserves.”

You burst out laughing at his attempt. The prim, stoic angel fumbling his way through human speech? It is truly a sight to behold. 

"Laughing at my expense?" He feigns hurt, but there's a playful twinkle in his eyes that gives him away. "I guess that's lesson two then: humans are full of mirth and mockery."

"You're catching on quickly," you reply, still giggling slightly. “And yes, we like to laugh.”

He observes you a moment longer before finally allowing a soft chuckle to escape his lips. It's a deep, rich sound, but it feels tentative like he's not quite sure if he's doing it right.

“Laughing…" he murmurs, puzzling over the concept. “Such a peculiar expression of joy. But I like it." 

"As you should," you reply, a grin still playing across your face. "It's one of the best parts about being human."

Jungkook studies you for a moment, a smile tugging at his lips. "It suits you."

"Hm? What does?"

"Being human."

"I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.” 

"There is a certain spontaneity in humans. A vibrancy that angels lack." Jungkook’s gaze intensifies, his voice lowering to almost a whisper as he steps closer. "It makes you shine more brightly. Like the sun."

He's so close to you now that you can make out the subtle flecks of gold in his eyes. Your heart pounds in your chest as his words wash over you, warming you from the inside out. 

"That—" You clear your throat, trying to steady your shaking voice. "That sounds like a compliment."

"It is," he confirms, his gaze flickering down to your lips for a brief second before rising back to meet your eyes. "But it is also an observation. A fact."

You want to kiss him. The thought shocks you—you've never kissed someone before, let alone wanted to. It must be a human impulse. You can't help but imagine what it might feel like, the warmth of his lips against yours, his skin beneath your fingertips. You want to feel his hand on your cheek, his fingers tangling in your hair. But the danger of your respective positions impedes that thought, and you push it down. He's an angel. You're not. Him being your Astrom, the connection you had before your Fall, none of it matters now.

"Okay," you manage to squeak out, trying to ignore the electricity that seems to be sparking between your too-close bodies. "Human lesson number three: we're big on personal space."

"Oh?" Jungkook raises an eyebrow but doesn't step away. "Is this too close?"

You swallow hard. "A bit."

You swear you see a hint of mischievousness cross his features before he complies, stepping back just enough to leave a sliver of space between you. "Better?" 

"Now you're just teasing me," you retort, though there's a soft smile playing on your lips.

"Is that frowned upon?" 

"No," you admit. "In fact, it's quite human of you. Now, it’s time for a real challenge." He looks at you quizzically. "We have to convince Naomi to let you stay at the shelter." 

"Ah," he nods, understanding dawning on him. "I see. Another part of being human—negotiation."

"Exactly."

"Then lead the way." With a snap of his fingers, time resumes for the two of you and his wings have disappeared, making him appear fully human, and you head back to Lost Star.

"Naomi, please," you beg, giving your boss the best puppy eyes you can muster. "He needs a place to stay." 

Naomi crosses her arms over her chest and drags her gaze over Jungkook in a way that suggests she's scrutinizing every cell of his being, from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes. "There's no extra beds, hun. I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do." 

"Then he can stay with me!"

"You and him, sharing that tiny little twin bed?" She scoffs. "I'd like to see you try."

"We'll make it work!"

"It's still against the rules. One body to one bed." 

"I know it's not ideal, but just for a few days until we figure out something else," you urge her. "I wouldn't be asking you this if it wasn't important." 

Jungkook steps forward, interjecting smoothly, "I will respect the rules, and if you feel my presence is harmful or disruptive in any way, I will leave immediately." 

Naomi looks between you and Jungkook, and then she sighs, throwing her hands up in defeat. 

"Fine, but only for a little while. And you can't sleep in the main room. Take my office—the couch is a pull-out."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You pull her into a hug that she returns with a loving exasperation. 

"If there's even a whiff of trouble, both of you are gone, understand?" 

"Yes, ma'am! I wouldn't expect anything less." 

You grab Jungkook’s hand, dragging him along behind you as you lead him through the shelter. You pass through some of the busier living areas, and it's as if everyone can’t help but stare at him. You can only assume that, despite his wings being hidden, he still emits some sort of otherworldly aura that draws people in. Plus, by human standards, you suppose he's quite attractive. 

Jungkook seems unbothered by the attention, too focused on his surroundings and curiously taking in every detail.

"All these people live here?" he asks, incredulous. "This place is quite small." 

"Shh! Lesson four: lower your voice when you're talking about other people. The last thing we need is for someone to overhear and think you're judging them." 

"Apologies," Jungkook replies, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But my previous comment was not meant to be judgmental. I’m just… surprised. I thought humans usually lived in family units, but everyone here doesn't seem to be related." 

I’m. Doesn’t. He’s already using contractions—you must either be a good teacher or he’s a quick learner.

"You're right," you agree, and as you glance around, your heart aches a little. "Not everyone is fortunate enough to have that. This place is for those who have lost their families or homes." 

"Lost their homes? Like in a fire?" 

"Sometimes. Or maybe they didn't have enough money to pay their taxes." 

"I don't understand. Are there not enough homes for everyone? Why do you need to pay for such a basic need?"

You pause, the innocence of his question hitting you surprisingly hard. Of course he wouldn't understand the complexities of human society, of money and social class, of poverty and wealth disparity. You didn't either; at least, not until you Fell and were forced to figure it out. 

"That is a complicated issue," you admit, running a hand through your hair. "And not all humans agree on how to solve it. Some people think everyone should have a home, regardless of whether or not they can pay for it. Others think that if you can't afford it, you don't deserve one."

He looks so confused that you would be tempted to laugh if the tone of the conversation wasn't so serious. "That doesn't seem fair. In heaven, everyone has a place."

"Yes, well, Earth isn't heaven." There's a bitterness to your words that you hadn't intended. "And why our Creator chooses to leave things like this is a mystery to me. I mean, why not use some of His power to help?"

"The ways of the Almighty are impossible for us to understand," Jungkook quietly replies. "And it's not for us to question."

You snort in response, crossing your arms over your chest. "Well, aren't you a dutiful little angel?" 

Jungkook frowns, clearly not understanding your sarcasm. You sigh and shake your head.

"I'm sorry, Jungkook. It's just hard to wrap my head around sometimes. It's why my so-called degradation process started in the first place. Look at them—" You gesture to the people huddled together around the small television in the corner of the room, others sharing a meal or helping to care for the younger children. "They're good people. Why do they deserve to suffer?" 

Silence lingers between you for a moment. When he responds, he doesn’t answer your question. “Their heavenly rewards shall be plentiful as long as they keep to their faith.” 

“Does that make all of this okay?" You scoff. "Why are they being tested like this? In fact, why do they even need to believe at all to be given a home in the celestial realm? If a person is good-hearted, why isn’t that enough?”

Jungkook looks away from you. "I don't like these questions."

“You don’t like them? Or you don’t like how uncomfortable they make you feel?” 

Before he can even bother replying, you let go of his hand and open the door to Naomi's office, hurrying inside, eager to get some space. It's small and cramped, filled with stacks of paper, an old wooden desk strewn with an old computer and various office supplies, and a well-worn couch wedged against the wall.

"It's not much," you say. "But it's home for now, I guess."

"Home," Jungkook repeats softly, eyes scanning the room. He zeroes in the billboard behind Naomi's desk, filled with photos of smiling people, letters from those that she has helped. A smile tugs at his lips. "It's nice."

"You say that now. Just wait until you're trying to sleep and a couch spring is digging into your back." 

"I don't actually need to sleep," he reminds you. 

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "Right, I forgot. At least we won't be fighting for the blanket."

"I can pretend to," Jungkook offers, a spark of amusement in his eyes. "The idea of laying next to you is not unwelcome." 

You blush, taken aback. "W-what… you…" You take a deep breath. "No, that won't be necessary. And lesson five: don't flirt with people unless you mean it." 

"What is 'flirt’?”

"Flirting," you explain, trying to keep your blush under control, "is when people say or do things that suggest they're attracted to each other."

"I see." He pauses for just a moment before asking, "And how do I know if I'm attracted to someone?"

You sigh exasperatedly. Who knew teaching an angel to be human could be so tiring? 

"It's… well, it's kind of hard to explain. Especially because, as an angel, you don't really feel, at least not until the degradation process is nearing its end. But basically, it's like you have an inexplicable urge to be around this person a lot. You think about them often, their happiness makes you happy, and you want to be closer to them, maybe even touch them or hold them. Some people also might feel their heart beat faster, or a fluttering in their stomach." 

As you speak, Jungkook’s eyes never leave yours. They gleam with curiosity and understanding, drinking in every word you say. He seems to be processing the concept, and then he suddenly smiles. "So, like how I feel about you." 

Caught off-guard, you blink at him, speechless for a moment. And then the panic seeps in. 

"No, Jungkook, that's not correct," you insist, your words tumbling out in haste and denial. "You can't… we can't… you're an angel. I'm—" Fallen, you want to say. Human, you need to say. But you don't. 

"Why not?" he asks simply, his gaze steady. 

"Because!" You scramble for an explanation, desperate to avoid the truth of your own feelings stirring within you. "Because angels aren't supposed to feel that way."

"But I am no longer a pure angel," Jungkook counters. "The degradation process has begun. We discussed this already."

"But that doesn't matter! The whole reason we are doing this is so you can learn the skills you need to figure out a way to stop Namsu from forcing anyone else to Fall. Once you do, you'll be able to stay in Heaven because withering isn't real." Before he can say anything else, you open the door. "I'm gonna grab my stuff from my bed. I'll… I'll be back in a second." 

You slam the door behind you, leaving Jungkook alone in the room. It's a struggle to keep your composure as you head towards your bed. All you can think of is his words, the nonchalance with which he said them. You can feel your traitorous heart yearning for him, but you can't let it sway you. Whether it was an accident or not, his betrayal led to your Fall. Led to you being human. And he's an angel. No matter what you feel or what he thinks he feels, nothing can happen between you now. 

As you gather your meager belongings, the man you spoke with earlier approaches you with a sympathetic expression. "You alright, dear? You didn't get evicted, did you? I'll give Naomi a piece of mind if that's the case." 

"No, no," you quickly reassure him with a forced smile. "My… my friend needs a place to stay for awhile, and there's a one body to one bed policy. Naomi was kind enough to let us use the couch in her office for a few days until we figure something else out."

"Your friend, hm?" His eyes twinkle mischievously. "That fellow you walked in with? Can't say I blame you. He's quite a looker."

"It's not like that," you blush, hurriedly stuffing the rest of your belongings into your bag. "Anyway, don't worry. You'll still see me around." 

The man grins and gives you a friendly pat on the shoulder. "I'm glad to hear it. This place would be much drearier without you."

You bid him goodbye with a wave and make your way back to Naomi's office, feeling like you're walking towards the edge of a cliff. As you open the door, you find Jungkook staring out the window. The streetlight spills in through the gap in the curtains, bathing him in a soft glow. He turns as you enter. 

"Gathered your belongings?" he asks, his voice calm as if the previous conversation never happened. For a moment, you feel robbed—does he not understand the gravity of what he said? But you suppose it's better this way. Easier, at least. 

"Yes," you respond, a bit more brusquely than intended, setting your bag down on the floor. He's still staring at you, and you flush under his gaze. "I'm just going to set up the couch. And stop staring at me so intently. Humans get nervous about stuff like that."

"Another lesson," he remarks. "Understood." Jungkook watches you for a moment longer, then turns back to the window without a word. 

You get to work, unfolding the couch and covering it with your bedding. The silence between you is thick; you can feel the tension radiating off of Jungkook despite his apparent calm. Your heart pounds in your ears as you busy yourself with smoothing out some wrinkles in the sheets, a futile distraction. 

With a deep breath, you break the silence. "Alright, I'm done." 

Jungkook turns to look, and his eyes scan the makeshift bed you've prepared. "You've made it look inviting." 

"Should be okay for a few nights," you reply curtly, avoiding his gaze. "I'm, uh, gonna go ready for bed. I know you don't sleep, but feel free to sit at her desk or something. Make yourself comfortable." 

You exit the room and head down the hallway to the bathroom, leaving Jungkook alone with his thoughts. You can’t shake off his confession and your own rush to deny him. The truth of your feelings, or rather the depth of them, is something you aren't ready to face.

After getting ready for bed, you hesitantly return to Naomi's office. The door creaks upon opening, and Jungkook turns from where he's seated at Naomi's desk, looking up at you with his intense gaze.

"Goodnight," you say softly, trying not to let your voice betray how uneasy you feel.

Jungkook nods. "Goodnight," he replies, and his voice is gentle, concerned. You feel a pang of guilt at the distance you've created between the two of you but say nothing more, falling into a fitful sleep.

Sometime during the night, Jungkook figured out how to work Naomi's dinosaur of a computer and discovered the wonderful thing that is the internet. When you wake, he flocks to your side like an excited child, eager to share everything he has learned about humans, their emotions, and their behavior.

"Slow down, Jungkook," you chuckle, holding up a hand to halt his barrage of words. "I can't absorb all of that at once."

"Oh," he says, blinking in surprise. "I forget that human minds process information more slowly. Should I take this as another lesson?"

You shrug, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Sure, go for it."

Despite the tension last night and everything unsaid between the two of you, you find yourself falling into an easy rhythm with him. He's eager to learn and keen on understanding humanity—your humanity. Throughout the day, he continues his studies, glued to the computer screen as you complete your daily volunteering. He takes breaks every once in a while to come find you and ask questions.

"I've come across some terms that are perplexing," he says, leaning on the front desk as you catalog some information. "'Memes' and 'emojis' appear prominently in human interactions online, but I don’t really know what they are or how they’re used.”

You answer question after question until you realize you aren’t getting work done, so you have to come up with a plan B. Leading him back to Naomi’s office, you pull up Netflix on the computer. Jungkook watches the screen in fascination as you explain streaming and scroll through all the shows. 

"Let's try Friends," you say, clicking on the thumbnail. 

You leave him to watch as you finish up your tasks for the day, checking occasionally to see that he’s still engrossed in the show. Instead of constantly badgering you with questions, he writes them on a notepad you provided and waits until the end of the day to go over them with you. You answer each one as best you can, completely endeared by him. 

It's during one of the show's more depressing moments that he asks you about lying and betrayal, echoing the heavy undertones from the other day. His question takes you by surprise, his gaze focused intensely on your face as he waits for an answer.

"Lying is a tough one," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "Sometimes it's out of fear or selfishness. Sometimes people lie because they're trying to protect themselves."

"And betrayal?" Jungkook asks, his voice unnaturally calm.

You sigh, looking down at your hands. "Betrayal… it's when someone breaks your trust. It hurts, Jungkook. It hurts a lot."

He watches you for several long moments before finally speaking again. "I see," he says softly. "And that's what you thought I did to you?"

You swallow hard, feeling the knot in your chest tighten. "Jungkook," you start, but falter, not knowing how to put your feelings into words. 

"I did not mean to betray you," Jungkook continues. "I realize that my actions may have led you to believe that I deceived you, but it was not my intention. I'm sorry."

"I know." You believe him completely, but the wound is still so fresh that you can’t bring yourself to fully trust him again. Not yet. "I know you didn't mean to, but an apology doesn't fix everything. Consider it another lesson—trust, once broken, isn't so easily mended." 

Jungkook plays with the skin around his nails, an anxious habit he seems to be developing the more human-like he becomes. After a moment, he says, "I understand. I will try harder."

"Try harder doing what?" 

"To understand you better. To understand all humans more, their emotions and their beliefs. Maybe understanding what trust really is will teach me how to earn it back and make up for my mistakes." He's so earnest, so genuine, it almost brings tears to your eyes. "I think I want this as much as I want Namsu to answer for his crimes, if not more. And maybe that makes little sense, but maybe… maybe that's quite human of me." 

"And maybe that's progress," you say softly, looking at Jungkook with newfound hope. 

Your new normal is spending your days with your time split between performing your volunteering duties and teaching Jungkook all about human life. 

Christmas is only a week away now, and everyone around you seems to be buzzing with excitement. At this point, even the inside of the shelter has been decorated. The hallways are lined with lights and garlands, and the common areas even have a few trees set up with donated presents underneath. And, as much as you have dreaded the holiday, you can't deny that watching Jungkook experience it for the first time makes you hate it a little less.

Despite the initial stiffness that comes with being an angel unfamiliar with human life, he has quickly adapted to life at the shelter. He's kind and patient, and he’s always eager to help out where he can. The children, in particular, have taken a liking to him. He's become their favorite storyteller and always has the kids hanging onto his every word. 

One afternoon, you find him sitting with them, singing a song in an ancient celestial language. Everyone will assume it’s some gibberish language he’s made up for one of his stories, but it reminds you of home. His voice is beautiful, melodic and soothing, with a honeyed quality to it that would make anyone stop and listen. 

You stand in the doorway and watch, a smile tugging at your lips. He catches your eye and winks, the action so human and unexpected that it startles a laugh out of you. The children turn to see what's so funny, but you just shake your head, telling them to continue listening.

He comes to you when he finishes, smiling brightly. "Did you enjoy the song as well?" 

"I did," you reply truthfully, your heart fluttering at his attention. The feelings you have been trying to resist are becoming increasingly persistent the more time you spend with him. 

"That's good to hear.”

Suddenly, the kids clamor over to you both, giggling and pointing at something above you. You look up, and all the color drains from your face. Mistletoe. Who the hell put it here?

Jungkook looks between you and the mistletoe, obviously confused. “Why are you angry with that plant? It’s quite beautiful.”

“It’s a tradition, of sorts.” You say the word with disdain. “When a couple—not that we are one—walks under the mistletoe, they’re supposed to kiss.”

“Kiss?”

“We don’t have to, it’s stupid—” 

“No, let’s do it. It's a part of the human experience, right? Let's consider it another lesson."

Heat rushes to your face, and you stutter incoherently, looking around the room for a way to escape. But the children are watching expectantly, their eyes wide and eager. You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Alright… close your eyes," you tell him.

He listens obediently, his eyes fluttering closed. You had never noticed just how long and pretty his eyelashes were until now. Bracing yourself, you take a deep breath and lean in, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. When you pull back, you're greeted with a perplexed expression as he opens his eyes.

"That was nice," he says after a brief pause. "But that’s really what a kiss is? In the show, they did it a bit more like—"

He leans in to demonstrate what he means, his lips brushing against yours. It's soft and a bit awkward at first, but he quickly gets the hang of it, pulling you closer. Against your better judgment, you let him, allowing yourself to get lost in the moment. His lips are softer than you would have expected. His fingers lightly squeeze your waist, sending a jolt of electricity through your body, and it's not until you hear some of the children giggling that you are reminded you have an audience.

You quickly pull away, breathless and flushed with embarrassment. Jungkook, however, is grinning from ear to ear. "That," he says. "That is how they did it."  

"Again! Again!" one of the kids shouts, pulling at your arm. 

Jungkook chuckles at his enthusiasm. "I think we should get back to our story," he says, ruffling the boy’s hair lovingly. Then, turning back to you, he murmurs, "Thank you. For the lesson." 

You can barely speak coherently, but you manage to squeak out a small “you’re welcome” before rushing out of the room. How on Earth are you supposed to get your tasks done now? It's impossible to focus, your mind running in circles over his touch, the feel of his lips against yours.

When you return to Naomi’s office later that night, you’re relieved to see that Jungkook isn't there yet. You take a moment to sit on the edge of the bed and process your thoughts, your fingers tracing absentmindedly over your lips. A shiver passes through your body, a heat blooming in the pit of your stomach. You drop your hand, clenching it into a fist to stop the trembling.

"Nervous?" a voice asks, startling you out of your thoughts. Jungkook is standing in the doorway, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"I… no," you say. 

"Don't lie," he chides gently, sitting next to you on the bed. “I can tell when you do that now, you know.” He keeps to a respectful distance, but he turns his gaze to you. “I think I'm starting to really understand this human thing. Emotions and all that.”

"Is that so?" 

"Yes. They can be painful sometimes but also quite beautiful." 

You watch as he turns his gaze back towards the room, and silence stretches between you again. However, it’s different now from how it used to be; it's not awkward or unsettling, but comfortable. His vulnerability makes you want to be honest, to admit to the way you feel.  

Just as you’re about to say something, he continues, "But now it's time for me to learn about something else. I need to start strategizing for the coming confrontation."

"Right, Namsu," you say. You almost forgot about Jungkook’s original intentions. You clap your hands and get up, heading to the computer. "Alright. Let's research."

With Jungkook sufficiently prepared, the time soon comes for him to return to the celestial realm. However, he insists on leaving at night, so he can spend the day with you. He referred to it as "a date," and you practically tripped over your own feet, much to his enjoyment. He has certainly developed a penchant for teasing you.

You decide to take him into the heart of the city, so he can observe people in their natural element. There seem to be even more decorations than you remember, and people are bustling about to finish their last-minute shopping. However, you find yourself handling the chaos a lot better with Jungkook by your side. 

He hasn't let go of your hand since you stepped out of the shelter, his thumb lightly rubbing circles over your knuckles. Every once in a while, he squeezes it lightly, a silent assurance that he’s there. Whether he notices your nerves and is doing it to comfort you or is doing it because he wants to, you're grateful for it.

His doe eyes dart this way and that, eagerly drinking in the scenery. You try to explain what everything is—the office buildings, luxury apartments, and tiny shops buried in alleyways—but he's more interested in the people. It isn't until you stop in front of a Hindu temple that his attention is finally captured by a building. He cocks his head to the side, eyes wide in wonder as he takes in the sight of it. The temple is a beautiful structure, with elaborate carvings and statues lining its walls. 

"What is this place?" he asks, his voice full of awe.

"It's a place of worship for those that practice Hinduism," you explain.

His eyes sparkle with interest as he takes a step closer to the building. "Can we go inside?"

You glance at him, surprised by his request. But something in his earnest gaze breaks down your hesitation. "Sure," you say softly, leading him inside.

The inside of the temple is even more impressive than the outside. There are vibrant murals depicting different gods and an intoxicating scent of incense that fills the air. You gesture to the bell at the entrance. “Would you like to ring it?”

“What’s it for?” he asks, picking it up gently. 

“It’s supposed to be a way to announce your arrival to the deities.” 

Jungkook shakes it, the twinkling of the bell echoing in the large room. “Pretty,” he remarks as he places it back where it belongs.

He then follows your lead as you move towards the main shrine, your heart pounding in your chest as you realize what you're about to do. An angel of the Christian God at the altar of a different one? You're almost afraid you'll be struck down where you stand. 

He takes in the offerings with a small smile. "It's all quite beautiful," he remarks. "It's a shame that their gods aren't real." 

You know Jungkook means no harm and that it is what he has been conditioned to think for thousands of years, but you still bristle at his easy dismissal of their beliefs. “We’re real. Our God is real. Who’s to say the gods of their religion are not?”

"There is one God. That is what we were taught."

"Yes, it is. But we were also led to believe the withering was real. Just because it is said does not mean that it is true.”

Jungkook is silent for a moment, eyes still fixed on the offerings. Then he turns to you. "You truly believe that?" 

"I don't know," you confess, feeling a little exposed. “I don't know what I believe anymore. I'm just… questioning. It's complicated." 

"You have given me a lot to think about," he admits, his tone quiet. “For all I know, you might be right. I shouldn't have dismissed their beliefs so easily. I apologize.”

You stare at him in surprise; you hadn't expected him to back down so easily. "It's okay," you reassure him. "I'd say being open-minded is another lesson, but unfortunately, not all humans are."

You continue to walk around the city, introducing Jungkook to as many things as possible. Everything he does fills you with affection, whether it be him trying hot dogs from a street vendor and declaring them divine, or joining some kids who were playing soccer in a park. At one point, he kicks the ball so hard that it lands in a tree branch, and you can’t help but laugh as he clumsily climbs up to retrieve it.

When night falls, you end up at the pier, watching the shimmering water beneath the stars. Jungkook is oddly quiet, looking out at the horizon with a distant expression. The silence isn't uncomfortable, but it does leave you feeling a little uneasy. You reach for his hand, and he startles slightly before turning to look at you. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" you ask.

He smiles slightly. “I’m guessing that’s some sort of human expression, and you’re not actually going to give me a penny.”

“You would be correct.”

“I’m thinking about a lot of things.” He exhales as if letting out a breath he has been holding. "You, for one. But I'm always thinking of you so that much isn't a surprise." You blush and swat at his arm. "But I’m also thinking about my beliefs."

"What about them?"

He takes a moment to get his thoughts in order, grabbing your hand more tightly as if you're his anchor in a stormy sea. He answers your question with another. "What if everything we have been taught is wrong? I mean, we have never spoken with the Almighty directly. Angels, apostles, they can all take His words and twist them for their own purposes. We've seen it in action with Namsu, and with how the Bible has been changed to promote hatred." 

You're taken aback by his frankness, the depth of his vulnerability. You have no answers for him, but you can relate to him and offer what little understanding you have come to have.

"So maybe it is wrong, and things have gotten taken out of context or changed as the years have gone on. Like you said, we cannot talk to Him, so we can’t ask for the truth. Or, maybe it is all part of a bigger plan, and unwavering faith is the answer.” You pause, steeling your resolve, before continuing, “But it isn’t for me. I can’t live that way. But how you decide to live is your choice. Who you are is your choice. I cannot decide that for you, and neither can He.” 

He frowns. "I don't know how to make that choice. Who even am I? What am I without my purpose? Without Him?"

"Perhaps we're not defined by a single purpose we've been given," you answer quietly. "Maybe we're more than that."

"More than our purpose?" 

"Yeah," you say, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "Maybe we don't need a purpose. Maybe it's okay to just exist." 

Jungkook’s gaze turns thoughtful, considering your words as if they are the most precious thing in the world. "Just exist," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. After a moment, he stands up, looking at you with a newfound fire blazing in his eyes. "I need to return. I will talk to some of my confidants, gather information, and then confront Namsu." 

You knew it was coming, but your stomach still drops. You're scared for him, for what will happen when he leaves. But you see the determination in his eyes, the steel in his gaze. You know better than to try and stop him now.

"You'll be careful, right?" you ask, your voice shaking slightly.

"I will."

He pulls you up and envelops you in his arms. His embrace is comforting, protective, and for a brief moment, it makes you forget about all your worries.

"Promise me," you whisper into his chest. 

"I promise," he says, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back. He pulls away after a moment, but not before brushing his lips against your temple. "I will return. For you."

His words weigh heavy in the air as he pulls away fully, breaking the physical contact between you two. His gaze lingers on you for another moment before he turns away and disappears into the night. You're left standing on the pier alone, the cold wind making you shiver. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you head back to Lost Star, where you have nothing to do but wait.

It’s Christmas Eve before you know it. The holiday you have been dreading feels even worse with Jungkook’s absence, and frankly, you don’t know how to handle it. You plaster a smile on your face for the sake of the children, playing along with their excitement over what presents they are going to get and stories of Santa Claus. But every time someone brings Jungkook up, wondering where he is, you feel tempted to run to Naomi’s office and hide.

Speaking of Naomi, she has been keeping a close watch over you, mothering you as per usual. You know she can tell that something has happened. Once you step away from the festivities to do some of your work, she pulls you aside.

“Honey, what’s going on? These days you seem so out of it; you’re just flitting around room to room, acting like a ghost.” When you don’t answer, she frowns. “It’s because of that boy, isn’t it?”

"He… he needed to go home. He had some things he needed to figure out," you manage to say. It's not a lie, just an oversimplification of the truth.

She wraps an arm around you. "He's going to come back. I saw the way he looked at you, and you at him. And if he doesn't, well, screw him."

"Naomi!" 

"Sorry, sorry. He was sweet and all, but you're my girl. I'll always have your back." Naomi declares, patting you on the back. 

You accept her comfort, fighting back your tears. If only she knew your fear didn’t revolve around him coming back—of course, part of you is scared that something will happen to him, but the rational part of your brain, the part that knows his strength, has no doubts he'll be alright. In actuality, your biggest fear is that he won't be able to stay with you, and you’ll have to go through the pain of losing him all over again.

He's an angel. You're human. There's no future there. Your traitorous heart made you fall harder and harder for him without sparing that a moment's thought, and now you have to will yourself to accept that you'll always be in love with someone you cannot have.

The rest of the day passes in a blur, nothing but forced cheer and mindless chatter. Naomi sticks by your side as much as she can, making sure to redirect everyone who asks you questions about Jungkook. You're grateful for her presence, her constant support, and now more than ever, you realize how lucky you truly are to have her in your life.

As soon as everyone is in bed and your tasks for the day are done, you seek out the solitude of the pier once again. You've been coming here daily since he left. A sentimental thing, mostly, since it was the last place you saw him. But you also hope each night will be the night he returns.

The wind is strong tonight, the kind that chills you down to your bones, and the stars are hidden behind the clouds. You wrap your scarf more tightly around yourself, gazing aimlessly at the turbulent water. Suddenly, there's a bright light and a shrill noise. You aren't scared this time, and it's not nearly as overwhelming as it was. He must have tempered it somehow, made it less painful for you.

The light fades, leaving behind a figure that is unmistakably Jungkook. The sight of him fills you with such relief and happiness that you rush forward, throwing your arms around him. He envelops you in his arms, his wings folding around you, a sigh of contentment escaping his lips as he buries his face in your hair.

"I missed you very much," he says, breathing deeply.

"I missed you too," you whisper, tears prickling at your eyes. "I knew you'd come back."

"I said I would, didn't I?" he teases, pulling away just enough to look at you. "And I have news."

"What happened?" 

You stay locked in his embrace as he speaks, bringing one of your hands to his face to stroke his cheek, to follow the line of his jaw with your fingers. He lets you, as eager to feel your touch as you are to feel his.

"I confronted Namsu," he begins. "But I wasn't alone. There were other angels who had started the 'degradation' process, those who were too fearful of retribution to say anything. I told them everything, and we confronted the other Thrones about Namsu and everything he had done. They didn’t approve of his actions, and they punished him for it." 

"Really?" You ask, eyes wide with surprise. "Just like that? They believed you?"

A soft laugh bubbles up from him. "It wasn't quite that simple. There was plenty of arguing, plenty of disbelief. I’d never seen anything like it. But in the end, Namsu was banished from the celestial realm."

Relief washes over you at his words, the tension you hadn't even realized you were carrying leaving your body. "That's incredible.” 

Jungkook shrugs slightly, but there’s an unmistakable look of pride in his eyes. "I’m just glad he has gotten what he deserves. Now you have justice." He places a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"And what about the others? The ones who have started to degrade?" Your heart clenches at the thought of them being punished for something beyond their control.

"They're safe," Jungkook assures you quickly. "The Thrones have promised to take care of it all. They're going to convene with Him, to see if the Heavenly teachings can be altered. Things are changing up there; I think it's all going to be alright." 

You're overwhelmed with emotion, both relief and dread tugging at you simultaneously. It is good to know that things will be changing, but what is done to you has been done. And now, Jungkook has no reason to stay with you. You take a step back from him. 

"What about you?" you ask quietly, barely daring to meet his gaze.

"What about me?" 

"You have no reason to stay anymore. You can return to your normal duties. You did what was right, and everything is fixed."

"I did what was right, yes, and I'm sure things will be much better from now on," Jungkook agrees. But he steps forward, taking your hands in his and looking deep into your eyes. "But now, I need to do what's right for me." 

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, my star." Your heart stutters at the endearment. "I'm not going anywhere. I want to be with you."

"But… you can only do that if you're—"

"Human, yes," he interrupts. 

"Jungkook! You can't! You can't Fall for me," you half-shout, half-whisper. "You're a good angel, you—"

"Y/N." The force behind his voice stops you. "Even before you showed me the beauty of being human, before I knew how to feel, before I even knew what love was, I would have done anything for you.” His confession takes your breath away, and you wobble on your feet, moving a few steps back from him in your shock. “If you had simply asked it of me, I would have stood with you in the fires of hell for all eternity and still been grateful for each moment spent at your side." 

The tears you were holding back begin to fall. "You would have?" 

“I would. I can. I will.” He moves closer to you with each beat between words until he stands directly in front of you, only a hair's breadth away. Gently, hesitantly—as if for the first time—he takes your hand and presses it to his chest right above where a human heart would be. “Just say the words, and I will fall for you. I will forsake myself and turn my back on Heaven. The pain of losing my wings will be inconsequential compared to the pain of having to be without you.”

"W-what words?"

He smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges. "You know what I want to hear. Be honest. Even better, be selfish, like a human. Tell me what you really want, and I will oblige."

You hesitate. You have been fighting your feelings this entire time, so sure of the fact that Jungkook would choose to continue his life as an angel. You never wanted him to Fall for you, to be torn away from the life he has always known the way you were. But he deserves to make the choice himself. If he wants your honesty, you will give it to him. 

"Speak, Y/N," Jungkook urges, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I want…" You begin slowly, your voice barely a whisper. "I want you. I want you to stay with me." He grins, relief clear in his eyes. "Then I will."

"But you shouldn't have to Fall!" 

"Fall or not, it won't change anything," he assures you. "I chose this path before even knowing there was a choice. I chose you from the second we were created.”

"Even if that means giving up everything?" you ask.

Jungkook’s expression softens. He reaches up and tucks a wayward lock of hair behind your ear. "Does it seem like I’m giving up everything?" he muses aloud, his eyes never leaving yours. "Because from where I stand, it seems like I’m gaining everything.”

"Smooth-talker,” you laugh, a tear slipping down your cheek. He brushes it off with his thumb, his gaze softening even further.

For a moment, you just stand there, looking at each other. It's quiet except for your breathing and the sound of waves crashing against the pier. You have been so afraid of asking him to make this choice, and yet he seems so certain about it, as if it was what he wanted all along.

"Are you sure about this?" you ask him one more time, seeking reassurance. "Once done, there's no going back."

His answer is immediate, "I've never been more sure about anything in my life."

"This will change everything," you say again.

"I know," he replies simply. 

"Come find me when it's over," you whisper, placing a gentle kiss to his lips. "I'll be at the shelter." 

As you go to leave, you can't help but glance back over your shoulder at Jungkook, taking in the appearance of him and his wings one last time. He's still standing there, watching you go with love evident in his gaze. It quells some of your worries. And then you blink, and he’s gone.

The hours that creep by feel like days. You busy yourself with meaningless tasks, cleaning the office, flipping through an old book left on the table, scrolling TikTok. None of it does anything to dull your anxiety, and you're weighing the pros and cons of tearing your hair out before you finally hear a knock on the door. You shoot up to your feet, heart pounding in your chest. Slowly, you open the door, and there he stands. "I'm here," he says simply. "As I promised."

You pull him into a hug once again, burying your head into his chest. You can hear the beat of his human heart and, unable to stop yourself, you burst into tears. You know the pain he just went through, can remember experiencing it yourself like it was yesterday, and you can hardly believe he went through something so awful to be with you. 

"I'm sorry," you whisper, tightening your hold on him. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he coos, gently stroking your hair. "This was my choice."

You swallow hard and pull back from him so you can look into his eyes, searching for any sign of regret. You find none.

"Are you okay?" You ask anyway, your heart aching at the thought of what he has given up.

"I am," he assures, his voice full of conviction. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss against your lips, and when he pulls away, he's smiling. "I wondered if doing that would feel different now that I'm fully human." 

"And does it?" you ask, smiling back up at him.

"Yes," he admits, tracing an invisible line down your cheek, your neck, your collarbone. You shiver at his touch. "It feels more real. Stronger somehow. It's like you're the break of dawn after a long night." 

Your breath catches in your throat. "Being human certainly hasn't changed the fact that you have a way with words." 

"Only when it comes to you," he replies, his fingers never ceasing their journey across your skin. They make their way back to your waist, where he plays with the hem of your shirt. "There's one lesson we never covered, you know." 

"A-and what would that be?" you squeak as his fingers caress the smooth skin of your stomach.

His voice drops lower, and he tugs you closer by your belt loops. "Human intimacy."

You flush at his audacity but don't pull away. "And what would be the best way for me to teach you about that?" 

"Hm…" He leans down so that his lips hover over yours, and you can feel his warm breath with each word he speaks. "I think I would respond well to some hands-on practice."

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears as his lips press against yours in a slow, searing kiss that turns your knees to jelly. He takes his time exploring your mouth, his lips moving delicately against yours. His hands are warm on your skin, trailing up and down your back as he pulls you closer. 

"Then I suppose we should get started," you manage to whisper when you finally break apart, breathless.

Jungkook moves into the room, closing the door behind him, and sits down on the edge of the pull-out bed. He stares up at you, his once-innocent doe eyes now dark and hooded with desire. You float towards him as if being pulled by a magnet, and he pulls you down so that you’re straddling his lap. Your hands rest on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your touch. 

"I think I should warn you," he says, hands sliding down to rest right above the curve of your ass, "I might be a slow learner."

You roll your eyes, a short, playful chuckle escaping from your lips. "I think I can handle that."

The room fills with an easy silence as you continue to explore each other, experiencing sensations new for the both of you. His hands trace every curve and dip of your body, his touch curious yet surprisingly confident. Your fingers trace the lines of his face, his jaw, his chest, and then find their way under his shirt to the newly-formed scars on his back. They are rough against your fingertips, a stark contrast to the rest of his smooth skin. 

"You aren't in pain?” 

“No,” he assures you, his hands sliding to a similar position on your own back. "Were you for long after?"

"No, but I'm still worried," you smile sheepishly.

He laughs and kisses your nose. "Don't be. Don't feel like you have to be gentle with me. I won't break." 

You laugh in return, your eyes twinkling with delight and a touch of mischief. "Is that a challenge, Jungkook?" 

He hums in response, his gaze never leaving yours. "Maybe." 

His teasing reply only spurs you on. Rising to the bait, you lean in to kiss him, this time with a boldness that leaves him momentarily stunned. But he recovers quickly, matching your fervor and deepening the kiss. Your hands weave into his hair, pulling him closer, and his hips jut up against you almost involuntarily. You moan at the sensation, and he stills.

"What was that?" he asks.

"That," you breathe out, "is what human intimacy sounds like." 

"I want to hear it again." 

His lips find yours again and this time it's deep and demanding, all teeth and tongue and the promise of what’s to come. His hands grab your waist, forcing you to grind down against him as he once again lifts his hips up to meet your core. Another moan escapes your lips, the sound quickly swallowed by his hungry mouth. He tugs at the hem of your shirt, his fingertips skimming against the skin of your lower back. Eagerly, you lift your arms, and he pulls it off over your head.

"Jungkook…" you whimper, clutching at his shoulders. He responds by nuzzling into your neck, his hot breath making you shiver with pleasure. 

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against the curve of your neck, his lips tracing the column of your throat, down to your chest. 

He places a gentle kiss above each breast before descending lower still, sucking one into his mouth. His lips and tongue move expertly, drawing gasps from you as your nerves ignite with pleasure. His hands are firm on your waist, holding you securely against him as he devotes himself entirely to exploring the new terrain, and you grind against him wantonly. You can feel that your panties are soaked with the proof of your desire. 

"Jungkook," you say again, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. His name is a plea, a prayer. "I need more."

He pulls back, his lips swollen from his ministrations. "And so I'll give it to you." 

You eagerly crawl off of him, shimmying out of your jeans, before settling with your back against the pillows. You grab at the air, beckoning him closer. He does the same, now only in his boxers, and slots himself on top of you, his bare skin against yours intensifying the burning desire coursing through your veins. His hard length presses against your core, and you whine.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he admits in a low voice, his hot breath fanning against your face as his eyes search yours for assurance.

You reach up, caressing his cheek. "It's okay," you soothe him, your hands then trailing down his back to rest on his hips, encouraging him closer. "We'll figure it out together."

His lips find your neck as his hands explore every inch of you, his rough fingers exploring the softness of your flesh. He slides one down over your stomach and lower still, feather-light touches teasing you until you're gasping beneath him. His fingers trace the edge of your panties before sliding the fabric down. You lift your hips, aiding him in removing the last barrier between you. He tosses them aside before returning his attention to you, his fingers skimming along your trembling thighs. His fingers move gradually, inching steadily upward until he's touching you where you're most sensitive. You let out a soft gasp, gripping the sheets.

"Is this okay?" he asks. You nod eagerly, unable to get the words out, and he chuckles, placing a gentle kiss at the base of your throat. "Good."

Always the over-achiever, he slides down your body until his face is level with your core, focusing intently on his work. His fingers move with a slow, calculated rhythm that quickly has you dripping for him. Eventually, he slips one of his fingers inside of you. Your breath hitches, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support.

"Am I doing this right?" he asks, uncertainty creeping into his voice as he looks up at you from between your thighs. 

"You must be," you gasp out, encouraging him with a roll of your hips. "Don't stop."

Grinning, he adds a second finger, working you open until you're panting and squirming beneath him. Your back arches off the bed as his fingers work their magic, curling in just the right way that has you seeing stars. Praise tumbles from your lips, but you're sure that it just sounds like nonsense, your thoughts too muddled to form coherent words. 

"You're so wet," he murmurs in a low, gravelly voice that only adds fuel to your desire. 

Without warning, he lowers his mouth to your core, his lips and tongue joining his exploring fingers. The sensation is electric; your breath hitches, and an animalistic moan escapes you. He takes it as a sign of encouragement, doubling his efforts. Your fingers find their way to his hair, threading into the dark strands, seeking purchase. You can't help but pull, and he moans against you, the vibrations only furthering your pleasure. 

"Jungkook," you warn, "I'm—" 

A coil of white heat tightens within you before snapping. His name slips from your lips as you climax, sparks dancing behind your eyelids as he continues to pleasure you, eagerly lapping up your release. He doesn't stop, not until you physically pull him away from you, body shaking with overstimulation. He climbs back up your body, his lips finding yours in a gentle kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. 

His pupils are blown out with desire, his hair slicked back with sweat, and he's so attractive that just the sight of him has you clenching your thighs together. 

You nod, cupping his face in your hands. "More than okay," you assure him. "That was amazing. Now," you slide your fingers down his chest, sliding over the waistband of his boxers. "Let's see what we can do about you."

You hook your thumbs around the fabric and pull them downwards, and he does the rest of the work, kicking them off. You reach down, your fingers tentatively wrapping around his cock. He gasps, his head falling forward against your chest as you begin to stroke him with a slow, measured rhythm. 

He nearly whines, his grip tightening on your hips. "That feels… I can't…" His words dissolve into soft, broken moans as you continue to work him over.

Suddenly overtaken with need, you stop, pulling him in for another searing kiss. "I need you inside of me, Jungkook," you gasp against his lips, "Please." 

Your hand guides him back to your core, and his breath hitches. “Are you ready?”

Nodding, you lift your hips to meet him. He pushes into you carefully, slowly, each inch an intense sensation for both of you. Your body clenches around him as if welcoming him home, a strangled moan escaping your lips. One of his hands clasps yours, bringing it to rest on the side of your head while he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his heavy breaths fanning your skin. He's shaking against you, and you feel just as overwhelmed. 

You squeeze the hand that's holding yours, urging him on. "You're okay," you whisper, "I'm okay. Move."

He nods, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back inside of you. Your body jolts at the sensation, gasping his name over and over. 

"You feel incredible," he breathes out, the statement more for himself than for you. “So perfect.” Your fingers thread through his hair once more, pulling him down to meet your lips.

His hips set a steady rhythm, filling the room with soft sounds of skin on skin and heavy panting. He lets out a low groan as he adjusts his angle, hitting a spot inside of you that has you crying out and grabbing at him wherever you can reach. You wrap your legs around his waist, throwing your head back against the pillows.

"That's it," you whine, "Right there. It feels so good—" 

Your words cut off into a choked moan as he thrusts into you at that exact spot again and again, his movements becoming more erratic. He's close—you can tell by the way his body tenses and how he gasps desperately into your mouth. 

"I'm… I'm—" he stammers out, breath hitching between each word.

"I know," you gasp out, meeting him thrust for thrust. "Me too." 

You pull him as close as possible, holding him to you as you both chase your release. Your eyes squeeze shut, and your nails dig into his skin as a wave of pleasure crashes over you, even more intense than the last. You moan his name as you come, shuddering beneath him. He moans into your neck as he follows you over the edge, his hips bucking uncontrollably as he buries himself deep inside you. 

He collapses on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his heavy breathing tickling your skin. He stays there, nestled inside of you, his heart pounding against your chest, matching the rapid rhythm of your own. You feel dizzy, your senses overwhelmed by him—his scent, his taste, the feel of him on top of you and within you. You caress his back, slowly tracing the contours of his scars with gentle strokes, the action soothing for both of you. 

Eventually, he shifts, carefully pulling himself out of you and collapsing onto his back next to you. His hand searches blindly for yours, lacing your fingers together once he finds it. He brings your joined hands up to his lips and places a soft kiss on your knuckles.

"Is… are you…" He lifts his head to meet your eyes, unable to form words. 

"I'm more than okay," you assure him softly, brushing a stray lock of hair off his forehead.

"Good," he whispers, a contented sigh escaping him. 

His eyes roam over your face once more before closing, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. Together, you lay there under the sheets, and the silence goes on for so long that you almost think he fell asleep. 

Then suddenly, you hear him say, voice barely above a whisper, "I love you." You look over to see him staring up at you with adoration in his gaze and a soft smile on his lips. "I know I don't have to say it since surely there can be no doubt that everything I have done for you is out of love. But I want to say it anyway. I want to continue saying it for the rest of my life. I have loved you since before I even had the capacity to feel it, and I will continue to love you until time ceases to exist."

His confession leaves you breathless, and you can do little but turn on your side, grab his face, and place a gentle kiss on his lips. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks.

"I love you too, Jungkook," you whisper against his lips, "So very, very much." 

He lets out an audible sigh of relief as if he had been holding his breath, waiting for your response. His free hand reaches out to caress your cheek, wiping away a tear that had managed to escape. "I knew you would say so, but I'm happy to hear it all the same."

The two of you get ready for bed, and, for the first time since commandeering Naomi’s office, you fall asleep together in each other's arms.

The day you have been dreading has arrived—Christmas. Despite your initial hatred, however, you find yourself actually participating in the festivities around the shelter. Just like as many others do, you aren't going to consider it a holy day. You're going to use it as an excuse to be happy and spend time with your loved ones. 

You join the group of children who sit by the pile of gifts, their excitement palpable as they eagerly wait for Naomi to declare it time to open them. Small hands tug at Jungkook’s sleeve, pulling him down to their level as they bombard him with questions about where he's been. He settles down amongst them, answering their questions as honestly as he can. His eyes meet yours over the sea of eager faces, and he stretches out a hand towards you, inviting you to join him. You sit right on his lap, making some of the kids giggle.

"Alright, everyone, it's time!" Naomi's voice echoes through the shelter, immediately quieting the children down. 

As each name is called out and the kids scramble to collect their gifts, you can't help but smile. The pure delight on their faces is infectious. Noticing your happiness, Jungkook pulls you back so that you’re leaning against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist. 

He places a gentle kiss on your neck, murmuring, "You seem happy."

"I am," you say, placing your hands over his. "The holidays aren't so bad with you around."

"I'm glad." He turns your head so he can place a quick kiss on your lips, one that is light and soft and sweet, full of love. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Jungkook," you echo, smiling brightly. 

Later, Naomi corners the two of you, pulling you aside. "I've been thinking about what to give you," she says. "I—"

"Naomi, you don't have to give me anything!"

"Don't interrupt me," she scolds, but there's no bite behind it. "Like I was saying, I was thinking it over, and I realized that the best gift I could offer is not anything material. From tomorrow on, you will officially be a supervisor. A paid supervisor." 

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you glance at Jungkook, who is beaming at you with pride. You turn back to Naomi, stuttering out a response.

"B-but Naomi, I couldn't possibly—"

"Yes, you can," she interrupts, her tone firm. "From the day you arrived here, you have been working as hard as any of us. You deserve this." Before you can argue any further, she thrusts a small envelope into your hands. "Consider it an early Christmas gift and your first paycheck. And my office? It's yours."

"Thank you, Naomi," you manage, your voice choked with emotion. You pull her into a hug, hoping it can express everything you don't know how to say. 

She pats your back, chuckling. "If anything, it's an excuse for me to take some time off. I'm getting old and need to start sharing the burden. Don't expect it to be a walk in the park!"

You pull away, wiping a stray tear from your eye. "Of course not. I'm ready to be worked to the bone, ma'am." 

"That's what I like to hear," she comments, her voice carrying an undertone of pride. She turns to Jungkook, her gaze soft but words sharp. "Take care of her, will you?"

"Always," he replies without a moment's hesitation, which earns him a small nod from Naomi.

Eventually, the celebrations wind down and people start to retreat to their beds until only you and Jungkook remain. Instead of doing the same, you decide to return to the pier and watch the water for a bit, not ready for the day to end. The two of you walk in comfortable silence, hands linked tightly as if promising not to let go. 

Sitting at the edge of the pier, Jungkook wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. His body heat seeps into your skin, fighting away the cold, and you rest your head on his chest, letting his strong, steady heartbeat lull you into contentment. 

"Who would've thought we would end up here?" you reflect, staring out at the ocean. 

Jungkook laughs softly, his chest rumbling beneath your ear. "I don't think either of us could have predicted this."

"I never thought I would be happy that any of this happened, but I am. Are you?"

His gaze softens as he takes in the sight of you. "More than I could possibly put into words," he admits. 

"Will you miss it, though? Heaven?"

"I thought I would," he says, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "But Earth has its own kind of heaven. You're here. Naomi is here. The children are here. I have so much more yet to discover, to experience." His gaze returns to you, eyes soft and full of love. "How could I miss anything when I have all of this?”

Your heart swells at his words, his declaration warming you like nothing else could. You reach up to cup his face, your fingers lightly brushing his lips. His eyes flutter shut for a moment at your touch before opening again to hold your gaze.

"You're right," you whisper, your voice barely carrying over the sound of the waves. "This is our heaven. Here, with each other. And who knows, maybe we'll end up back there someday."

"You think?" Jungkook asks, raising an eyebrow. "I must say, I'm a little surprised hearing that from you. I didn't think you had faith anymore or wanted it for that matter."

You shrug. "Honestly, I don't know. I don't have my original beliefs anymore, that's for sure, but I don't resent it all like I once did, either. I think I've just found a new kind of faith. A faith in myself, in people, in goodness, and in love. There are so many different kinds of religions out there, and at their core, they're all about trying to understand the world around us, trying to find ways to cope and move forward. I think that's what I'm doing now, in my own way."

"That's beautiful," Jungkook says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Somehow both simple and complex. Just like life itself, I suppose."

"And what about you, Jungkook?” you ask, pecking him on the lips. How will you move forward?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure, either. But I think I'm happy to find out, as long as it's with you." 

You hold each other close, each hoping your touch can express what no words could possibly convey. Love. Gratitude. Hope. The promise of a shared journey. What more could you possibly ask for?

TAGLIST: @yessa-vie

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook angst #jeon jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #bts au #jungkook au #my fic #collab

[carmyboobear]

ALEXITHYMIA CH 1: onions, weed, and pizza

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 2 ch 3 ch 4

Summary: Carmy can’t put into words how he feels about his roommate. It’s only been a couple months, but here he is looking forward to going home and sharing a smoke with them. That’s all it is, though. There are no underlying feelings, none at all, even if everyone around him has something to say about it. 

Or: Carmy is repressed as ever, but through the combined power of vulnerability, weed, and the horny, Carmy too can find love. 

Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, cursing, yearning, repression, SO MUCH REPRESSION, angst, mental illness, canon-typical imagery, unresolved tension, for now, virgin carmy, use of weed, alcohol, all that good stuff, carmy character study, eventual smut, gender neutral reader, nonbinary reader, up to you

A/N: HI I've never posted fic on tumblr before but i deeply love Carmy...please enjoy!!!

CHAPTER 1: onions, weed, and pizza

It always stays the same. 

This is the thought that Carmy has when he wakes up, gasping for a chance to just catch his breath and keep it. It’s a kitchen knife twisting like a lock and key in his chest. It fits just right, as all awful and familiar things seem to do.

No matter how many times he wakes up, he’s never anywhere different. That drowning feeling suffocates him in his sleep and follows dutifully into his waking hours. He can’t remember when that haunting started, only that it’s always been with him.

He hates feeling like a drifter, like he’s lost (even though he is both of those things), so he picks a goal and runs after it like a monster. He’s an animal, hunting and working and bleeding until he fucking makes it work , because that’s who he is, and that’s who he’s always been. He can’t not make it work. Because if he can’t do it, then…then what was it all for? 

What is he even for?

These are the thrilling thoughts that serve as the background music to the swirl of his cheap morning coffee, oils rotating in a slow circle. He thinks about getting a nicer brand next time he goes grocery shopping. But that would mean change. That would mean less money on the restaurant, too.

Yeah, so it tastes like shit, but it doesn’t matter. Even if it mattered once. Less and less matters to him these days.

Mornings in Chicago are not technically quiet by definition, but when compared to other times of day, they are. Especially when most of his day is spent in the kitchen wringing out his throat. It isn’t bad to have a quiet morning by normal means, but for him…

The quiet is dangerous.

It’s not silent, but it’s not enough. There’s distant beeping of impatient cars. The whirring sound of the old AC unit. He tries to listen to them, but his rampant thoughts nonetheless rise above them all, buzzing everywhere with nowhere to land. 

A brief analysis of his thoughts reads as such:

Beef sandwiches eggs flour shipment Michael cigarettes smoking sore throat late shipment so tired not sleeping Michael Sugar Mom coffee tastes bad it’s too early my stomach hurts Michael fucking hates you Michael Michael Michael Michael Michael you piece of shit you fucking ki—

“Mornin’, Carmy.”

Until his roommate wakes up, that is. 

When he moved back to Chicago, there was a fact, plain, simple, and unchanging. He wasn’t gonna make rent on his own, not with the restaurant. Not with everything. So maybe he didn’t need to deal with a new roommate, but it’s not like there was a choice. It seemed bearable, survivable enough.

He keeps waiting for the thing that’ll make him grit his teeth, make him regret not getting a place on his own, but it never comes. They’re easy to live with. It’s so easy, as a matter of fact, that it feels strange. The difficulty that he was so certainly expecting just isn’t there. 

If anything, he looks forward to being at home. For someone who lives at work, that feeling is completely foreign.  

They don’t steal his food (not that there’s much). Instead, they cook him food, leaving heated leftovers on the stove on late nights. In Carmy’s case, that’s most nights. They don’t bring over obnoxious company and keep him up with the noise. Rather, he basks in their company, and they make a ruckus between their laughter. Their presence doesn’t stifle him, it soothes him, just like the candle they leave lit in the kitchen for him when he comes home.  They’re not just easy to live with, they’re good to live with, and that’s…

That’s been a hard adjustment, Carmy would say. It’s too much of a good thing that he’s not sure what to do with himself.

On those late nights, they’re usually fast asleep by the time he’s home. But as he sits and eats the leftovers they’ve kept for him, he wants to say something. Something about how a long time ago, there was once a Carmy who cooked for himself, who looked after himself, but that he’s not that Carmy anymore. That it doesn’t matter that he’s a five star chef and they’re just some guy in the kitchen, as they would put it, because he’s…

He’s grateful. Incredibly so.

And yet, the words will never come out. He feels the words tingling on his lips, but it feels scary. He can thank them as many times as he likes (which he does) but it will never capture what he’s really trying to say when he says thank you . There’s too many words, and it just can’t…it just can’t—

It always stays the same. 

“You’re up early,” he says to them when they enter the room. It’s a rare sight to see them up at the early hours he frequents. He sees the morning drowsiness in their mussed hair and big t-shirt stained with hair dye. They yawn back at him, nose scrunching.

Cute , he thinks, and he stamps it down as soon as it flashes through his mind. 

“Randomly woke up.” They fall into the empty seat next to him on the couch, and they rub at the crust around their eyes. “About to head off to work?”

“Unfortunately, yeah,” he replies. There’s a certain sentiment that lies on the tip of his tongue, something about how he wishes he could have a slow morning with them instead. Of course, he can’t voice it. He can’t even come close.

“The plague of the working man,” they sigh. “Well, I got an idea that might cheer you up.”

“...And that would be?”

“Let me paint you a beautiful picture,” they start. They clear their throat and gesture widely with their hands. He notices their chipped nail polish, the writing callus on their middle finger. “Imagine this—you come home from work, tired. You need to relax —something you need to do more often,” they add with a pointed look.  No comment. “And I have dinner ready. Some sort of soup, pasta maybe. I need to check the fridge.” They pause with a yawn. “And before we eat, we smoke a big, fat joint.”

He snorts as they finish, unable to hold back a laugh. 

“That’s a nice picture,” he admits. He doesn’t remember when he started smiling. “Y’know, I was wondering when the joint was gonna pop in.” 

“You fucking know me, man,” they reply, blooming with his interest, his smile. Not that he can perceive that. “So? Thoughts? Haven’t done that in a while, right?”

“Right, right,” he echoes faintly. His mind is already sorting through the pile of tasks on the schedule. “Well, I gotta go over this new recipe with Marcus, today,” he mutters, partially under his breath. “But before that, ingredient orders. And those invoices before the end of the day—and that, that toilet guy was supposed to come today…I think?”

“Dude, I do like, one task, and the day’s over for me,” they say sympathetically, and the look on their face is so serious that Carmy struggles to hide his smile. “You’re crazy.”

“I, I’ve seen you do tasks,” he argues. 

“Name one,” they argue back.

“You did two loads of laundry and did the dishes all before lunch time once,” he says, the memory clear and instant. “And when I woke up, you were vacuuming the whole place.” The immediacy surprises him, and it seems to surprise them, too. 

“Damn, I said name one , but I guess I’m just that good!” They laugh, a breathy, exasperated sort of thing. “Well, point taken. Anyway, it sounds like you’re not gonna be home early tonight.” 

“It is a Friday,” he says, “but…”

“But.”

“Can’t make promises I can’t keep,” he sighs, and shame melts over him like butter on a stainless steel pain. This isn’t anything new. 

“I know, I know,” they say, gracious as ever. “It’s okay. Such is the life of a business owner, yeah?” He searches for some thinly veiled shred of disappointment, frustration in their expression, but he doesn’t. No matter how many times he lets them down, the explosion he’s waiting for never comes. They remain patient, collected through it all. 

Says more about him than them, he supposes. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, “such is the life.” 

“C’est la fucking vie,” they say, and he laughs with a shake of his head. 

It can feel strange to laugh. He worries that the lightness in his chest will expand like a balloon, and he’ll float away. It’s uncontrollable, foreign. It should be scary, how his emotions lead him when he’s around them, not the other way around, but it’s not. 

It’s not scary to loosen up around them, and that’s the scary part. There are no words to describe why. All he can see is that the fear exists, stubborn and persistent. That fear is what makes him snap out of it, makes him look at the clock. He holds back a sigh. 

“Time to go,” he mutters, and they nod.

“And time for me to go back to bed.” They salute him. “Best of luck with your day, brave soldier. And just shoot me a text if you do end up coming back early, ok?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll try. And, thanks. You, you too,” he gets out. He stands up, readjusting the waistband of his pants. “I’ll, uh, see you later.”

“See you,” they say through a yawn, waving at him from where they’re lying down. They’ve taken his spot, sprawled across the couch, tangled hair flayed out on the pillows. 

Cute , he thinks again, and hearing the thought in his brain makes him wanna panic. 

He doesn’t wanna panic, doesn’t wanna think about it at all, so he nods, shuts the door, and heads out to work with a cigarette hastily lit in his mouth. 

By the time it’s Carmy’s lunch break, he swears his vocal cords must have snapped by how tight he was wringing them. 

The soreness has never stopped him from lighting a cig, though. As he stands outside in the back, finally forced to go on his 30, he smokes rather than eating. There’s a sandwich in his pocket, one that was bearing the brunt of test ingredients. He can feel the aluminum wrapping at his fingertips. 

Eventually, he does eat, though, because he sees the way his hands are shaking when he flicks his lighter. He doesn’t wanna shake when he uses a knife, so he eats. He tastes it, but he doesn’t really taste it.

In truth, he wasn’t even planning on taking his lunch break at all. Most days, he forgets about it. The kitchen’s always busy, there’s always something missing, there’s always something that hasn’t been prepped that’s ruining everything, the lights in the hallways keep flickering because they need to fixed, Fak’s supposed to fix them, but he can’t, because Richie’s still out getting the replacement bulbs, the pile of papers on his desk are bigger than he remembers, he doesn’t have enough fucking time—

But then he’s in the middle of chopping an onion, and the cutting board slips. The half-chopped onion and its sliced offspring scatter on the floor with the cutting board. The sound of its fall draws Sydney in like a whip. 

“You okay? Need a bandaid?” Sydney’s already kneeling by him, helping him pick the onions off the floor. 

“I, I’m fine, didn’t drop the knife,” he explains, and it feels like an ocean current is rushing by his ears. “Fucking, I just—such a stupid fucking—” He sucks in a breath and goes silent. 

His entire body feels tight, wound like a spring. He can barely fucking breathe. 

“Hey.” Carmy turns his intense stare from the onions to Sydney, and when he sees her searching expression, he remembers himself. “Maybe you should go take your lunch break.”

“No, I’m fine, really,” he repeats, and he feels like he’s heard this before. From someone else. He can’t remember. Who was it? “The onions—we’re behind on onions—”

“I can handle onions for 30 minutes,” she interrupts, decisive and firm. “Seriously.”

Carmy’s about to say something, but then he’s looking at the onion half in his hand. His hand is shaking. 

“Okay,” he sighs after a beat. “Okay, yeah. Sorry. For fucking up.”

“It happens. We all have our moments.” She shrugs. When he keeps standing there, she makes this shoo-ing motion with her hand. “Go on. Take your 30!��

So here he is, taking his lunch break a whole hour later than he’s supposed to. Although it’s better than most days where he doesn’t take it at all.

She wouldn’t have had to tell you to take a break if you didn’t fuck it all up, he thinks to himself, eyebrows knitted together. When the last time I’ve fucked up something so fucking easy?

He thinks about his dream from last night. A familiar sight of red fire and flames up to the ceiling, crackling so loud it sounded like screaming. The only good part is that when he woke up, he wasn’t at the stove burning his place down. It hasn’t happened at this apartment yet. Carmy hopes it never happens. 

Just get it together, he thinks. He aggressively taps the ash out onto the decrepit ash tray they have in the back. It’s full. You’re supposed to be at this shit. So just be good.

“Cousin.” Carmy snaps his head up, and Richie’s at the door, stepping out. His presence yanks him out of his inner whirlpool, a quickly descending spiral. “Gimme one.”

Wordlessly, Carmy hands him a cigarette. Richie plucks it out of his hand like a flower.

“You had a lighter, but no cigarette?” Carmy comments, squinting at Richie pulling a busted up red lighter from his jean pocket. 

“Shut up,” Richie mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. “Got the wrong damn light bulbs,” he explains unprompted. 

“Alright,” Carmy sighs. He has so little energy that the frustration bypasses him completely, diving instantly into deflated acceptance. “Just return ‘em.”

“Can’t,” Richie says, and when Carmy gives him a look, he elaborates, “no receipt.” 

“ Dude .” Carmy opens his mouth, but then he shuts it again. It’s just not worth it. “Thanks anyway, cousin. We’ll get it done.”

“Don’t fuckin’ thank me, you asshole. I didn’t do shit.” Richie nudges him, but like before, it’s not an angry thing. “Also, toilet guy’s not comin’ today.”

“The fuck? Why ?”

“Canceled,” he replies simply. 

“Fucking hell,” Carmy mutters under his breath. “Did he say when he could reschedule?”

“Not yet.”

“Great.”

“Yep.” Richie tilts his head up, blowing out a slow stream of gray cigarette smoke. “Might as well wait for Fak to get his ass back in town at this rate.”

“I guess.” Carmy sighs. He thinks about all the things he still needs to do. “I dropped this onion I was chopping, earlier,” he mentions out of nowhere. 

“Okay.” Richie gives him a look. “And? You bitches chop those things up faster than I could cut one in half.” 

“I dropped it on the floor,” Carmy tries again, but Richie’s expression remains unchanged. “I never do shit like that.”

“Well, cousin, you did.” Carmy feels something in him deflate. “What’s the big deal?”

“Nevermind,” he replies, because he’s a coward. “Just—just forget it.”

Silence. The spark of a lighter. 

“I’m gonna leave early,” Richie says, like he can just do that. Which…he can, Carmy supposes. “If no one’s gonna show up, what’s the point?” He slaps Carmy’s back, and Carmy doesn’t watch him as he heads back inside. 

Guess all I need to do later is get rid of those papers on the desk , Carmy thinks to himself, idly moving the shortening cigarette between his lips. Then that’ll be it, I guess.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s gone home early. It’s hard to even imagine what he does on days like those. Sleeping, probably.  There’s nothing much else for him to do, not with how tired he is—

Shoot me a text, okay?  

He hears them in the back of his head all of a sudden, and he remembers. 

Oh, he remembers, hands moving to take out his phone. Almost forgot.

“Sorry to bother you, chef.” Carmy’s not sure how he didn’t hear the door opening. Marcus’ head pops out, nose covered in flour. “Just wanted to let you know that we’re gonna need more flour for tomorrow.”

“Order’s not gonna come for a couple days. I thought we had an extra bag left,” Carmy tries, but the guilty look on Marcus’ face explains it all. 

“Dropped it,” Marcus grimaces, and Carmy’s already fucking over it. 

“We’re all fucking up today, chef,” Carmy replies, and the day goes on. 

. . . . .

It’s a strange, delightful miracle, but he manages to get out of the restaurant before the sun sets.

Considering their collective track record, the fact everyone was able to leave early was cosmic intervention. It helps that the toilet guy didn’t come, in an unfortunate way, but still. Standing outside of the restaurant in the evening like this feels…weird. 

It’s not that Carmy’s complaining about a nice thing, it’s just that he wasn’t prepared to have anything good today.

Shower, dinner, and weed, he thinks absentmindedly on the way home. He juggles the three around in his brain. Just the thought of it feels like relaxing. A little.

With company , his brain helpfully adds, and his stomach squirms. 

Self control, he thinks. He needs more self-control. He can’t just keep thinking of them so indulgently. He’s not allowed to think of them that way, because it’s not fair to them. Even if no matter how many times he chastises himself, it never works. Even if they remain in his brain like sun-spots in his vision. Even if it’s not his fault that he just can’t help it.

The thing is, though, it always is. Even when it’s not his fault, it actually is. Always.

You dropped that fucking onion , his brain helpfully adds for no particular reason. Fucking loser.

Fuck off , he thinks back as he approaches his front door. Predictably, it does not stop.

Just as his fingers search for his keys in all of his pockets, he hears something that makes him pause, hands stopped on his waist. It’s music, distant and muffled. They’re probably listening to music in the kitchen. He stands, trying to place the song, but he doesn’t recognize it. 

He does recognize the voice that’s singing over the music, though.

Oh, he realizes. That’s them.

The way their voice clumsily layers over the music shouldn’t make him pause like this. He shouldn’t be doing this, standing in the doorway and listening rather than opening the door. The keys are in his hand. This, this is a breach of privacy, he tells himself, feeling a little dizzy with distress, he just needs to just—

There’s an abrupt, loud clang, and he shoves the door open.

Concern is on the tip of his tongue, but it dies there. The source of the noise lays face-down on the floor—a pan sitting in what seems to be tomato sauce. The matter next to it is what makes the words evaporate from his lips, like they were never there at all. 

They’re kneeled down next to the pan, paper towels in hand, but all they’re wearing is an apron. 

His mind blanks. He thinks he stops breathing. He’s never seen so much of their skin at once. He needs to look away, he thinks, but his eyes keep traveling, traveling, and traveling. It just happens so quickly. He doesn’t mean to look, he doesn’t, but they’re right there and he can see right down their—

“No, I—I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were coming back early!” They exclaim, quickly crossing their arms over their chest, and that’s what makes him tear his eyes away. 

“I—I thought I texted you,” he says quickly, hot face turned to the side, “on my lunch—...“ He stops there, the memory reconstructing itself. 

He forgot.

“It’s fine, I just feel bad about dinner, and, uh—okay, I’m just gonna change real quick, and then I’ll clean this up,” they reply, words rushing out. In the corner of his vision, he sees their bare legs dart to their room.

It seems wrong to just stand here staring at the tomato sauce slowly expand outwards on the floor, so he cleans it up. A couple paper towels later, he’s gotten most of it, and they’ve returned with a change of clothes.

“Sorry,” Carmy starts right as they also go “I’m sorry”. He pauses, meeting their eyes. It’s a lot easier now that they’re wearing leggings and a t-shirt as opposed to, well, nothing. Not to say he doesn’t appreciate the leggings. 

“Sorry you had to see me like that,” they sigh. “I don’t—I don’t usually walk around the place naked, I just—I didn’t think you’d be back—“

“I should’ve texted,” he interrupts. He struggles to not think about them walking around the living room naked. “I forgot. But it, it’s fine. You’re fine. Really. Sorry for not texting.”

“Okay. Cool.” They exhale, a tired noise. “And it’s okay. It happens.” They look at the floor and make a sound of surprise. “Did you clean this up?” The look they give him has far too much gratitude, and it feels like a searing hot iron.

“Yeah, uh.” His hands are moving like he’s trying to explain something, but no words crop up. “Felt weird not to.”

“Well.” They smile, grateful. “Thank you. That was gonna be dinner, but…” They trail off, looking at the floor with a sour expression. “I fucked up.”

“It’s just that sort of day today,” Carmy mutters.

“Shitty day for you, too?” 

“Yeah. Lots of shit went wrong.” Especially me, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. “You?”

“Gotcha.” They shrug. “As for me—yeah. Really not my best day. It was just, uh, some family shit. You know how it is.”

Carmy makes a sound of acknowledgement. “That sucks.” He doesn’t know much about their family other than that they’re fairly shitty. It’s the same the other way around, too. 

“It’s whatever,” they say, even though it really isn’t, and he knows it. They look at the floor one more time before looking up at him. “Do you just wanna order pizza or something?”

“Yeah, I do,” Carmy replies, his words coming out much more despondent than expected. 

They settle on some pepperoni pizza from a place down the street. It’s a tried and true method—they deliver, it’s cheap, it’s oily, it’s cheesy, it’s good. Just talking about it makes Carmy taste it on the tip of his tongue. 

“You can go and shower if you want. I’ll get the door when pizza comes,” they offer. They’re standing at the sink, sleeves rolled up. 

“Okay, thanks.” Carmy pauses then, gears turning. He’s vaguely worried his memory is going to shit. “Did—did I just say I was gonna shower?” 

“Oh, no, you didn’t, you just always shower when you get home from work, right?” They say it like it’s the weather, like it’s familiar, and that’s when Carmy realizes because it is. After several months of living together, of course they’ve picked up on his habits. It doesn’t need to be a thing. There’s no reason for it to be a thing.

“I do,” Carmy replies faintly, and for some reason, that’s all he can say. 

“Thought so.” They look at him for just a moment, but it makes him feel like his body’s gone transparent. “I notice these things, you know.”

“Yeah.” Carmy looks at them when they turn back to the dishes, back facing him. “You do.” 

He tells himself he’s not gonna think any harder about any of it. He’s not gonna think about the singing, the apron, the way they just notice these things, but then he does. 

He’s in the shower, and he thinks about everything.

The water pressure is pathetic, but the warmth still feels nice. Between that and the sound of the running shower, it’s usually enough to quiet his thoughts. This time, though, it doesn’t. To his credit, he does try to think about anything else. 

He thinks about work, because he always does. He thinks about flour, about onions, about knives. He thinks about the shampoo lathered in his hair. He thinks about those lightbulbs they still need to get. He thinks about food. He thinks about them. He thinks about pizza. He thinks about the way they sing when no one’s around. He thinks about the way they know him. 

He thinks about them, knees on the floor only in a—

He thinks of bashing his head into the tile wall until he explodes.

“Shut the fuck up,” he whispers to himself, rivulets of hot water trailing down his forehead and dripping off his lips. “Shut the fuck up.”

The soreness is still present in his body, but that never quite goes away. He does feel a bit better now that he doesn’t have sweaty, sticky skin, though. It gets even better when he puts on a clean white t-shirt and his favorite sweatpants. It’s a nice surprise from his past self who did his laundry for him. 

This amount of niceness is okay. This is what he’s used to—a shower and comfortable clothes when he’s home from work. That’s enough.

He steps out into the kitchen with a damp towel on his head. He finds them sitting by their one shitty window that opens, pizza box in front of them and joint lit. It casts an orange glow to mix with the golden light from the window. 

“Hey, pizza’s here!” They slap their hand on the greasy cardboard box. “Just got this joint started for us, too.”

“So you weren’t gonna smoke it all on your own?” He doesn’t mean to tease, but he does. He slips into the seat across them, arms resting on the table they placed by the window. 

“I couldn’t smoke this whole thing even if I wanted to,” they protest. “Besides, joints are made for sharing. Here—now you get to take it. Isn’t that nice?” With their elbow propped up on the pizza box, they hold up the joint to him. The lit end of it sizzles a bright orange, emitting a thin trail of smoke up to the ceiling. 

“That is very, very nice,” Carmy agrees, taking it carefully from their fingers. Their face spreads into that contagious grin of theirs, and he’s far from immune. Sometimes he smiles so much around them that his face hurts, rusty and unused. 

Sure, he can blame that on the weed, but if he’s being honest with himself (a rare occasion), that’s a complete lie. Obviously the weed lessens the tension, the stress that winds him up tight. It’s not just the weed that gets him to relax, though. 

It’s them. There’s something disarming about their presence, something that makes him loose-lipped around them. Even when he’s sober, he finds himself feeling comfortable. He’s not quite sure how that happened, or if that’s ever happened. He supposes that isn’t a bad thing. Just something he’s noticed. 

He wonders if they’ve noticed. 

“You like the new rolling papers?” They tuck their knees under their chin, propping their feet up on the chair. 

“Hm.” Carmy lowers the joint from his mouth to give it a good look. He rotates it around in his fingers. “Strawberry?”

“Yeah, it’s strawberry,” they confirm, poorly hiding the excitement in their demeanor. Not that they were trying to. “Can you taste it?” 

He pulls from the joint, the edges of the paper sizzling red with the weed. It’s an even burn this time. He rolls his tongue around in his mouth after he exhales a cloud of smoke. 

“Still no,” he decides after a beat, and they sigh. 

“I don’t know why I ever get my hopes up.”

“I do taste something else in this, though.” He takes another hit, stews on it. “Lavender?”

“Shoulda known you would’ve gotten it on your first tray. Yeah, it’s lavender. I found some lying around.”

“You made this one pretty nice,” he observes, eyes tracing the shape of the joint. “Between the lavender and the new papers, I mean.”

“Well, y’know.” The smile on their face is small and shy. “I don’t smoke joints often, so I wanted to make it nice, and I, uh…”

They’re paused for so long that Carmy interjects. 

“And?”

“And I—want that joint,” they finally say, outstretching their hand. Carmy has a strong feeling that they weren’t originally going to say that, but he hands over the joint nonetheless.

“Strain?” He asks curiously. He can feel the body high creeping up his shoulders, fluid and light.

“The strain that gets you high,” they reply with a grin.

“Oh, thank god,” Carmy sighs in relief, and the way that makes them laugh… It makes his chest tight. 

“To actually answer your question, though—I dunno.” He likes watching the smoke drift from the tip of the joint as they talk, thin gray wisps in the air. “I think it’s a hybrid? Not sure if it’s more one way or not, though…”

“As long as it’s not the weed that puts you to bed.”

“Um…well, if you smoke enough of it, it can.”

They sit together like this for a while, just sitting and taking turns with the joint. It’s an easy, fluid exchange, flowing between them like smoke. No matter how much they both try to blow it out the window, it always comes back in. The smell of weed is strong in the air, earthy and pungent.  

Although he would never describe himself as a talkative person, sitting stoned across from them makes the words come out. Sometimes, he thinks he likes himself better when he’s high—his mind isn’t running circles around itself, and the soreness of his body just floats away. He feels more like a human than a poor imitation of one like he usually does. 

This weed smells kinda good, he thinks, and when they laugh, nose scrunched up, he realizes he said that out loud. 

“That’s literally what I’ve been saying,” they agree, a bright grin lingering on their face. “That’s how you know you’re a fuckin’ stoner!” 

“Feels weird to call myself a stoner,” he muses. He plucks the joint from their outstretched hand. It definitely looks shorter from when they started a moment ago. “But I guess…”

“If you like the smell of weed, you’re too far gone,” they say with a grave expression. “It’s so fucking over for you.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, equally as serious, and then they’re both bursting out into laughter. He likes the sound of their laugh—it’s unabashed, fills up the space. 

“Dude, I’m high,” they whisper after they both calm down, like it’s some sort of secret, and Carmy can’t stop himself from laughing all over again. “Oh my god. Are you high?”

“I—I think I might fucking be,” he gets out between laughs, and that sparks them straight into another cackle of laughter. He’s not supposed to be able to make others laugh, he doesn’t even make himself laugh—but then he’ll say something, and they’re lit up with laughter. 

“We need to eat this pizza now, ” they yell, projecting over their combined noise. They flip the pizza box open, and it smacks Carmy right in the face. 

“Oh,” he reacts mildly.

“Shit, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine, it’s not like you punched me in the face,” he reasons, but their guilty expression persists. “It didn’t hurt, it’s just cardboard.”

“I’m sorry, I’m high,” they sigh apologetically. 

“I know,” he replies with a little smile. His eyes drift down to the pepperoni pizza sitting before them, glorious in its perverse amount of oil. “So, we’re gonna eat this, right?”

“Oh my god, yes we are,” they gasp, and the moment is forgotten. 

When he tears off a pizza slice, the cheese stretches in thin, gooey strings. They grab the slice adjacent to it to snap the strings in half, but they’re both leaned back in their chairs, pizzas in hand, and the cheese is still connected. 

“This doesn’t seem right,” Carmy mutters, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “We should’ve just cut it.”

“How could we have predicted this?” They pull their pizza further back, and the string still doesn’t break. “Wow. I’m honestly impressed. I don’t think it’s ever been this insane before.”

“I think we’d remember.” He’s not sure why he’s still talking and not just running his finger across the string to break it. 

“I think we would, too.” They snort, shaking their head. “This—this is some spaghetti type shit.”

“What? Spaghetti?” He’s genuinely perplexed.

“I—I mean like—that fucking disney movie. With the dogs.” They pause for a moment, mouth silently moving. “Fucking—lady and the, the truck—”

“Uh.” He has to hold back a laugh. “...The lady and the tramp?”

“ Holyshittheladyandthetramp ,” they blurt out in a rush, and the cheese string finally snaps in half. “…Well, I guess it’s not exactly like the lady and the tramp, then.” They take a large bite of their pizza, and it reminds Carmy exactly how hungry he is. 

“You mean lady and the truck,” he corrects, and he can’t stop himself from smiling. Especially not with how good this hot pizza is, delightfully salty and greasy in his mouth. 

“Shut up, I was trying,” they grunt through a mouthful of food. 

“How exactly is this like the lady and the tramp, again? Or, uh, not like it?” 

“Well, it was just like it, but then the string broke.” Somehow, they’re already halfway through their slice. “Could’ve been a beautiful spaghetti moment.”

“Spaghetti moment,” he echoes under his breath, holding back a laugh. “Remind me how that scene goes?”

They go quiet for a moment. It’s like he can see the gears turning in his head. If he’s being honest, he already remembers how that scene goes, but…he wants to hear them say it. He needs to hear them say it. 

“Uh, well, they’re…eating spaghetti. The titular lady and tramp.”  Their eyes are fidgety, flickering back and forth between their pizza and the window. “And they’re sharing the plate, the two of them. They’re eating together, and, um…” 

“...And?” 

They meet his eyes, mouth hanging open, and then they close it. 

“Um, I don’t remember, actually,” they say, shaking their head and blinking. He sees it for the blatant lie that it is, and yet. “Do, do you remember?”

As he stares back at them, unable to look away, he wonders. He wonders about what this really means. About if this really means anything at all, about if he’s going to find out if it does. 

“I don’t remember,” he answers quietly, cowardly, and neither of them say anything else.

Out of the two of them, they’ve always been better with recovering from awkward moments, so they do. They start talking about something else, and the world keeps turning. But in the back of his head, Carmy remains in that moment, unwilling to let it go. 

Why did you say that you didn’t remember? He wants to say. Why didn’t I say that I remembered how it went? Because I remember. They kiss—they fucking kiss. Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that what I wanted to hear?

But because he’s Carmy, he doesn’t say anything. He just eats.

He’s so hungry that the pizza disappears in minutes. It’s delicious, but he’s so high he’s not completely sure he can taste it. Somehow, it remains the best thing he’s ever eaten. 

The rest of the night is a blur. He remembers getting onto the couch at some point. They both decide on a random movie he doesn’t catch the name of. They finish off the joint on the couch together, sinking into its cushions. It burns hot in his throat as it reaches the end. 

And as it turns out, the weed he smoked is the one that puts him to bed. 

“...Ca…Car…” Someone’s calling him. “...Carmy, c’mon. You’re gonna complain about your neck tomorrow if you keep sleeping here.”

“Mhm,” he replies helpfully. He turns his head into the cushion. His body feels like an abstract blob, perfectly molded into the couch cushions.

“Okay, you made a good point. But. ” They laugh quietly, under their breath. “Movie’s been over for like 20 minutes now.”

“Mhm,” he repeats, nearly inaudible. He doesn’t wanna get up. Whenever he falls asleep, it always feels like he’s never gotten an hour of sleep in his life. There’s nothing he needs to think about, worry about. He’s warm and comfortable, and he doesn’t feel like letting that go just yet.

Everything goes silent again for a moment, save for the cars on the road. He begins to drift away again, slipping back into his dreamless sleep. 

But then there’s a hand on his shoulder, and it’s like a smoking brand on his skin. His eyes fly open and he jolts awake, jerking upright. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” they apologize, fretful. Between the dark of night and haze of sleep, they look pretty different. The blue light from the television is streaked across the blurry planes of their face.

“It’s fine,” he replies, drowsy. Speaking feels…heavy. Begrudgingly, he adjusts to sit up. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Weed,” they say with a shrug. 

“How, how long was I—?” He cuts himself off with a yawn, wide with condensation in the corners of his eyes. 

“Only like, 30 minutes.” They yawn back. Typical infectious yawning. “End of the movie sucked anyway.”

“Oh.” Pause. “What was the ending?”

“Love interest died,” they state plainly. “He told her about how he felt, got rejected, and then she died in a car accident. Pretty tragic.”

“Huh.” Carmy makes a face. “That does suck.”

“Yeah, a bit.” They’re idly fiddling with the remote, scrolling through Netflix without reading anything. “I feel like the movie was trying to say something profound about the unpredictability of life or something, but the writing was shit.”

“I guess it’d be too perfect if they got together,” he muses.

“I guess,” they echo. They turn off the tv, and the room goes dark. The only light is from the yellow street lamp right outside their window, wonderful in its inconvenient placement. It illuminates the shape of the back and leaves their face in shadow. “I think I remember how that scene went,” they say suddenly. 

“Oh.” Carmy’s heart feels stuck in his throat. “And how does it go?”

“Well, they’re—both eating spaghetti. Like I said.” They’re not facing him, leaving their face shrouded in shadow. He’s not sure if he’s imagining the shake in their voice or not. It’s beyond him why there would be any shakiness at all. “They somehow get the same noodle, so they, uh, kiss.”

“They kiss,” he repeats for some unknown reason.

“Yeah.” They let out a quick laugh, but it doesn’t sound like they actually find this funny. He wishes he could see the look on their face. 

“I don’t think pasta works like that,” he hears himself murmur faintly. For some reason, he can’t help but think that was the wrong thing to say. But he’s already said it. Maybe it’s the same reason as to why his heart is beating so urgently. 

“No, I, I don’t think so either,” they mumble. He refuses to place the way they’re feeling. 

I can’t fucking do this.

The thought resounds like a gong, hit with a mallet right next to his ear. 

“It’s late, I gotta head to bed.” It feels like someone else is speaking for him, moving his body for him. He can’t stop them. When he stands up, he avoids their face.

What the fuck are you doing?

Another thought resounds. He doesn’t respond.

“Right, I—didn’t even notice the time.” He pretends he doesn’t hear the strain in their voice. No, he didn’t word that right—there is no strain in their voice. “G’night.”

"Night,” he murmurs back.

This is enough, he tells himself as he falls into bed. His sheets are tangled. This is enough , he repeats, and it’s not because he’s scared, afraid, anxious, or any other stupid synonym. It’s because he believes it, needs to believe it. 

He tells himself, this is enough , even though he wonders, what is supposed to be enough? He doesn’t listen. He stamps down the protests, the thoughts that are out of line. The high usually helps with that, but it’s worn off, now just leaving him in a weary, sleepy state of things. 

This is enough, he thinks, and he falls asleep looking at their shrouded face behind his eyelids.

#carmy berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #lip gallagher #the bear fanfiction #hahaha i've been stewing on this fic since sept 2023 and now its here... i have like 2 more chapters written right now #they're around the same length #AH!!!! CARMEN BERZATTO!!!! #my writing #my fics #carmy #reader #alexithymia fic

[genshinluvr]

Masterlist 2

🔞 = Contains Smut, suggestive themes

❗ = Contains triggering content

🫧 = Self-indulgent (will make a separate masterlist for it soon)

🧋 = Author's favorites

🌸 = Requests

✨ = Mini-fics

🧧 = AUs

[All contents listed/linked down below are also posted on my AO3]

Imagines/One-Shots:

• [ Coming Soon ]

-

Series:

- GENSHIN IMPACT -

Not What You'd Expect [Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader] (One-shot series):

Summary of Not What You'd Expect [Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader]: Who knew that getting Isekai'd into Genshin Impact would get you into many situations that you've never thought you'd get yourself into! Whether the situation is life-threatening or just one of those soft and fluffy moments, you don't think you'd want to leave the game any time soon! And it seems like they don't want you to leave any time soon either! So, you might as well enjoy your stay while you're at it!

• Weaseling in (Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader, Neuvillette x Isekai'd!Reader x Wriothesley) [Published on July 23, 2023] ✨

Summary of "Weaseling in": The men left to grab some food while you stay back and wait for them to return. When they return, they see that you're not alone. The two strangers from Fontaine are chatting you up— only they recognize the two strangers with familiar faces from the last time you got lost in Fontaine.

• Sick Days 2 (Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader) [Published on July 30, 2023] ✨

Summary of "Sick Days 2": The men are sick, and it's your duty to nurse them back to their healthy selves. Yes, the men are sick— all twenty-seven of them are ill, and you're the only one who's taking care of them. Some of them made it easier for you, but others made it complicated for you. It's a good thing you don't have emetophobia.

• Where I Truly Belong (Various Genshin Men x Villain!Isekai'd!Reader) [Published on August 6, 2023] ❗

Summary of "Where I Truly Belong": Your arrival at Teyvat was sudden and you thought you'd be welcome with open arms and new friendship. However, you were terribly wrong. You were ignored, threatened, and chased out of the regions in Teyvat. One day, on the heart island outside of Liyue, a portal opens and an opportunity is given to you. An opportunity where you have power and control over fate. Perhaps this is where you truly belong.

• Mr. Sweet Talker (Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader, Lyney x Isekai'd!Reader) [Published on August 20, 2023] ✨

Summary of "Mr. Sweet Talker": Aether and Paimon managed to snag free tickets to the magic show in Fontaine! It's all thanks to a certain famous Fontianian magician. Who knew he could be such a sweet talker?

• Happily Ever After? (Various Princes!Genshin Men x Royal!Isekai'd!Reader) [Published on August 27, 2023] 🧧

Summary of "Happily Ever After?": There was a small kingdom on Teyvat where a king and queen kept their child locked in a tower for over two decades— the public and other kingdoms do not know what this royal Highness looks like, nor do they know much of this person. However, twenty-seven princes set off to free their royal Highness from their high-rise prison. Maybe you will finally get your happily ever after by finally getting your freedom.

• Burning Desire 4 [Al Haitham's Route] (Various Genshin Men x Iskeai'd!Reader, Al Haitham x Isekai'd!Reader) [Published on September 3, 2023] 🔞

Summary of "Burning Desire 4 [Al Haitham's Route]": Awaken from your slumber due to the burning pit in your stomach, you decide to take a shower early morning, hoping it will cool you off. After your shower, you leave your bedroom to see a shirtless Al Haitham reading a book at your desk. You weren't sure why Al Haitham is in your bedroom, but he has his reasons for visiting you.

• Watch the World Burn (Various Genshin Men x Villain!Isekai'd!Reader) [Published on September 17, 2023] ❗

Summary of "Watch the World Burn": [This is part 2 of Where I Truly Belong] Those who have wronged you, chased you out of the region, and ostracized you will all go down with Teyvat. You will watch the world burn as bodies around you fall to the ground one by one.

• Where's the Update? (Genshin Filler Chapter) [April 1, 2024]

Summary of "Where's The Update?": You and the men go and visit the person who writes the script for every project you all do.

• [ Coming Soon ]

- HONKAI STAR RAIL -

Brightest Star in the Universe [Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Isekai'd!Reader] (One-shot series):

Summary of "Brightest Star in the Universe [Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Isekai'd!Reader]": You were thrust into the world of Honkai Star Rail without warning and any recollection of your memory. Blade and Kafka refer to you as the fallen star. You don't know what it means, and you think it sounds ridiculous. After meeting the men from the Honkai Star Rail universe, these men can't help but feel drawn to you. As if there's this invisible line that's pulling them closer to you. Just when you thought your stay in the Honkai Star Rail universe couldn't get any weirder, the universe keeps proving you wrong.

• Anything for the Star (Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Isekai'd!Reader) [Published on July 22, 2023/July 23, 2023] ✨

Summary of "Anything for the Star": March has a theory that the men would do anything for their precious shining star. However, you thought it was ridiculous. Due to you being skeptical about March's theory, March decides to put it to the test because those men would do anything for the star, right?

• Final Moments (Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Isekai'd!Reader) [Published on July 30, 2023] ✨, ❗

Summary of "Final Moments": You're somewhere alone, bleeding, and on the verge of death. Everyone is scrambling to reach out to you, but you're not picking up your phone, and no one knows where you are. Not even Nanook knows your whereabouts. You didn't think you could die in a universe you didn't belong to, but you were wrong. At least you were able to hear their voices in your final moments, right?

• Seeing Stars (Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Isekai'd!Reader, Nanook x Isekai'd!Reader) [Published on August 6, 2023] 🔞

Summary of "Seeing Stars": Your and Nanook's intimate moment was interrupted by your Astral Express traveling companions. Caelus spots a hickey on your neck, you make a poor excuse regarding that hickey, and all of a sudden, you find Nanook balls deep inside you. Needless to say, Nanook is called the Aeon of Destruction for a reason. And that reason isn't because of destroying the universe, but because he's going to be destroying your insides.

• Anything for the Star 2 (Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Isekai'd!Reader) [Published on August 20, 2023] ✨

Summary of "Anything for the Star 2": After being sandwiched between Gepard and Sampo's chest due to March claiming you wanted to be sandwiched between the two men from Jarilo-VI, you fainted. You soon regained consciousness and now have to deal with the aftermath, and you're also on the hunt for March around the Astral Express.

• Trouble in Paradise (Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Isekai'd!Reader) [Published on August 27, 2023]

Summary of "Trouble in Paradise": Nanook has always communicated with you through your dreams because both you and Nanook are connected with each other. But now that Nanook has taken a human form, there's no need to communicate through your dreams! You were certain that it was just Nanook who could communicate with you through your dreams until Phantylia showed up.

• To be Reborn (Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Vidyadhara!Isekai'd!Reader) 🧧 [Published on September 3, 2023]

Summary of "To be Reborn": Waking up in Scalegorge Waterscape, you have no recollection of your past life. You are reborn— you are a Vidyadhara— hatched from an egg. A young blond boy awaits your rebirth, the same boy who volunteers to be your protector. Your past life remains a mystery. Your relationship with three particular men remains a mystery as they gaze at you longingly from a distance. Sometimes, it's a curse to be reborn.

• Well, Shit. (Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Toddler!Isekai'd!Reader) [Published on September 17, 2023]

Summary of "Well, Shit.": Well, Shit. This isn't supposed to happen. How did this even happen in the first place? Yanqing was tasked to watch over you while General Jing Yuan and your traveling companions were out on a mission. Who knew it would end up with you turning into a toddler?

• Where Are the Updates? (HSR Filler Chapter) [Published on April 1, 2024]

Summary of "Where Are the Updates?": The person who writes the script for your and the men's future project is visiting the Astral Express. Everyone is wondering what is their future role in the projects (and Sampo is being Sampo)

• [ Coming Soon ]

-

Asks w/ Mini-fics:

• [ Coming Soon ]

#genshinluvr #genshinluvr masterlist

[nights-flying-fox]

Mystic Sickness Part 1

This is based on @turtleblogatlast 's post about mystic sickness idea :D Hope you like it!!!

Word Count: 2178 ☆ Fandom: rottmnt ☆ Warnings: a brief mention of throwing up, nothing else i can think of ^^ ☆ AO3 Link: N/A

 Raph has had his bad mornings. He had been sick from overworking too. With how he felt today, he could tell it was a mix of both.

 

 Except it turned out there was more than that. It must be, or else why would a clone of himself stare at him like that?

 

 Raph yelped as he fell from the bed. "What the-?!"

 

 His copy didn't seem to care. It lay on his bed, not even looking at Raph. The turtle blinked in confusion. That was definitely his own ninpo copy. Why was it here, and why was it moving like that? Raph tried to focus and control it, just like he always did, but he failed. The copy still lay on the bed.

 

 He stared at him. Raph was too tired for that, not to mention how early it was-

 

 "AH-"

 

 Raph turned around. "Leo?"

 

 There was nobody else in his room though.

 

 "Is this some sort of joke?" Raph grunted. "If so, Raph's going back to bed and leavin' you to deal with today's plans alone. All day."

 

 "RAPH NO-"

 

 He turned around again, looking everywhere searching for his brother. Again, nothing.

 

 "I am really not in the mood for pranks-"

 

 Suddenly Leo appeared in front of him, "RAPH HELP I-" and disappeared.

 

 Raph looked at the empty spot where a second ago his brother stood. First his own copy, now Leo. What was going on?

 

 "RAAAAAPH!!" 

 

 Raph groaned, “WHAT IS IT DONNIE?”

 

 “WHAT THE HECK ARE YOUR COPIES DOING?!”

 

 His copies? Raph glanced at his copy on his bed before leaving his room and heading to the living room. He had many ideas, most of them nonsense considering his tired and hazy mind. But nothing could’ve prepared him for this:

 

 Many copies of himself running around, accidentally breaking some stuff, some sitting in random places... Donnie was standing at the other entrance, looking tired and angry. Pissed off even.

 

 He noticed Raph looking. “Dear brother, may you explain what is going on during such an early hour that you have decided bring out a whole army of yous?”

 

 “It is not me...” Raph mumbled as he walked towards Donnie, not being able to look away from the chaos going on in the room.

 

 “They are your copies though. Can’t you control them?” Donnie pointed out. “Genuinely asking. I am too tired to be salty.”

 

 “I tried but it is not working.” Raph tried again, failing. Then gave his full attention to Donnie, “You are tired too?”

 

 “I suspect I have caught a cold.” He nodded.

 

 “Me too. I’ve been feeling down since I woke up.”

 

 “Groan. It better not be some sort of illness.” Donnie said.

 

 “As long as it is not rat flu, it will be okay.” Raph reassured.

 

 Donnie shuddered. “Rat flu. Let’s forget about the failure and move on to our current problem.”

 

 “Cold or them?” Raph asked.

 

 “...” Donnie stared at nothing before answering. A usual sign of Donnie being sick. “Yes.”

 

 “Okay, okay. Sickness. Leo has the most knowledge about this.” Raph said out loud. “I’ll go and ask him.”

 

 “Mhm.” Donnie had already begun walking towards the kitchen.

 

 Raph started walking towards Leo’s room, ignoring the messy hallway. Since when did they have all that stuff and who was responsible for this mess? Probably his clones... When he reached to the room, “Leo?” he called. He received no reply. Raph didn’t bother asking again. He walked in, not caring about Leo’s upcoming protests. Except there was none because Leo wasn’t in there. “What?..”

 

 Oh. Right, he had seen Leo for a second in his room for a second. He had appeared and disappeared as if teleporting. But Raph didn’t remember seeing his katanas. He glanced around and saw the swords near his bed on the ground. He was right.

 

 What did this mean?.. What was going on this morning?? Raph began getting annoyed with whatever was going on. Not to mention how anxious he started feeling not finding Leo in his room. Where was he?

 

 Maybe he was with Mikey. Maybe they were doing some stupid prank.

 

 Raph a bit faster from before left the room and began walking towards Mikey’s room. Normally Mikey would be up, making breakfast. But if he and Donnie were right, he should be in his room resting. As he stepped into Mikey’s room, he hopped to see him and Leo doing some sort of mischief.

 

 Instead, he found Mikey levitating, golden chains around him, asleep.

 

 “What the shell?!”

 

 Mikey yawned, blinking. “Mmmmmorning Raphie!” He smiled, being the morning person he was. “Is there any possibility you let me sleep a bit more?”

 

 “Mikey, you are flying.”

 

 “What?”

 

 “Look around, Mike.”

 

 Mikey did. In a second his expression shifted from confused to shocked to excited to panicked. “I AM FLYING!”

 

 “THAT’S WHAT I AM SAYING!” Raph yelled. “GET BACK TO THE GROUND NOW.”

 

 “I DON’T KNOW HOW TO!”

 

 “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T KNOW?!”

 

 “Boys, what is all this yelling for?..” Raph heard Splinter’s voice come from behind. Then he heard a gasp. “ORANGE WHY ARE YOU LEVIATING?”

 

 “I have no idea.” Mikey answered. He noticed the chains around him, “Oooh I also have no idea what these are but cool.”

 

 Raph took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. First things first. Pops, have you seen Leo?”

 

 “Uh- no. No, I haven’t.” Splinter turned his attention to Raph, less surprised and more worried.

 

 “Mikey, did you see him?”

 

 “Nope!”

 

 So Leo was lost. Don’t panic Raph. He is probably somewhere around here, he thought. “I’ll text April.”

 

 “Red, is everythin—”

 

 Suddenly, just like how it happened in Raph’s room, Leo appeared in the room. He looked very puzzled, tired, annoyed, and a bit panicked. Before Raph could be sure, Leo disappeared again.

 

 His voice, however, was heard from another room. “COME ON!!”

 

 And then from another room, they heard him again. Raph couldn’t make up the words but he sounded irritated.

 

 “Was that Leo?” Mikey asked.

 

 “Yes.” Raph answered, still very confused.

 

 “Where did he go?”

 

 “I don’t know.”

 

 “Boys, what is going on?” Splinter sounded serious.

 

 Raph sadly didn’t have a proper answer. “That’s what I am trying to figure out.” He sighed. “Can you check Donnie? He is in the kitchen and said that he felt sick too.”

 

 “I will be waiting you two there.” Splinter nodded. “I’ll look around for Blue on the way.”

 “CAN SOMEONE—”

 

 Leo’s voice came from his room.

 

 “—HELP ME—”

 

 This time from somewhere closer.

 

 “I think I can handle him.” Raph said.

 

 Splinter smiled, “I’ll make you chicken soup.”

 

 “Thanks Dad.”

 

 As Splinter left, Raph reached for Mikey. Grabbing his blanket, he pulled him closer to him. Mikey watched him with sleepy eyes. “Raphie, can we sleep more?”

 

 “No, Big Man. We need to help Leo first, and then we need to eat something.” Raph said softly, walking out of the room meanwhile. Mikey huffed but didn’t protest. Raph decided to find Leo following his voice: “Leo? Where are you?”

 

 “RAPH! Bathroom—” Suddenly his voice was cut. Then continued from somewhere else, “Never mind. I-” Another pause. The Leo calmly yelled, “I’ll go insane.”

 

 “What’s happening?” Raph shouted.

 

 “I keep teleported-” “-without wanting-” “-to every second.”

 

 “That sounds bad.”

 

 “You don’t say-” “DONNIE IS THA-” “THAT WAS MY MUG!!”

 

 At least Leo didn't teleport out of the lair.

 

 "I think we should call Draxum." Mikey hummed, somehow unbothered.

 

 "Wha- why?" Splinter's reaction hadn't changed even after everything. 

 

 "He knows about mystic stuff." Mikey said lazily. It reminded Raph of how he was when he had eaten one of the poisoned pizza puffs.

 

 "You think this is because of a mystic problem?" Raph asked.

 

 "I know it is because of a mystic problem." Mikey confirmed. 

 

 "How?"

 

 "Can't you feel it? Hm?"

 

 Raph wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel. Donnie leaned towards them, goggles on his eyes. "He is right. There is something wrong with our mystic energies." 

 

 "I'm calling Draxum." Raph announced. 

 

 "Already on it." Donnie interrupted. He, from out of nowhere, had found his phone and was calling the yokai. 

 

 "Please tell me you're solving this." Leo appeared next to Raph, not looking good.

 

 "We're calling Draxum." Mikey smiled.

 

 "Oh good, because I- hrk-" 

 

 Luckily before he could throw up, he disappeared. 

 

 "We need you here. No, we didn't put the world in danger. We aren't dying either. No, we aren't calling you so you can cook us your new abomination. Abomination as a strange creature made of food, i.e. Sloppy Joseph. No, I'm not talking about your food. Yes. There's a problem with our ninpo. Okay, goodbye." Donnie put the phone on the table. "He'll be here soon." 

 

 "Good… Donnie, what's that?" Raph pointed at the tech that wasn't on the table a second ago. 

 

 "Ah. A piece for my new project. Why?"

 

 "When did you bring it here?"

 

 "...I didn't."

 

 "What do you mean I didn't?" 

 

 Donnie raised a brow. "I didn't bring it here. I was thinking about it and it appeared." 

 

 "Appeared?"

 

 Donnie shrugged.

 

 "Since when do things appear when you think of them, Dee?" Raph questioned.

 

 "That's a talent of mine, dear Raphael. My ninpo is very unique in comparison to yours–" Donnie began explaining.

 

 "Since when do they appear without you controlling them?" Raph corrected his own question.

 

 "Ah. Yes, that would be… since last night." 

 

 "And you didn't think of telling us?" Raph was losing his patience, to be honest.

 

 "I didn't think it would be a problem." Donnie admitted.

 

 Raph wanted to break the table. "You thought it wouldn't be a problem." He repeated. "And what if you accidentally create something deadly?" 

 

 "Come on Raph, he creates something deadly all the time." Mikey chimed in. "Like pipe bombs." 

 

 "Mikey, don't!" But Raph was too late. A pipe bomb was formed next to Donnie's mug. 

 

 "None of us is dumb enough to use a pipe bomb, we will be fine." Donnie stated. Then took a sip from his tea. 

 

 Raph wasn't sure about that. He trusted his brothers, but he also knew how much of a trouble they could be. 

 

 Leo appeared among them again. "Dee, I'd suggest you not enter your lab." He said tiredly. 

 

 "Nardo, what did you do to my lab?" Donnie looked at him with a mixture of horror and anger.

 

"Adiós." He made a peace sign and disappeared again.

 

 Donnie immediately opened his phone to check the cameras inside his laboratory. Raph could see the fury in his eyes. Maybe Leo was lucky to be teleported every second, now that he got on Donnie's hit list. 

 

 Splinter put bowls of chicken soup in front of them, "You boys look terrible."

 

 "Thanks." Raph sighed.

 

 "You'll feel much better after my delicious soup." He said. "Now, only if Blue could join us…"

 

 The soup was warm and smelled delicious. Raph couldn't wait to taste it. He would already, if he hadn't noticed his copy coming in. Ninpo Raph walked towards them, stood by them, then took the pipe bomb and ran.

 

 "What the-?! HEY STOP!" Raph got up and ran after him, leaving Mikey to float again.

 

 He chased his clone back to the living room, but it was hard to catch yourself. Especially in a room full of yourself. He stopped, trying to find which one was the right clone. When he did, he was leaving towards the bathroom. Raph didn't waste time following him. Before he reached him though, someone made his copy trip and fell. 

 

 "This yours, Boss Man?" Leo asked.

 

 "Yep." And with a punch, poof the copy disappeared. "Thanks."

 

 "Save me some soup." Leo said before getting teleported again. 

  

 "I will." Raph sighed, taking the pipe bomb from the ground. He could hide it in his room for now. Then go back and drink some soup so he can focus on the situation better when Draxum arrives. Perfect plan.

 

 He quickly walked to his room, found a nice place to hide it, and proceeded to grab his mask and stuff. Then he remembered the transceivers Donnie had put on their gear. They could use this to communicate with Leo! If only Leo can stand in a place for a moment. Raph still thought it was worth a try, so he went to Leo’s room to get his stuff as well before returning to the kitchen.

 

 Donnie had dozed off on the table with a few weapons and tech things that Raph didn’t know their names around him. Mikey was still floating, also sleeping. He seemed to be fine though. Splinter was enjoying his own bowl of soup. Raph sat down and finally tasted the soup. It was delicious, as always, even though it wasn’t warm anymore.

 

 “Did you boys mess up with somebody evil again?” Splinter asked Raph.

 

 “No, we were training and patroling the past few days.” He answered. “That’s what I don’t understand too.”

 

 “Hmm...”

 

 “Don’t worry, Pops. I am sure it is something Draxum can explain. Then we can fix it all at once and then rest.”

#hope this turned out good i wrote this in a night and then got too nervous thinking it is not good enough XD #i most likely will write part 2 once i have wifi!! :] #rottmnt #sickfic #rottmnt fanfiction #btw remember how sick leo had carsickness... yeah getting teleported every second cant help that #nighty writey #unpause rottmnt #save rottmnt #rise season 3 #very funny how i wrote this right after recovering from a cold #also shoutout to the pipe bomb casey jr meme for the pipe bomb joke #me talking w my mom about a place serving soup for breakfast: who would even want to have soup for breakfast? #also me not a second earlier: *writes splinter making soup for breakfastK #* #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt raph #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt splinter

[sundrop-writes]

Sundrop's The Last of Us Masterlist

Decided To Break It - Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader. Childhood Friends to Lovers. Hurt and Comfort. Abby confronts your abuser, and you both come out better on the other side because of it. (5,000 words.)

My Heart Is The Worst Kind Of Weapon - Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader. Strangers to Lovers. Hurt and Comfort. Ellie confronts your abuser, and after years of torment, you finally feel free. (9,600 words.)

Note: The rest of these link off to AO3, but I am hoping to have them edited and posted on Tumblr sometime soon.

Honey - Pervy Jock Abby Anderson x (Faux) Innocent Fem Reader x Pervy Punk Ellie Williams. Friends to Lovers. Smut. No Infected AU. Your best friends, Ellie and Abby, think that you're the perfect picture of innocence. One night, in the best way possible - they find out that you're anything but. (14,300 words.)

Love From The Other Side - Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut. Abby has fought long and hard to get you the justice that you both deserve. To you, it's beautiful. And you both have to celebrate it in the most perfect way. (5,600 words.)

Slumber Party - Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader x Abby Anderson. Friends with Benefits. Smut. Very Canon Divergent AU. When Abby over worries herself about Lev's first patrol, you and Ellie both agree that she needs to just take her mind off it, whether she wants to or not. (8,200 words.)

IFHY (I Fucking Hate You) - Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader. Enemies with Benefits. Smut and Angst. You and Abby truly seem to hate each other. So when you find Abby handcuffed inside the elevator, instead of being kind and just letting her out, you make her pay a certain price for the key. (8,100 words.)

Fall In Line - Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader. Enemies to FWB. Smut. Abby finds herself constantly annoyed by you. And those feelings come to a head one day when the two of you are assigned together - and she finds a way to finally put you in your place. (13,900 words.)

Sweet Revenge - Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader. Established FWB. Smut. You and Ellie love to play games. And even on patrol, it never stops. (16,200 words.)

Bring Me Your Pain, Love - Abby Anderson x Chronically Ill Autistic Fem!Reader. Strangers to Lovers. Mutual Pining, Emotional Angst, Smut. (Fluffy Ending.) Abby thinks that she knows herself and her place in life very well - until you turn her world upside down. (38,100 words.)

Five Minutes - Manny Alvarez x Fem!Reader. Established FWB. Smut/PWP. Manny finds a very quick and efficient way to make your morning better. (2,300 words.)

Rock The Boat - Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut. On the way to find the Fireflies, you and Abby manage to get a quiet moment alone. Naturally, there is only one way to use that time. (4,500 words.)

#sundrop writes #masterlist #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you

[ephemeramedia]

The World Shines (As I Cross The Macon County Line)

banner cred to @cafekitsune!!

Will Graham/Reader

Synopsis: You convince Will to cuddle with you because it's cold and you love him.

A/N: Okay so this is my first real FF that I'm posting ever and it's not beta read so if there's mistakes just pretend they're not there mkay thanks. Not rly a songfic but there is a song in it and that song is Going To Georgia by The Mountain Goats. Also this is my official bid for someone to buy me an I Heart Bingo mug. Also also gonna post this to AO3 as soon as i get my acc sorted, and ill link it here.

Word Count: 1105

Warnings: an embarrassing amount of domesticity

---------

The canopy of darkness was beginning to lift from the closed yet sheer curtains that shifted when your shoulders brushed against it. The Virginia morning winter was harsh and you knew it would only get harsher as the hours passed the day away. In some way, you felt bad about moping around the kitchen while Will was out at work, but you knew it would only be a matter of time before January cleared and you could start again trying to convince one of the libraries in Maryland to hire you for over the minimum wage. 

What would not happen nearly as fast as you pleased was the water that was stuck under 100 °C in the kettle, boiling. Sighing, you turned up the stove. 

Music drifts throughout the almost frigid air, around tinny, plywood walls, and it meets your ears in a soft resounding pattern. After the kettle starts to whistle, you sing along in quiet victory. 

“...The most extraordinary thing in the world, I have two big hands and a heart pumping blood,” You pour the water into your ‘I ♡ BINGO’ mug. Today would be an English Breakfast day, just like every other day. A good day. 

You feel the dogs settled beside your feet rise and move toward the front of the house, shortly before hearing the door open. A few beats pass counted by soft thuds on the floor growing louder and Will moves to meet you where you stand. His rough hands wrap around your waist from behind you, and his chin nestles in your shoulder. The song begins its second verse. 

“More bass today. Not bad for this weather, I think,” He breathes into you. You turn to face him, and his hands never leave your body. 

“Your hands are cold,” Will tries to move away but you free one of your hands to trap him against you. He turns his head to huff a laugh but you catch his face and press his grinning lips to yours. You hum into him. 

“I think it might be up to us to keep each other warm,” You take another sip of your tea. “Maybe I could convince you to stay in for the rest of the day?”

Will brings his head up to glance at the ceiling, the look he gives when he’s already resigned himself to you. 

“I’ve got to chop wood for the fire, darlin’. You know I can’t-” You shush him. 

“Again, I’m not sure having a fire will matter when we’re-,” Your only free hand reaches down to palm his ass, “So close already.” It was really an unnecessary ploy on your part, because as you began speaking he gently pulled the mug from your hands and set it on the counter behind you. Grabbing him didn’t help his case of not dropping it on the floor, but the blush that freckled his cheeks gave away how eager Will was to follow you anywhere. 

“Well,” Will huffed out a breath that condensed in the air, “You certainly make a convincing argument.” You giggled at his eager tone and hooked one of your fingers around his belt loop. With an incredible amount of concentration, Will managed to follow you away from the kitchen and into the living room. 

The living room, or the first room in the house, was where the bed was. It was where the only bed was. When you moved in, you had tried to convince Will to, at least, have an air mattress upstairs. After cost-benefit analyzing it, you gave into having the bed right in front of the front door on the condition that Will took the drafty side. Honestly, it wasn’t too uncomfortable, and the stairs creaked anyway. 

As you led Will to the bed, both you and him took considerable steps to avoid the plethora of dogs littered about the floorspace. 

Once you were at the foot of the mattress, you looked back at Will. His cheeks were pink and looked frostbitten, but you knew better. Will Graham doesn’t blush at the cold, he blushed at you. It did help that it was 7 °C, regardless. He took a step towards you and you pull him under the covers. 

Wordlessly, Will places gentle kisses on your skin, starting at your cheekbones and going lower until he reaches your collar bone, and then lets his face rest on your shoulder. You preen at the physical attention, and then shiver. 

“I wish I could stay like this forever.” You hear him mumble into your shirt. You smile softly and tug him further into you so that your bodies might become one. There’s a lot of blanket shifting before one of his hands reaches up under the hem of your shirt. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking freezing,” You jump. You lower your head to meet his eyes looking up at you, and you decipher the mischief in his grin. 

“You’re the one who suggested this, darlin’.” Will pushes himself forward and your lips meet, slowly and then all at once. 

With the comforter pulled up over both of your shoulders, you ended the embrace by tilting your head down so as to separate your lips but then connect your foreheads. Hot breath covers your face and you blink. You hum. 

Moving again, Will’s hands travel back down and grasp your waist firmly. Then you’re weightless, his seemingly infinite strength lifting you up and over him until you’re straddling his hips. The sudden shift lets a breeze into the space between you and Will, and you lower your chest to meet his and close the gap. Will sighs. 

“Now I’m never getting up,” He laughs into the top of your head. 

From the other side of the room, Winston barks at something outside the window, a bird, probably. He barks again at the start of a new song that drifts through the house. 

A cloud passes through the sky and uncovers the bright sun, which does nothing for the cold and everything to blind Will through the thin curtains. Will removes one of his hands from you and drapes it over his face, shielding his eyes. You stay like this until another cloud comes, when Will tilts your head up to kiss you. You lean into it, and you bring one of your hands up to pass your finger through Will’s curly brown hair, gold in the sunlight. A few beats pass. 

‘My tea is going to be so cold.” One of Will’s thumbs smooths out the wrinkle of concern between your eyebrows. 

“You can always make more.” Your lips meet again. 

“I know.”

#hungry like the wolf #fanfic #will graham/reader #will graham x reader #my writing #writing

[couldntbedamned]

Couldntbedamned's Master List

This is my Master List of fics I’ve written.  I’m linking them to my AO3 account.

Please be sure to carefully read all the tags and warnings posted for a fic – YOU are responsible for the content you choose you consume.

Updated as of 25 April 2024

Reader Fics

Right Now, Take Me Down (I Let You In) Tony Stark/Female Reader – Mature, Complete

Tony snoops through your phone and discovers some uh, fantasies and desires you’ve been keeping hidden. He takes it upon himself to make those fantasies and desires a reality, thanks to his amazing nanotechnology and trusted AI.  (A/B/O Roleplay)

Til the Veins Start to Shiver Bruce Banner/Female Reader – Mature, Complete

You decide to tease Bruce with some provocative photos while he's working. Bruce decides to tease you right back, and then some.  (Light Dom/Sub)

A Little Evening Break Stephen Strange/Female Reader – Mature, Complete

The Reader isn’t quick to comply with Stephen’s instructions and he gives her a hard time.

There’s Only Butterflies (Take Me Away) Stephen Strange/Reader, Strange Supreme/Reader, Defender Strange/Reader, Supreme Strange/Reader, Sinister Strange/Reader – Mature, Complete

It’s a pocket-dimension full of sunshine, with love that’s all theirs.

A Sweet Escape (To Better Days) Stephen Strange/Reader, Strange Supreme/Reader, Defender Strange/Reader, Supreme Strange/Reader, Sinister Strange/Reader – Mature, Complete

While it at first it weighed heavily on her, the knowledge that five of the most powerful beings in the multiverse were with her instead of protecting all of reality, she couldn’t deny the thrill that also came with that. The universe truly revolved around her. Her loves revolved around her and everything she was, she had, she did was for them in return.

Sometimes It Hurts Instead

Stephen/Reader (unrequited), Stephen/Clea, Reader/Reader's Husband - Teen, Complete

You see that the man you'd once had feelings for has moved on. You're not sure how to feel.

Waiting for the sun to be rising

Stephen/Chronically Ill!Reader - Mature, Complete

After a wild romp, you relax with Stephen and contemplate your relationship, reassuring him that regardless of what he does (or doesn’t) say you know exactly how he feels about you.

With a little peace and some harmony

Stephen/Chronically Ill!Reader - Teen, Complete

You’re sick and thanks to a weakened immune system, having a hard time resting and fighting it off. It’s absolutely miserable but lucky for you, Stephen is more than willing to step into the role of caretaker and help you feel better.

 Starker Fics (Tony Stark/Peter Parker)

Please note that Peter is an adult in all of these.

This is What You Came For Mature, Complete

Mr. Stark has had enough of what he considers to be Peter's not-so-subtle hints that he wants to get f*cked. He decides to teach Peter a lesson.

An Absolutely Peerless Cure Dark!Tony – Mature, Complete

When Peter gets the hiccups while on patrol, Tony takes it upon himself to help rid him of the pesky problem. Sure, that Wikipedia article could be absolute horseshit, and sure, Dr. Strange had been tipsy when he agreed with it, but it's a risk Tony's willing to take in his quest to draw Peter closer to him.

…And Many More Mature, Complete

Tony has a surprise for Peter's birthday, putting a true Tony Stark spin on a long-standing wish that Peter's had. Because whether he's giving or receiving, Tony is always in charge. Not that Peter's complaining.

(Just to See How It Feels) Mature, Complete

It's late. Peter's tired and wants to sleep because he has a big exam in the morning. Tony's horny. So maybe he can convince Peter to let him put in just the tip. (It's never just the tip.)

Getting the Best Mature, Complete

Peter Benjamin Parker is a genius. A once-in-a-lifetime type of genius.

And the little prick has the nerve to be undecided, even with the promise of a full-ride to MIT.

Even Saints Into Savages Mature, Complete

The mission was supposed to be a cake walk. Get in, get the stupid mystic alien amulet, get home. So, they figured it was safe enough to bring Peter along. Only Rocket assumes something, and that assumption leads to an awkward situation for everyone involved. Tony'll do whatever it takes to save Peter. If only he didn't know that he'd enjoy it so damn much. (Aliens Made Them Do It)

Back to Where You’ve Never Been Mature, Work in Progress

In an alternate reality, Peter Parker is living out his dream of being Spider-Man and working as an intern for Stark Industries (and the Avengers!) under his hero, Tony Stark, before heading off to college.  For the most part, it's incredible.  Okay, the Avengers treat him like he's still a child, and Mr. Stark's not exactly the friendliest mentor. But still, it's good.

Except that recently, Mr. Stark's been in the worst mood and Peter finds himself the unwitting focus of the man's ire.  He tries to keep his spirits up and tell himself that it's not personal, that anyone in the lab would be a target, but when Mr. Stark kicks him out, Peter knows he's done.

Then he finds himself falling for what feels like an eternity before returning to New York.  Only it's not his New York City and the Iron Man he ends up fighting alongside is definitely not his Iron Man.  Anthony Stark is kind of perfect.  The Other Avengers are kind of perfect.  Everyone here seems to love him.  And when he and Anthony are tapped by Dr. Strange to help seal the rift between realities, Peter finds himself wondering if he was supposed to be in the reality with Anthony all along.  (AU of an AU)

Updated with Chapter 14 on 02 January 2024

SpiderStrange Fics (Peter Parker/Stephen Strange)

Please note that Peter is an adult in all of these.

One in Fourteen Million, Six Hundred and Five Dark-ish!Stephen – Mature, Complete

Stephen doesn't have time to admire Peter as much as he'd like, given that they're trying to stop total Armageddon. This is the fate of the universe at stake; his attraction doesn't really have a place here. But even still...

("Oh, we're using our made-up names? Ok, I'm Spider-Man.")

Something about this stupidly brave and chatty guy intrigues him.

Now That I’ve Found You (I Won’t Let You Go) Dark!Stephen – Mature, Complete

All Stephen wants is for Peter Parker to be happy and safe... with him. When Peter rejects Stephen? Stephen doesn't take it very well. He'll just have to ensure that Peter realizes that Stephen is his future.

Only Of What’s Mine Mature, Complete

Peter wasn't expecting to find an Alpha so soon after turning 18. After all, many Omegas don't bond with an Alpha at all until they're in their mid-20s at least. But after everything on Titan and the Snap and then the Blip and Mr. Stark nearly killing himself to destroy Thanos once and for all, Stephen had taken an interest in Peter. And Peter, god help him, was just as taken with the Alpha. (A/B/O AU)

The (It’s Not Sex Pollen!) Powder of Prana Mature, Complete

Stephen warns Peter to be careful while exploring the Sanctum. Peter, naturally, doesn't listen. The Powder of Prana goes flying. And now Stephen finds himself the only person Peter trusts to keep him from dying. With sex. (Sex Pollen AU)

Private Practice Mature, Complete

Peter Parker's appointment with Dr. Strange doesn't go as he'd planned when the good doctor prescribes a certain medical procedure. (Medical Kink/Medical Play)

Yours to Break (But Always Mend) Mature, Complete

Peter’s tears had long since stopped, replaced by weak, hitched sobs sometime after what might have been the sixth or seventh blow. He couldn’t remember why snapping back at Stephen like a brat had seemed like a good idea. He couldn’t remember why breaking the rules in the first place - starting all of this - had seemed like a good idea. (Dom/Sub)

I Know the Storms Will Always Come (But I Still Love to Have You Around) Mature, WIP

After Endgame, Stephen returns from another dimension to find Peter's life threatened by Quentin Beck's schemes. He undoes the damage and takes a struggling Peter into his care.

Peter needs time and a safe place to rebuild himself; Stephen's happy to provide that, even as he works to push aside the feelings he has. It's a tricky line to walk, setting boundaries and structure for Peter while imagining those same things in a very different context.

As Peter begins to come back to his usual self, personalities and wills clash, occasionally helped along by a certain Witch and a perpetually amused and exasperated Librarian. And Stephen finds that he can't plan for everything.

These Inconvenient Fireworks Mature, WIP

After a battle, Mr. Stark crosses a line with Peter. Peter, tired of being on the receiving end of Mr. Stark's anger, asks Stephen - who's witnessed everything - to take him away. In doing so, Stephen starts down a path with Peter he didn't see coming.

Alternatively: Peter's heart gets broken and Stephen helps put it back together.

Updated 23 Sep 2023

It’s All Routine Mature, Complete

Peter Parker is back at Dr. Strange's office for a physical required by his upcoming internship. He's hoping it will be quick and easy, but when Dr. Strange finds out that he hasn't had a physical since he was a young child, his hopes are dashed. Dr. Strange intends to be very thorough. (Medical Kink/Medical Play)

You Kiss Your Sorcerer With That Mouth? Mature, Complete

During a mission, Spider-Man lets some choice words for Dr. Doom slip. Stephen's less than pleased at Peter's disregard for how he's supposed to conduct himself as Spider-Man when he's in the public eye. He gives Peter some time to think about what he's done, and has a creative way to ensure Peter thinks twice before doing it again. (Domestic Discipline)

Help Me Up, Let’s Keep On Running Mature, Complete

Peter and Stephen have several rules set up in their dynamic. The two biggest? That Peter will look after his health and well-being, and that they will always be honest with each other.  

Peter manages to break both of them in one fell swoop, and Stephen is none too pleased.

Discussions are had, actions lead to consequences, and Peter emerges from the experience secure in the knowledge that Stephen will do whatever it takes to make sure he's cared for and loved. (Domestic Discipline)

I Can See The Man That I Fell For Fighting Mature, Complete

It was supposed to be a quick in and out job. Just into the study to grab his book he’d left in there by accident the night before, and then out before Stephen even knew he was up and about. Harmless.

It wasn’t his fault that Cloak decided it needed to follow him around like some overly nosy puppy. Or that Cloak decided it needed to join him in the study as he looked for his book. Or that Cloak had decided to apparently “guard” something in the study in way that just screamed suspicious and naturally piqued Peter’s curiosity.

In and out, no harm done.

But when it became clear that Peter was overstaying his welcome in the space, Cloak had also felt the need to snitch.

He’d really, really fucked up. (Domestic Discipline)

This Back's Not Going to Break So Easily - Part 1 of 2, This Back’s Not Going to Break So Easily - Part 2 of 2

Mature, Complete

When Peter comes to Stephen upset and insisting he needs to be punished, Stephen knows something's wrong. Given a chance to calm down and feel safe, Peter explains what happened while he was at the Tower working in the labs and interrupted by Harley. Stephen reassures Peter that he did nothing wrong and does his best to comfort him.

Also featured: Stephen confronting Tony and Harley like a boss, Peter and Stephen's love, trust, and mutual respect for each other, lots of fluffy/dirty teasing, and pizza. (Domestic Discipline)

And I Let the Knots of Time Come Undone Mature, Complete

After breaking one of their established rules, Stephen finds himself at Peter's service for the day. Tasked with his least favorite chores, Stephen tries to maintain his sanity and make it through, all while reluctantly admitting to himself that all things considered, he's getting off easy.

If only he could get rid of that damn bell... (Domestic Discipline)

Our Road Gets Better With Every Bend Mature, Complete

Peter's getting ready for his junior year at Columbia. But before he goes back to school, there's the matter of his 21st birthday to deal with. Which is inevitably going to affect The Rules he and Stephen have. And what should be a nice night out for Peter's birthday takes a bit of a detour when a former acquaintance from Peter's freshman year unexpectedly runs into the happy couple.

Stephen's not jealous. No, not one bit. (Domestic Discipline)

Maybe If I Hold You Close, Baby We Could Just Let Go Teen, Complete

While the idea of accompanying Stephen to the high-brow fundraisers and charity galas seemed glamorous at first, Peter found the reality turned out to be much more disappointing. Everyone looks down their nose at him; people are forever swarming Stephen and flirting with him; and Peter usually finds himself alone, bored, counting the time until they can leave. However, he keeps attending in the hopes that he'll finally get a chance to dance with Stephen like he'd imagined.

One night he gets to dance with a surprising friend, which may finally lead to a bit of happiness at the damned events going forward.

Or Stephen might take issue, if another friend doesn’t take it upon herself to give him a clue. (Domestic Discipline)

I'm Counting On A New Beginning, A Reason For Living Mature, Complete

Peter's been in a bad mood and his recent stretch of bad luck isn't helping matters. Stephen hasn't been able to get through to him, and even when Peter takes his punishments for acting out, something's off. Worried about his partner, Stephen tries to think of what it is he might have done wrong. Upset, Peter pulls away.

It takes a bad set of prototype arrows, saving someone's life, a friend snitching, a stern Dr. Palmer taking control of a situation, a very un-teamlike spying session, and an uncomfortable discussion or two before Stephen and Peter are back on the same page. (Domestic Discipline)

Man, What Are You Doing Here? Mature, Complete

He only had one final left to take... and then he was done with everything until the fall semester of his final year as an undergraduate. Since his final wasn’t until Thursday afternoon, he didn’t see the harm in going out with some friends to celebrate and cute loose on Tuesday evening.

Would he have chosen a bar? No. He wasn’t supposed to drink on school nights and honestly, he preferred going to the movies or a show. But he was in college and honestly, it wasn’t like it needed to be a big deal.

And it wasn’t like Stephen needed to know. (Domestic Discipline)

Cold Comes From the East Side (Ch. 1)(Ch. 2)(Ch. 3) Mature, WIP

Peter breaks one of the rules in a spectacular way and suffers the consequences. It's rare for Stephen to actually be angry with him, but given the circumstances, Peter supposes the anger is more than earned. It's a hell of a situation for the pair of them and Peter wonders if they'll actually make it through. (Domestic Discipline)

Published Chapter 3 on 14 August 2023

Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue Mature, WIP

In an alternate universe where trains and zeppelins are still common forms of travel and the internet and cell phones exist, Peter Parker has few options left after he's swindled out of his inheritance. Unable to pay for college, let alone keep the house left to him by his deceased aunt, he's running out of time before he's out on the streets. Desperate, Peter signs his life over to the Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections to take his chances as the selected husband of a complete stranger. After all, he only has to make it through a year and then he can choose to annul.

Dr. Stephen Strange has little interest in marriage, preferring to focus on his career. When his career is threatened by what a nosy board of directors considers a "lack of personal fulfillment and settling down," he opts to select a spouse through the BCSS and chooses Peter Parker. The young man's profile suggests intelligence and compatibility. It's not ideal, but if after a year it's not working out, he can always annul the marriage and send Peter on his way.

It's a marriage neither truly wants, with sharp learning curves for both. It's either going to be forever or it's going to go down in flames. (Domestic Discipline, 1950s-Modern Fusion AU)

Updated with Chapter 34 on 25 April 2024

Nevertheless, Recover Mature, Complete

Peter finds himself once again in Dr. Strange's office, hoping to find a reason and a cure for his latest ailment.  He's come to the right place, since Dr. Strange will do everything it takes to diagnose and treat Peter. Hopefully, Peter will survive the embarrassment. (Medical Kink/Medical Play)

Doctor 13 Fics (Christine Palmer/Sharon Carter)

Baby, You Don't Gotta Fight Mature, WIP

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7

Dr. Christine Palmer is just living her life, content in her job as a trauma surgeon and happily moonlighting as Peter Parker's general physician at her old friend Stephen's request.

One evening as she finishes up examining Peter, she encounters the force of nature that's Sharon Carter, who seems to have a reckless streak a mile wide.

She's not sure what to make of the spy-turned-Avenger, but she can tell Sharon's hurting, and Christine's healing nature won't be ignored.

Iron 13 Fics (Tony Stark/Sharon Carter)

Feels So Right, Can’t be Wrong Teen, WIP

Prologue | Yellow Tulip | Blue Salvia | Yellow Narcissus | Red Morning Glory

The setting: Sanctum General Hospital in Sanctum Heights, New Amsterdam

Starring: Sharon Carter - former Central Security Bureau operative, Selecting Spouse in a horrifically failed Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections marriage, patient AND Anthony Edward "Tony" Stark - owner and CEO of Stark Industries, Futurist determined to rebuild a world his father built weapons to destroy, love interest

With Appearances by:  Nurse Wong, Orderly Rintrah, and Billy the Admin

And Featuring Doctor Stephen Strange as "the Surgeon"

Or, "Five Dates Tony and Sharon Had in Her Hospital Room and One They Had After She Was Discharged"

Updated 23 November 2023

The Phoenix Protocol Mature, WIP

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

No one else but Tony thought anything was off about Sharon. Investigating on his own, he discovered and brought down her Skrull impersonator and when he found the real Sharon near death, he made a choice that would change both of their lives.

MISC

This is What I Brought You, This You Can Keep

Stephen Strange/Clea Strange/Peter Parker - Mature, Complete

...who is he to deny the woman he loves - the woman who has seen into his soul with all its trials, agony, and dreams and loves him because of it! - who is he to deny her anything she desires?

If you feel so moved, feel free to buy me a cup of coffee! Couldntbedamned's Ko-Fi

#couldntbedamned fic #master list #reader fic #sfw post #tony stark x reader #bruce banner x reader #stephen strange x reader #starker #tony stark x peter parker #spiderstrange #stephen strange x peter parker #doctor 13 #christine palmer x sharon carter #iron 13 #tony stark x sharon carter

[tswaney17]

This fic is inspired by @duskwhisperer's commissioned art. I really struggled to come up with an idea for this prompt, but then I saw this art and I could vividly picture Feyre catching a moment between these two. Thank you, babes, for letting me utilize that gorgeous art! I appreciate it. And be sure to show it some love! 🌸💙

@elriel-month

Prompt: Veil. 💙

I will not be posting full fics for Elriel Month on Tumblr this year. Check out the beginning snippet and link to read more below.

Feyre was in the kitchen putting the kettle of ginger tea on the stove, lighting the burner with matches from the drawer. The morning sickness was finally starting to hit her and she had to be careful to avoid any encounters with the family when she was under the weather. Rhys’s shield remained firmly intact, but being ill would definitely cause some questions.

In particular, from the two people she saw sitting together out by the glass-stained arch, Elain had constructed in the garden. It was simple architecture, but the result gave them beautiful displays of color during the sunset. It was one of her favorite modifications to the garden so far.

Her head cocked to the side as she took in the Seer and the Shadowsinger, chatting on the stone bench beneath the glass archway. Azriel in his Illyrian leathers having just brought some reports to her mate, and Elain in a lovely pale pink dress.

But what made Feyre pause her tea-making was seeing the enormous smile that took over Elain’s face. Her mouth parted in surprise. She had seen her sister’s smile many times before.

Read More

~~~~~

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[uwingdispatch]

Devotion

Devotion

Notes: Brasso/Reader, established relationship, gender neutral reader, post-rebellion/post-war, hurt/comfort, chronically ill/disabled reader

CW: depression/mental health struggles, active shooter

Ao3 Link

★★★★★★★★

“What’s going on?”

You’re in your pajamas, standing at the end of the hallway that leads to your bedroom. It’s 3:00 in the morning and you’ve woken to find Brasso sitting at the kitchen table, fiddling with something in his hands.

Startled, he looks up. “How long have you been standing there?” He asks, running a hand through his dark hair, his grays hidden in the shadows of the dimly-lit room. In this moment there’s a sadness in his eyes that he doesn’t often allow you to see.

“Not long,” you say.. “I woke up and you weren’t there. I had a feeling…”

“I made you anxious,” Brasso says, pushing away from the table. “I’m so sorry, love.”

You insist that you’re fine, but he’s already wrapping his big arms around you and you can’t help but sleepily lean into his embrace.

“I got a message from Wilmon today. Did you know it was the anniversary of Rix Road?”

“I should have remembered.”

“No, darling,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “No, I’d rather not remember that day. Most of it, anyway.”

“Are you all right?” You ask.

“I will be,” he says. “Last time I was on Ferrix, Xanwan’s niece was cleaning up his old store front, getting it ready to sell. She gave me this keyfob of his that she found in a drawer. It’s just a festival trinket from an old holiday but…there are pictures from that day. The old gang, you know? Before I met you, even.”

“You’re thinking about Xan?”

“And everyone who didn’t make it out that day. How things could have gone differently if I’d just—”

“If you’d just what? Let fascists steamroll your entire community? Brasso, people did get out because of you. And I’m sure I’m not the only one you warned away from town that day.”

“You’re not.”

“And you got Wilmon out.”

“I did.”

“Bee. Bix. Jezzi.”

He answers with a sigh.

You step back so you can see your partner’s face, tucking a few strands of hair behind his ear so you can look into his eyes. “You’re one man, Brasso. A very good man, but still just one. How were you going to stop anything that Maarva Andor started?

He laughs a little, remembering the woman who had been so much to so many people. You’d never been a Daughter of Ferrix, but it was Maarva who invited you to join in on some of the community projects anyway. It was people you met through Maarva who had encouraged you to start selling your handmade goods, who had told you how much they’d enjoyed the things you’d made for fundraisers over the years. And it was the Daughters, so many now spread throughout the galaxy, who’d helped you leave Ferrix and find a place on Gatalenta. Who’d told you that Brasso would find you when the war was over, because surely someone knew where he was, even if it wasn’t safe for you to know yet.

In the hallway, Brasso hands you the keyfob. There’s a year etched on the back and it is indeed before you’d met Brasso, but you’d been in town then. Back after finishing your degree, trying to feel out what was next. You’d made jogun fruit jam that year for the festival these pictures were taken at. And you’d only been at the stall for a few hours each day, but in the background of one of the pictures, there you were.

“Brasso,” you say. “That’s me.”

“No kidding,” he says, zooming in. “Beautiful as ever.”

“You can barely see me.”

“I can see enough.” Brasso kisses your forehead, his lips soft and warm on your skin. “Let me get you back to bed, darling. Enough of my troubles for the night. I never should have woken you in the first place.”

“You didn’t wake me,” you remind him.

But he has your hand in his and is leading you back down the hallway to the bedroom, the keyfob left behind.

*

There were a lot of things you loved about Ferrix, but the time grappler had never been one of them. He was a nice enough man, and you didn’t have any quarrel with him personally. But you’d never been a morning person. And nothing about Ferrix was going to change that. You’d occasionally pick up a morning shift at the café where you worked if someone called out and they needed help. But other than that? You needed the rest. So you jammed a pillow over your head while the time grappler struck the beskar steel in the tower at the start of each day until you could go back to sleep.

You’d known Brasso for a few years when he showed up with a basket of fruit a few hours after dawn, banging on your door like the galaxy was collapsing. You crawled out of bed and put on a robe, sure that there was some kind of maintenance emergency in the building.. But when you opened the door, it was Brasso, all two meters of him with a desperate look on his face. And…the fruit.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, the annoyed tone in your voice unmistakable.

“Thank the stars,” he said, pulling you into his arms. “You’re all right.”

“Shouldn’t I be?”

“Someone opened fire at the market this morning. Not even from here…at least nobody I can think of matches his description. Someone called Morlana-1. Corpos showed up and all they managed to do is chase him to the café.”

You knew without asking that he meant your café, and at the word of corpos, you stepped back to let Brasso in. His cheeks were rosy from the early morning cold, his eyes bright, and his work clothes were crisp and tidy before a long day at the salvage yard.

“Is anyone hurt?” you asked.

“There were some injuries at the market,” Brasso said, running a hand through his hair. “But the café…we don’t know yet. They won’t let anyone near the building. I came to see you as soon as I heard.”

You didn’t live far from your work—just a few blocks. And as all of the information you were receiving began to solidify in your brain you felt your nervous system kick into high gear. You tried to steady your breathing as you asked, “What’s with the fruit?”

“The Daughters dropped this off for my mum the other night. But you know how she’s allergic to meilooruns—won’t eat anything that’s touched them out of precaution. I thought I’d leave it for you on my way to work…and then someone commed me about all this…I’m just so glad you’re safe, love.”

This was the first time he’d ever used that term of endearment with you, and you weren’t sure what to make of it, but it warmed something inside of you that you knew you’d never shake, even as you felt yourself giving way to panic.

Brasso pulled you close again. “Hey,” he said. “I’ve got you.”.

It’s all you needed to hear.

“I know you don’t do mornings. I’m so sorry to wake you…I just…they don’t have the guy in custody yet. Do you mind if I stick around for a bit? You don’t carry a blaster and…”

“I’ll make us some caf,” you say, turning toward your little kitchen.

“No,” he said, his hands steady on your shoulders. “You sit down. I’ve thrown off your day, the least I can do is make you breakfast.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Unless you want to go back to sleep. I can leave if—”

“No,” you said, your breath shaky. And, when he took your hand in his, it felt so right that for a moment you forgot that everything about this morning was unusual. “Stay,” you said. “Please.”

“All right,” he said, his eyes searching yours for something neither of you seemed to quite grasp.

You snapped out of your haze and went to get yourself cleaned up and dressed, allowing yourself in your sleepiness to think thoughts about this man, your closest friend, that normally you pushed away. He was right there, after all. In your kitchen. If you let yourself feel what you felt, if it came burbling out of you in a groggy delirium…you couldn’t bear the thought of anything changing between you. Of losing this closeness. Because somehow it hadn’t occurred to you that he felt those feelings about you, too.

*

You wake to the sound of clattering in the kitchen, a string of curses on Brasso’s tongue. There’s not a lot that can get you out of bed quickly but, after last night, you’re a little worried that he’s not just upset about a broken dish.

You slip into a robe and hurry into the kitchen where you find your husband sweeping up broken glass.

“It’s early, love,” he says when he sees you. “You can go back to sleep.”

“No, I can’t,” you say. “Some anniversaries you just feel in your bones. This is one of those for you.”

Brasso is washing his hands. You can’t tell if he’s ignoring you or if he just doesn’t know what to say.

“Brass?”

“I don’t know why it’s hitting me like this,” he says. “It’s been so long.”

“You told me last night you heard from Wilmon. Is he all right?”

“He is.”

Brasso drops a towel on the counter and you take his hand. You’ve both had more than your fair share of grief. Grief for loved ones lost. For futures that could never be. For safe places that would never feel safe again. And with the Imperial occupation of Ferrix you lost your home as you knew it. But you’d moved there as a teenager. You didn’t have generations of history there like Brasso did. His roots there were different. And when he chose to stay on Gatalenta, it was partly because could never go back to the place he left—not for more than a visit. Because too much had changed for it to feel like home for him.

“Let me make us some caf,” you say.

“Nonsense,” he says. “I’ve spoiled your sleep again, I’ll just—

“Brasso.”

“Okay,” he says, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “I hear you.”

He’s always been the kind of man who takes care of everyone else and struggles to let others take care of him. It’s not that he doesn’t know how to ask for help, it’s that he doesn’t want to burden anyone. Even after all this time, he hesitates to tell you when something is wrong that he thinks he can handle on his own. You usually figure it out anyway, and he usually gives in to your care. But it hasn’t always been easy.

As you grind the caf beans—a blend he’d picked up at the market last week—you think of all those afternoons after you’d first met, when he’d turn up at the cafe on his break. It had been the best part of your day. You’d later learn that he’d been pretty loyal to a caf bar closer to his place until the day he stopped in on his lunch one afternoon and recognized you, the person he’d helped with the spilled groceries just a week or so before. Soon, he was a staple, falling into an easy routine with you. The two of you started taking your breaks together, soon becoming so close that it seemed like you’d always known each other. The first time he walked you home, on a night when the end of your shifts coincided, you had a feeling that maybe—just maybe—when you got to your apartment he was going to kiss you. But the moment passed. And you let yourself push the thought of a romance with Brasso to the back of your mind for the first time.

When you put a cup of caf in front of Brasso today, he takes your hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

“Tell me what you need,” you say.

“Just sit with me, love,” he says. “All I need is you.”

*

Brasso was the kind of man who didn’t know how not to be busy. He’d been in your apartment for all of ten minutes before he’d sliced up some of the fruit to go with eggs and toast for breakfast. You’d known him long enough to know that this was just what he did. When he was upset, he took care of other people. So you should have known that when you’d sleepily mentioned that your refresher sink had been leaking that he was going to have to try and fix it. Now, a few hours later, he was in there with the tools he’d meant to take to work before the trajectory of his day had changed, leading him to you instead.

“You don’t have to do this,” you told him. “I can call the building manager and have him come take care of it.”

“It’s a simple fix,” he said. “I’m almost done.”

It was noon. Word was out that the scene had been cleared at the cafe, luckily with only some minor injuries. But nobody wanted to go out while the corpos were still around. And Brasso hadn’t said anything but you could tell he didn’t want to leave you by yourself either. Ferrix had always watched out for their own, and there was no telling what these off-planet police might do while they were here. Who they might bother. They didn’t know Ferrix and they didn’t like it any more than it liked them. So the streets had emptied. Places of business were closed. And Brasso was still with you.

“Finished,” Brasso called out from the refresher. “Good as…well as good as it was when you moved in here at least,” he said.

Not a lot on Ferrix was brand new. You liked this about your home. When you first came to Ferrix, you hadn’t known what to make of it. But now—now you felt there was something cozy about it. It was comforting to think about all the lives that had touched everything here.

You smiled as you heard Brasso taking off his tool belt and putting it with his boots by the door. When he came to sit with you, he’d unzipped the top of his coveralls and tied the arms around his waist, the black tanktop underneath accentuating the muscle of his chest, his broad, freckled shoulders. His hair was a bit mussed, and you fought the urge to reach out and touch it, to smooth it back in place.

He noticed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said. “I zoned out for a moment. Probably just tired.”

“Things are changing around here,” he said. “It’s setting people on edge. I can’t remember the last time I had a day where I just felt at peace. Where things felt normal.”

“I wish there was something more I could do.”

“You’re here. That’s peace enough for me today.”

You yawned then, and he put his arm around you.

“Come here,” he said, grabbing the knit blanket you kept thrown over the back of your couch. “Close your eyes. Just rest.”

So you did. You let yourself relish in that closeness, in his clean, familiar scent, the secure warmth of his strong arms, the steady rhythm of his heart. It wasn’t the first time you’d fallen asleep in his arms. And you did still wonder, sometimes, if there was something there that neither of you dared to speak about. But you had seen Brasso’s affection with other friends as well. And, at the end of the day, you were grateful for what you had with him, even if it wasn’t quite what you wanted. He made you feel safe, even on days like this, and given the state of the galaxy, that was a considerable feat.

*

“Would you want to go out today?” Brasso asks.

He’s just woken up from a nap, and he’s wandered out of the bedroom looking delightfully mussed in his favorite pair of sweatpants. You’ll never get used to the fact, even after all this time, that this beautiful man has chosen to spend the rest of his life with you. You’d been answering holomail, but you put down your datapad, ready to do what you can to ease your partner’s stress.

“Are you up for it?” you ask. “There’s that food festival downtown, you know. In the park by the spires. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to go.”

“That sounds nice.” He sits on the sofa next to you, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I think I need some fresh air.”

“I think you do, too.”

You smooth his hair away from his face. Even as you say this, a part of you wants to just sit here like this all afternoon, resting your head on his chest, tracing the lines of the tattoos he collected in his travels, before he came home to you. A part of you wants to just stay here, like this, for the rest of the day. Still, you tell him to go get dressed, that you’ll be ready to go when he is.

Soon you’re in the park, a soft blanket laid out over the grass beneath you, paper containers of hot treats waiting to be opened—things from a few different food carts, because neither of you could choose.

“Now this,” Brasso says to you, “this is something I want to remember.”

“Hm?” You’re trying to open a bottle of a fizzy drink you hadn’t seen here before.

“Love,” Brasso says, one finger under your chin as he eases your face toward his. “Today is the day I first met you. Did you know that?”

You have to admit you didn’t remember the date. But he isn’t the kind of person to be upset over that. He knows his memory is better than most, and that you have a tendency to forget anything you don’t write down.

Still, you say, “I’m sorry,”

He smiles, leans in to touch his nose to yours. “No need,” he says.

There was a time when you never could have imagined Brasso would be the type to kiss you this way, out in the open for everyone to see. But whatever part of him that maybe had been too bashful for that kind of intimacy was gone with the war. With all the years he couldn’t hold you or kiss you at all. And under the bright sun he pulls you toward him, bringing your legs over his lap as he leans in to kiss your forehead, and then your nose, and then your lips, a kiss rich with devotion as he cradles your cheek in one of his big, rough hands.

You reach for his face, caressing the scruff of his short beard before threading your fingers through his hair, now collar-length, the silver strands catching the light. He still doesn’t believe you when you tell him you’ve never seen anyone more beautiful than him. But you’ll never get tired of telling him this, of telling him that from that day you met him there was nobody else in the galaxy who stood a chance to win your affections.

Today, you tell him: “I love you, you know. So much.”

“I know,” he says, a sparkle in his hazel eyes. “I can remember these things for the both of us.”

He kisses you again, a bit deeper, lingering, and you whisper, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, “People are staring.”

He laughs, running his fingers softly over your jaw before his hand comes to rest at the nape of your neck. “Let them,” he says.

And so you do, letting yourself enjoy this closeness as a warm breeze comes through the park, the sky in this moment seemingly full of possibilities, his kiss an infinite canvas for you to complete. You make a note of the date, and think to yourself that you won’t forget this time. You couldn’t possibly forget an afternoon like this.

★★★★★★★★

Hopefully it won't be so long between fics next time, but I hope you enjoyed this! Thank you for reading! I hope this fic made you feel seen and loved.

I have a taglist now! Sign up here if you want to be tagged in future fics. (And choose if you only want to be tagged for certain characters.) In the meantime, I’m tagging my taglist as well as some folks who have been reblogging my fics. Love y’all!

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[hero-deserves-to-be-happy]

Under The Weather (A Hero-Centric Sick Fic)

When Hero has to cancel his visit home due to illness, Kel gets worried and calls in some reinforcements to take care of him. Kel knows there is nothing that upsets his brother more than being fussed over and worried about, but maybe he'll let himself be taken care of just this once...

Genre: Sick Fic, Slice of Life and Hurt/Comfort. Friendship and Kel & Hero's Brotherly Love. Post-Good Ending. Self-Indulgent. Hero Deserves To Be Happy.

Characters: Hero (POV Character), Kel (POV Character), and Zoey (OC). Sally and the parents make brief appearances. Mari and Sunny are mentioned.

Relationships: Hero and Kel's Brotherly Bond. Kel and Zoey (OC) Friendship. Hero and Zoey (OC) Friendship [Could be Hero/OC if you really wanted, but this story take place mid-extremely slow burn so they'd swear they're just friends here]. Past Hero/Mari is implied, referenced, and mentioned.

Word Count: 11,886

Rating: G

Warnings: Some hurt/comfort. Some mentions of grief. Mentioned flu and flu-like symptoms. Sick Character. Referenced Canonical Character Death. OMORI SPOILERS. There is a little angst, but it wraps up with brotherly love and Hero actually being happy and taken care of after the good ending (who knew we'd live to see the day...)

⛅This story is part of the "When Sun Shines Again" universe & includes specific references to "Am I Ready For Love? Or Maybe Just A Best Friend" but it should stand-alone and make sense without reading any of that. 

A/N: It's my birthday and this is my (Acacia's) self-indulgent present to myself. 😁Thank you for indulging me!

Link to work on AO3. Full text below the cut.

Thank you for reading! 🧡💙☂️

Kel glanced over at the clock, watching as the second hand barely ticked away. He generally wasn’t this distracted or antsy at basketball practice, even when his coach called an emergency practice after school on a Friday when everyone was naturally jittery with anticipation for the weekend. But he couldn’t seem to focus on anything today—found himself zoning out until something collided with the back of his head.

“Ouch!” he yelped, rubbing his hand across the spot the basketball had just bounced off of him. That was definitely going to leave a mark. Some of his teammates snickered while a few offered shrugs of apologies. His coach huffed, crossing his arms clearly unamused.

“What is going on with you today?”

“Sorry, coach,” he mumbled sheepishly—scratching the back of his neck. “My brother’s coming home from college for the weekend, so I guess I’ve been a little distracted.”

His coach frowned. “Well you can run out that distraction by running laps around this gym. 10 laps—go!”

Kel sighed, but he sprinted off for his laps. If he was being perfectly honest, he didn’t mind. If he was lucky, maybe running laps would help time pass faster. He’d try anything that would help time pass faster. Hero was coming home, and he couldn’t wait to see him.

When practice finally wrapped up, he practically sprinted out to his car and, though it likely would have worried his mother, he sped home at, at least, a solid 10 mph above the speed limit. He hoped he hadn’t missed Hero’s arrival—though he knew he had a class this morning and wouldn’t have been able to leave until later in the day, then he had what was probably a 3-hour drive taking traffic into account, so maybe time was on his side.

When he pulled onto his street, he was relieved to see that Hero’s car was not in the driveway, and as he ran through the doorway into the house, he called, “Have you heard from Hero at all?” Do you know what time he’s coming?”

With an affectionate chuckle, his mom looked up from the block structure she had been building with Sally. “Well, welcome home to you too, Kel. Did you have a good day at school? How was basketball practice?”

“It was fine,” he said with a shrug, trying to ignore that lump on the back of his head. “But have you—?”

“Wanna play ‘zoo,’ Kel?” Sally interrupted with a bright smile as she held up some of the colorful, plastic animals he and Hero had bought her for her birthday. “You can have any ammimals you want.” She stared up at him with wide, expectant eyes as she handed him an elephant. Kel smiled, patting his little sister on the head.

“Thanks, Sally. We’ll play in a minute, okay?” He paused, turning back to his mother. “Mom—”

“I haven’t heard from him since this morning. He was supposed to call before he left, but maybe he got busy or forgot,” she cut him off with a slight shake of her head. “I hope he’ll make it back in time for dinner.”

“I’ll call him,” exclaimed Kel reaching for the telephone receiver. As Kel began to dial the number he knew by heart, he stopped—wondering if it would be better to call Hero’s cell phone. They were all still adjusting to the fact that he had gotten one. It made their mother feel safer and more secure, knowing that Hero had a way to call for help in an emergency, but since he had limited, prepaid minutes, they all still usually communicated with him by calling the landline at the fraternity house where he lived. In this case, however, Kel was hoping that Hero was already on his way, in which case, his cell phone would be the best way to get ahold of him.

“What if he’s driving?” sighed Mom as Kel began to flip through the address book they kept near the phone. When he found the number, Kel shrugged.  

“Then he won’t answer, and I’ll just leave a message.”

“Tell him about my zoo,” giggled Sally, and Kel nodded. As he held the phone to his ear, the ringing of the telephone mingled with Sally’s best impression of a lion. A smile tugged at his mouth as he watched as his sister began to set her animal toys in the block zoo she had been building with their mother.

He was so distracted he almost didn’t hear the slow, heavy breath followed by a hoarse, groggy, “Hello?”

Kel’s brow furrowed. “Hero? Uh…it’s Kel…” He stumbled over his words, worried he had dialed the wrong number. The person on the other line barely sounded like his brother at all. There was more wheezy breathing as if Hero couldn’t catch his breath, followed by an audible gasp and a stumbling, almost panicky, “Kel? Oh my gosh—what time is it?”

“Um…around 6:00, I think.”

“I’m so sorry,” apologized Hero, sounding like himself again besides the hoarse breathiness of his voice. “I wasn’t feeling well so I lied down to take a nap before I left, and I must have completely lost track of time.” His voice cracked and hitched—raspy and wheezy before he finally burst into a fit of nasty, phlegmy coughing.

“You sound terrible. Are you sick?”

“He’s sick?” interjected their mother bustling around him in a fidgety panic. “What’s wrong? Did he see a doctor? Does he have a fever?”

“I don’t know, Mom,” huffed Kel, but he was promptly cut off by Hero.

“Mom’s there?” There was something concerned and guilty in his already weary voice. “Tell her not to worry. I’m fine. My friends have been passing this bug around. I’m the last one to catch it. I’ll probably be better in a couple days.”

Kel nodded before he realized his brother couldn’t see him; then, he turned to his mom giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “He says all his friends have had this bug. It only lasts a day or two. He’s gonna be fine.”

“Tell him to take medicine, get lots of rest, and drink plenty of water and to keep checking his temperature,” his mother began rambling. “If it reaches 103, he needs to call a doctor or go to urgent care.”

“Mom,” sighed Kel. “Hero’s gonna be a doctor. I’m sure he knows all that.”

“You can hand the phone off to Mom If you want. I’ll talk to her,” Hero weakly interjected before he started coughing again. “I’m really sorry I’ll have to postpone my visit, but I’m not well enough to drive and I wouldn’t want to get you sick.”

“It’s fine, okay? Don’t worry about it. Are you sure you’re alright? That’s a really nasty cough.” Kel bit his lip, trying not to sound nearly as concerned as he felt. His fingers trembled as they gripped onto the receiver. As he looked in his mother’s face, he knew she was worried too and likely for the same reason: Hero never got sick.

“I’m fine,” he insisted but his raspy voice and coughing fit seemed to imply otherwise. “Don’t worry about me. I’m probably just going to make some instant ramen and go to bed.”

“But you hate instant ramen…”

“He’s making instant ramen,” interjected their mother. “Tell him to try to eat something healthier—more hearty like soup.”

“Mom—” Kel began to protest before Hero cut him off with a weary sigh.

“I just didn’t have the energy to make anything else…” Hero’s voice trailed, and Kel swallowed hard.

“Is there someone there who can take care of you?” he asked, and Hero sighed again.

“I don’t want to bother anyone or get them sick. Besides they’re all heading out to this party tonight.” He paused, coughing again. “But it’s fine. I’m really okay, Kel, just a little under the weather.”

Kel sighed heavily. He wished he could believe him, but Hero had always had this way of deflecting and belittling his own problems because he didn’t want people to worry. This had gotten especially bad over the past couple of years. Ever since their fight, it seemed like Hero would never tell him that anything was wrong ever again. Kel’s chest ached. His brother could be dying right now, and he’d have no idea.

“Hero—” He stopped abruptly, unsure of what he even wanted to say. It would probably just be the wrong thing anyway, so it might be better if he just didn’t say anything at all.

“I’m okay, Kel,” Hero gently insisted again. “And I’m sorry…but we’ll see each other another time. Maybe next weekend or the weekend after? Whenever I’m not contagious anymore.”

Kel sighed, but he finally answered, “Yeah…You just take care, okay? Do you want me to put Mom on now?”

Hero hummed, and Kel handed the phone off to their mother who started blustering and prattling away about cold medicine, sponge baths, and electrolytes. Kel didn’t catch most of it, but he did clearly hear, “I wish you had someone up there to take care of you.” Kel let out a long, heavy sigh. He certainly felt the same way, but that definitely wasn’t going to happen. Hero hated asking for help more than he hated instant ramen.

“Is Hero gonna be, okay?” asked Sally, tugging on his arm. Kel gave her a reassuring smile.

“Yeah. He’s just a little sick right now, but he’ll be fine. Then he’ll come visit and see your zoo.” He took Sally’s hand and led her back to the blocks and toys. “Here, I’ll help you with it.”

Helping Sally with her zoo project did not distract Kel nearly as much as he hoped. He was constantly distracted by worries about Hero and how bad his health was—if he was really telling them the whole story. He didn’t usually get sick after all, and he sounded horrible. What if he had a flu or something and needed medical attention? He could at least use someone who could check in on him and make sure he was getting water and enough to eat that wasn’t instant ramen. But Kel wasn’t sure who that would even be. Unless…

Impulsively, Kel raced upstairs to his room to grab the notecard where he had written Hero’s friend Zoey’s phone number after she had offered to let him call her whenever he got stuck on his math homework. Kel had used to call Hero with all his homework trouble, but after Hero himself was stumped by a particularly difficult math problem, his brother had suggested they ask his friend who was an engineering major and, Hero insisted, a math genius. Best of all, she had just so happened to be hanging out with him when Kel had called. Zoey had quickly solved and walked him through the problem, then several others. Then she generously offered that he could call her with any other questions—which he had multiple times. Honestly, he’d probably be failing math right now if it wasn’t for her.

He talked to her all the time, sometimes it seemed, even more than Hero, though Kel often thought he probably got a more accurate account of how Hero was actually doing from her than if he had just asked his brother himself. He could only be told ‘I’m fine, just busy’ so many times before it started sounding automatic and rehearsed. Zoey at least told him the truth: he’s stressed about upcoming exams, busy cooking food for a party his fraternity was hosting, or groggy from staying up all night studying. Kel sighed. He understood if his brother wanted to keep a lot of his life private, but, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt a little to be cut off from his reality by dismissive ‘I’m fine’s. He knew Hero didn’t want him to worry and was likely just trying to protect him from that, but still…he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was his own fault. Hero probably didn’t want to tell him he was stressed out, overwhelmed, or sick because he was worried Kel would just say the wrong thing, just like he had when Hero had gotten so depressed after Mari had died.

Neither of them ever wanted that to happen again so they just didn’t really say much of anything anymore—at least not much of anything that mattered. Sure, they still talked—so much and so often that Kel knew the phone number to Hero’s fraternity house by heart, but it barely scratched the surface, never touched anything deep or meaningful. In a way, it felt hollow, distant—like Hero was only showing him a hazy impression of his life, enough to reassure Kel he was doing okay but not enough that he could feel like he actually knew him anymore, at least not like he had when they were younger and Hero had told him everything. It was getting better—had been over the past two years since they had learned the truth, but…Kel knew things would never go back to the way they were. He should probably be used to that by now. His brother was a very private person, and he probably always would be.

And by the time Kel had dialed the number and listened to two rings of the telephone, he realized with a somewhat sheepish sigh that he probably should have been a little more respectful of that. His hands began to tremble as he clutched onto the receiver—genuinely starting to worry he was crossing a line. Zoey was one of Hero’s best friends, and Hero might be embarrassed to know his younger brother had been calling her to ask if she’d check up on him.

Before he could even begin to consider hanging up, however, someone answered the phone with a “Hello?”

“Hey, uh, this is Kel. Is Zoey there?”

The young woman on the other line laughed. “Scotty, how are you?”  she asked, and Kel’s mouth curved into a bright smile. He knew immediately it was her. She was the only person in the world who called him ‘Scotty.’ Zoey had explained to him once it had to do with his talent for fixing things, just like “Scotty the Miracle Man,” a reference to some old tv show Zoey said she had used to watch with her dad. It didn’t bother Kel that he didn’t get the reference. He was honestly just kind of excited to have a nickname. After all, he had never really had one besides ‘Kel’ before and that was just a shortened version of his name. He had always kind of wanted one, just like Hero, but he had never told anyone that before.

“I’m good,” he replied with a chuckle. “You?”

Zoey hummed. “I’m doing okay—been kind of busy. You stuck on your math homework again?”

“Well yeah,” Kel admitted with a shrug. “But that wasn’t why I was calling. Is this a bad time?”

“Nope. Most of my sorority sisters are headed out to this party, so that’s probably what you’re hearing in the background.”

Kel’s brow furrowed. He heard some background chatter and rustling noises, but it was all kind of faint—nothing he would have thought was worth mentioning if Zoey hadn’t brought it up herself. “You’re not going to the party?”

“I have a project due next week, and honestly, parties aren’t really my scene. Don’t tell your brother, but I really don’t think I’d have a good time without him there anyway. We’re usually the only sober ones, and drunk company’s really not all it’s cracked up to be,” she replied dryly, and Kel laughed but shrugged his shoulders.

“Have you talked to Hero at all?”

“Not since yesterday. Did he make it home okay?”

Kel sighed. “He’s not coming. He’s sick.” Kel paused—sighing again and trying not to sound too disappointed. “He called like 45 minutes ago—has this terrible cough. He says he caught some bug or something and isn’t well enough to drive.”

“I knew this would happen,” huffed Zoey though she sounded more guilty than upset. “We’ve all been passing this flu around, and Hero’s been trying to take care of everyone so, of course, he got sick himself.”

“A flu?” interrupted Kel. He shook his head. So Hero had been underexaggerating again…? He should’ve known.

“I’m sure he’s going to be okay,” Zoey reassured him. “He has a really strong immune system—barely ever gets sick. It’s one of the reasons he’s going to be a great doctor. Don’t worry. I had this flu too—got over it in a couple days.”

“He got it from you?” teased Kel, and Zoey laughed.

“Probably from Kyle. They are roommates. But we’ve all had it. Hero’s the last one.” Zoey paused, sighed. “We really didn’t think he was going to get sick.”

“Yeah he uh…usually doesn’t, but he sounded pretty miserable when I talked to him earlier today. Said the only thing he could eat was instant ramen.”

“He hates instant ramen,” Zoey interjected, and Kel shook his head with a sigh.

“I know.” He paused thoughtfully then tried to ask as nonchalantly as he could manage, “Hey…uh…do you think you could bring him over some food or something? Just so he wouldn’t have to keep eating instant ramen. I wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything, but since you already had it, maybe you could just drop it off and maybe check in to make sure he’s doing okay…?” His voice trailed, and he bit his lip as he waited for her answer.

“I’m not much of a cook, Scotty,” chuckled Zoey. “But I could stop by a restaurant or Other Mart to pick up a couple things and drop them off for him. You know it’s only going to make him feel guilty though. He’ll help anybody that needs him without batting an eye, but the minute you try to turn it around and return the favor, it’s suddenly a big deal.”

Shaking his head slightly, Kel sighed. “Yeah…that’s just Hero for you.”

When Zoey sighed herself, Kel imagined she was shaking her head with the same somewhat affectionate exasperation, but she hummed thoughtfully. “I’m sure he’s feeling pretty miserable right now, and not just because he’s sick. He’s been so excited to see you—talked about practically nothing else for the past couple weeks.”

“Really?” The question slipped out before Kel could stop it, and his face flushed. Luckily, she couldn’t see him.

“Yeah, of course,” Zoey chuckled like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I don’t know if I’ve ever known anyone who’s so excited to see his brother. I mean, I love my brother, but the way Hero talks about you—it’s like you’re the most important person in the whole world, his best friend.”

“I don’t think I’m his best friend anymore,” mumbled Kel without thinking.

“Hey…” Zoey’s tone of voice softened—something gentle and sympathetic in it. “If you’re talking about me or Kyle or Brandi, C.J., Lorraine, Tamra…yeah, we’re all Hero’s friends and we all care about him, but none of us are you. And we’re never going to be you, Scotty. You’ll always be number one.”

“I dunno,” sighed Kel. He was pretty sure he lost that spot when he was insensitive, said all the wrong things after Mari died—when he hurt his brother, broke him.

“I don’t really know if it’s my place to say but…” Zoey began tentatively, but she let out a conceding sigh. “You know the only time I ever really see Hero happy is when he talks about you—about how amazing you are and how proud he is. His face just lights up, and he smiles for real—it actually reaches his eyes.”

Kel’s face grew warm, but he stifled a chuckle. It was funny to hear her say that considering he would have said the exact same thing about her. They all would have. It was Sunny who had noticed it first, actually, on account of the fact he lived in the city and Hero often invited him to hang out with him and his friends. Kel would never forget how he had excitedly told him, Aubrey, and Basil all about what it had been like to see Hero smile again. They almost hadn’t believed him, but then Hero had come home on a break and told him about how he got caught in the rain with some friend of his, a spunky engineering major who thankfully had a red umbrella. In the middle of his story, Hero’s face had lit up and he had smiled just like Sunny had said, a real smile that actually reached his eyes. Kel’s chest ached just thinking about it—about how much he wished his brother would smile like that all time, about how much he wished he would be happy again.

Kel took a long, deep breath. Could it really be possible that Hero smiled like that when he talked about him too? He couldn’t really believe that. Not after everything that had happened.

“He really loves you, you know?” Zoey continued quietly, and Kel fidgeted. Could she read his mind or something? “If the situation was reversed and you were sick and he was hours away, he’d be calling your friends too—having Aubrey and Basil go check up on you and make sure you’re doing okay. He’d probably be calling your parents all the time for updates too. Everyone in Faraway Town would be keeping an eye on you for him.”

Something twisted in Kel’s chest, and his eyes fluttered closed as he took a deep breath. “Please don’t tell him I’m worried.” His voice hitched over his words—quiet, small, like he was that little boy cowering in the corner watching Hero break again.

“You can tell him yourself,” Zoey gently encouraged. “I’m sure he—”

“You know about our fight, right?” Kel interrupted without thinking. He swallowed hard—the only sound during the long, heavy pause which followed. It probably crossed a line to ask that. He didn’t even know if she knew, but Hero had told him he had told Zoey about Mari, had told her a lot of things that he didn’t think he’d ever tell anyone. It wouldn’t have surprised Kel if their fight was one of them.

“Yes,” Zoey finally admitted—quiet, matter-of-fact. “He told me.”

Kel huffed lightly, breathily almost a disbelieving laugh. “Then you know why I can’t just call him up and tell him I’m—” His voice hitched, and he stopped abruptly.  

“Kel—” she began to protest, but he cut her off.

“And you also know that it’s all my fault that we’re not—” He stopped abruptly—the words getting caught in the back of his throat. He shut his eyes tightly and swallowed hard.

“That’s not the story he told me.”

Something twisted in Kel’s chest. He couldn’t imagine what else his brother could have possibly said. Even if Hero had tried his best to protect him with his account and paint him in a better light so Zoey wouldn’t hate him, he couldn’t change the fact that it was his pushy and insensitive words that had broken him, right? He was the one who had made him feel guilty, made him feel like it was his fault he was so depressed, like he could just snap out of it somehow, like he wasn’t doing enough, and worst of all, like he was disrespecting Mari. He was the one who had said all the wrong things, who hadn’t been sensitive or kind enough like Hero himself would have been if the situation had been reversed. He was the one who said this wasn’t what Mari would have wanted, and he was the one who watched while those words broke his brother. He was the one who had broken him.

No version of the story Hero could have possibly told anyone could have changed that, but he supposed it was really none of his business.

“You know, Kel,” Zoey continued with a heavy sigh. “Sometimes we put up walls between ourselves and the people we love because we’re afraid of hurting them. It doesn’t mean we don’t love them—it just means we don’t know how.”

Kel’s chest ached, but he swallowed hard. “And you’re saying Hero’s like that?” He paused, and the words slipped out before he could stop them. “With you?”

“With everyone.” She hadn’t missed a beat. Kel supposed he admired that about her. She could be so honest but so kind too, and she knew Hero so well. Kel could tell that she cared about him and was a good friend. Both she and Hero vehemently insisted they were nothing more than that, and Kel believed them—which is why his question probably crossed a line, why Zoey felt compelled to add, “Not just me. You know that we’re not—”

“Yeah, sorry,” stumbled Kel interrupting as he shifted and fumbled around with the phone in his hands. “I didn’t mean anything by that. I just—”

“It’s okay,” she thankfully cut him off. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t getting the wrong idea. We get teased enough as it is by our friends—I can tell it bothers him. He won’t say, but I know it’s a touchy subject…”

“Do you think he’ll ever…uh…you know…?” he stumbled over the question, feeling guilty for even asking though he was desperate to hear another opinion that wasn’t the dismal ones he, Aubrey, Basil, and Sunny could generally come up with. Given the way he had tripped over his words, he wasn’t sure she’d even understand what he was trying to say, but she sighed.

“Honestly…I don’t know.” She paused thoughtfully. “But I do know that he’s not ready right now.”

Kel’s brow furrowed. That wasn’t exactly the answer he was expecting. “He told you that?” he asked before he could stop himself.

There was a long pause before Zoey answered, “Yes.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, pragmatic, and unreadable, but she sighed heavily. “Scotty, if you want to talk to Hero I feel like you should. He’s your brother. You should be hearing all this stuff from him—not me. It’s really none of my business.”

“He won’t talk to me.” Kel’s face flushed. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Zoey sighed.

“Kel…”

“It’s fine. It’s just…the way it is, you know?” he shrugged, swallowing hard. “He wouldn’t even tell me how sick he was.”

“He didn’t want you to worry.”

Kel huffed. “Well, I did anyway.”

“I’ll go check on him, okay?” Her voice softened—kind and sympathetic, almost reassuring. “But he’s going to be fine. Don’t worry. Then, I’ll call you later and tell you all about how he’s feeling better already.” She paused chuckling. “Okay?”

Kel sighed, but he shrugged his shoulders conceding, “Okay.”

“Good. Now what’s that math problem you’re stuck on?”

Kel snorted a laugh in spite of himself. “You think we have time for that?”

“Unless you want me to tell your brother you called specifically to ask me to check up on him, then yeah—I’m gonna have to actually help you with your homework,” she quipped dryly. “I think there’s a special place in hell for the kind of person who’d lie to Hero.”

Reaching for his math textbook, Kel laughed. “Alright…Well in that case, it’s another one of those functions…”

*-*-*

Wearily rubbing his eyes, Hero groaned. He was so exhausted it took all of his strength just to roll over onto his side so he could reach his bottle of water. He knew it was important for him to stay hydrated, even without his mother reminding him, and was truthfully desperate for something to drink given how hoarse and sore his throat was after he had just woken up.

Coughing, he managed to take a few sips before he sunk back down into his bed. Sunny had once rated it a 9 out of 10, but now Hero would probably rate it an 11, the most comfortable bed on earth. He never wanted to leave it ever, ever again—but that was probably just the flu talking.

Hero couldn’t remember the last time he had had the flu. He rarely ever got sick. Contracting what he had originally thought was a cold was a surprise enough, but he had just chalked it up to being a little under the weather and tried to push through it—until he had crashed that afternoon after a coughing fit—chilled, aching, and too tired to even move. By the time he woke up to answer Kel’s call, he was honestly miserable—phlegmy, wheezy, shivering, and so feverish he could barely put a sentence together. Even now, his head throbbed, and his thoughts were cloudy and muddled. He felt disoriented and too exhausted to even think too hard.

Hero sighed. He should probably take his temperature again—make sure it wasn’t too dangerously high. It barely took any time at all for the thermometer to ding—flashing a whopping 102.2 degrees Fahrenheit. Hero took a long, deep breath, or at least as deep as he could manage given his nasty cough. A fever that high certainly explained why he felt so crummy. He reached for some tissues and blew his nose before he coughed again. It would probably be best if he just went back to sleep.

His eyelids grew heavier and heavier until they finally started drooping closed, but Hero was distracted by rustling noises he heard downstairs. His brow furrowed. He thought his entire fraternity was out at a party. Had someone come back early?

The sound of footsteps walking up the stairs echoed through the hallway, followed by a knock on the door to his room.

“Uh…Come in…?” Hero mumbled unsurely in a hoarse voice before he coughed again. He tilted his head at the door as it swung open, and Zoey walked in with two bags—one paper, one plastic.

“You look terrible,” she teased dryly, but her freckled nose wrinkled as she smiled at him brightly enough that it reached her green eyes.

“Zoey?” Hero stumbled slowly, breathily. He rubbed his head—unsure if he was seeing things. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were sick so I brought you some soup and a Hero sandwich but I put that in the refrigerator since I thought you probably weren’t up for solid food yet.” She reached into the paper bag and took out a plastic spoon and a to-go container of soup from his favorite soup and sandwich place in the city.

“Thank you…” Hero’s voice trailed as he struggled to catch his breath.

“It was nothing, especially compared to the homemade soup you made me when I was sick.” With a thoughtful hum, she ran her hand through her short, red hair and began fumbling around in the plastic bag. “I’ve also got you some sports drinks, water, cough drops, tissues, tea, and VapoRub.”

 “You really didn’t have to do that…” Hero insisted in a raspy whisper. “How much do I owe you?”

Zoey waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s my co-op semester so I’m basically rolling in money.” She chuckled lightly. “Plus, I wanted to do this for you. What are friends for, right? And I mean, I’m the reason you got sick.”

Hero shook his head weakly as he took a long breath. “No, you’re not.”

“Right. Sorry. It was all of us,” Zoey corrected with a lopsided twitch of her mouth. “And your lack of boundaries.”

Hero chuckled lightly in spite of himself, but it quickly turned into coughing. As Zoey scrambled to get him some water, he managed to choke out, “Sorry…”

Zoey tilted her head handing him the water to drink. “For what?”

Hero shrugged, but he took a few sips. “I don’t want to get you sick.”

“I’ve already had it. I’ll be fine.” She sighed with a pointed tilt of her head. “You take this ‘hero’ stuff way too seriously, you know? It’s not gonna kill you to let someone take care of you every once and awhile.” She pushed his desk chair next to his bedside and took a seat. “Now you just sit back, relax, and take easy, okay? Mama’s here.”

“I thought I was ‘Mama’,” he teased—dry and breathy. He wouldn’t have had the energy to argue with Zoey on the best day but especially not when he was so rundown and miserably ill like this, so instead he chose to banter. Mama was the nickname his roommate and Zoey’s long-time best friend Kyle had given him back in their freshman year, after all, so it seemed appropriate.

A smile tugged at Hero’s chapped lips as he watched Zoey laugh. Something warm spread through his aching chest knowing he had made her smile.

“Hey, I was ‘Mama’ before you were,” she bantered back. “But don’t worry I won’t tell Kyle.” She twisted her mouth to the side, but her expression softened as she reached out to take his hand. Frowning, she shook her head. “Your hands are so clammy.”

“Sorry…” mumbled Hero as she pushed some sweaty hair out of his face—pressing her palm to his forehead.

“You’re burning up. You have a thermometer?”

Hero nodded—then weaky motioned to his bedside table where his thermometer was sitting amongst a bunch of tissues. “I just took it. It’s 102.2.”

Zoey’s brow furrowed. “When do we call a doctor?”

Hero shrugged. “Probably if it’s over 103…” His breathy voice trailed wearily. “But there’s things you can try to bring it down before then.”

“Like a cold sponge bath like in a movie?” asked Zoey, her mouth quirking to the side. Hero shook his head.

“You want it lukewarm—not cold. If it’s cold, the blood vessels will constrict, and the body will hold onto heat…” He sighed then coughed into his elbow. After he managed to catch his breath, he added, “But tepid water is good. You can take a wet rag and use it to sponge the back of the neck or the forehead—the arms and torso would help too.”

“You want me to go get one?”

Hero’s face flushed, finally realizing what he had said and that it had come out in a way he hadn’t intended. “No, uh… I meant ‘you’ in the impersonal sense. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

Her mouth curved into a slight smile. “I’m happy to help.”

“I know,” he said, but he fidgeted, something almost bashful in his expression. “But I uh…I wouldn’t want you to have to see me…uh…”—his voice cracked and he mumbled—“shirtless.”

Zoey chuckled. “You’re adorable, you know that?” she teased. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. We’ve been to the beach how many times and you’re a lifeguard for goodness sakes. You can’t possibly be that self-conscious.”

“That’s different. That was the beach or the pool—this is…” He could feel his ears burning. “my room. We’re alone here, and—”

“And you’re sick. It’s all medical. Surely, I don’t need to explain that to you, future doctor.” She crossed her arms with a pointed look, before she clicked her tongue and bantered, “Yes, we all know you’re very attractive, Mr. Prince, but you kind of look like death warmed over right now. It’s nothing to get worked up over.”

Hero choked, then coughed repeatedly—phlegmy and guttural, definitely not attractive in the slightest. As he hacked and lurched forward, Zoey patted him on the back, firm but gentle before she rubbed her hand across his shoulders.

“Woah. Woah. Take it easy. I was just teasing you.” Her voice was soft and kind, and there was something so gentle in her eyes as she met his and apologized. “Sorry.”

Hero’s insides twisted. He could tell he had worried her, and he couldn’t stand it. He never wanted anyone to worry about him—especially not his friends.

“No. It’s okay,” he insisted when he finally caught his breath, but his words got jumbled and muddled in his foggy brain and scratchy throat. “I…I know you were... It’s just…that’s not what I meant. I was just…embarrassed. I mean you’ve already had to see me in my pajamas.” Hero stared down at his pajama shirt and pulled on the collar as his face burned and not just from the fever.

“Your grandpa pajamas?” Zoey teased dryly. His face flushed, but he nodded. Chuckling lightly, Zoey shook her head. “You do realize I’ve seen Kyle in his underwear more times than I’d care to admit, right? This is nothing. And besides, I’ve already seen them before.”

“You’ve”—Hero’s voice cracked—“seen my pajamas?”

“Well not in person, but Sunny drew me a picture of you in them.”

“Sunny drew you a picture of me in my pajamas?” Hero repeated incredulously in a disbelieving, hoarse voice.

Zoey shrugged but answered matter-of-factly. “He only draws you in your pajamas. He draws everybody in pajamas. You know, the last time I saw him he asked me about my pajamas so he could draw me in pajamas too.”

“Why—?” Hero’s voice hitched—cut off by an awkward laugh and wheezy coughing. “Why would he do that?”

“No idea. You tell me.” She paused, but Hero could only shrug his shoulders. Sunny was a talented artist, but Hero would be lying if he said he understood a lot of his abstract pieces or the reasoning behind them. Zoey’s guess as to why Sunny wanted to draw everyone in pajamas was as good as his, he supposed. “But I’m pretty sure he always draws you in these exact pajamas—long sleeves, button down shirt, stripes. I remember thinking ‘why does Sunny think Hero wears grandpa pajamas?’ but clearly it’s because you do.”

Hero chuckled lightly but tilted his head at her. “What’s wrong with my pajamas?”

“Nothing—if you’re over the age of 70,” bantered Zoey. “If you’re not, I don’t think anyone’s worn pajamas like these since the 1950s, but I guess you were always a Wally Cleaver type, huh?”

As his face burned, Hero sighed. “I don’t think I’m as charming as Wally Cleaver, and I’m definitely not as athletic as him. And he had all those girlfriends…”

“That’s a moot point,” Zoey interrupted, waving her hand at him. “Wally wanted all those girlfriends—you don’t. If you did, you absolutely could have them.”

“I’m sure that’s not—” Hero began as his blush deepened, but Zoey cut him off again.

“No, it is. Every girl in my sorority house would date you in a heartbeat,” she replied bluntly—pragmatic as if it was a well-known fact, but her mouth curved into a lopsided grin as she dryly teased. “You are Mr. Prince, after all.”

“Tamra has a boyfriend…” Hero protested—weak but somewhat playful.  

Zoey sighed, rolling her eyes. “Well okay…not Tamra then...”

“Or you,” he quietly added, but Zoey’s mouth twitched into a lopsided smile.

“I don’t know, Mr. Prince. If you were actually interested in me, I think I’d have to seriously consider it—especially now that I’ve seen you in your grandpa pajamas.” She beamed at him with a bright, teasing grin before she let out a short, playful whistle.

Hero blushed before he buried his burning face in his hands. “Zoey…”

Before either of them could say anything more, however, they were interrupted by a distant, shrill whistling sound.

“That’s the kettle,” said Zoey. “I’ll be right back with some tea for you.”

“You really don’t have to—” Hero began to weakly protest, but she cut him off with a pointed stare.

“I don’t want to hear it, Henry.”

Hero paused. It still caught him off guard every time she used his real name. It wasn’t too often that she did—only when she wanted to tell him to stop being a ‘hero.’ It was her way of reminding him to take care of himself, reminding him that it was okay if he was just ‘Henry’ for a while. If Hero was being honest, it meant a lot to him to know someone cared enough to tell him that. Zoey had been telling him that for years now, but she only started calling him ‘Henry’ to do it after he had told her about Mari.

To this day he wasn’t sure why exactly he had told her in the first place besides the fact she had sort of figured it out on her own, but he was grateful that he had told her the truth, had finally been able to share that with someone. He would never forget the way she had cried for him—held him, told him that she wished he and Mari had gotten their forever. He had been so stunned, so moved by her empathy and kindness, that he had just panicked—trying to apologize for making her sad, for making her cry. After a lot of back and forth of him apologizing profusely and her gentle reassurances that it was okay, she had finally just cut him off in that spunky little way of hers. “No. None of that, Henry,” she had said with a pointed emphasis on his real name, trying her best not to smile as she said it for possibly the first time. Even so, she had insisted, “I’m serious. I’m going to keep calling you that until you stop that. Stop being a ‘Hero’—stop worrying about everybody else for just a second. It won’t kill you to be a little selfish for once…and it’ll honestly make the rest of us look better.”

Hero chuckled lightly to himself just thinking about it. She certainly kept her word—pulled his real name out for that reason whenever she felt he needed reminding of that. There was always a certain warmth and a flutter in his chest whenever he heard her say it.

A smile tugged at his mouth as he stifled a laugh, and the way her lips twitched in the corners made him realize she was trying not to laugh now too. Could it be that even after all this time, it still felt a little unnatural, a little awkward for her to call him that? After all, she generally called him ‘Hero’ or if she was feeling playful or cheeky ‘Mr. Prince.’

Hero’s chuckling was soon drowned out by coughing again, and Zoey patted his back and handed him tissues, water, and a cough drop until he finally calmed again.

“Still think you don’t need me?” she quipped, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he admitted quietly.

Her smile widened before she gave him one final pat on the back then took off down the stairs. “I’ll be right back with the tea.”

Hero took a long, shaky breath, trying his best to stay awake as he waited for her to return. His mind was feeling hazy again—sluggish and foggy from fever and exhaustion, but a question nagged at him. How had Zoey known he was sick? Yes, she was very perceptive, and there had certainly been times he was almost convinced she had to be a mind reader but…he hadn’t been that ill when he talked to her last. He supposed Kyle could have said something, but as far as Hero knew, Kyle had just assumed he was napping not battling with a flu.

“Here’s your tea,” said Zoey, swiftly reappearing with a warm mug, a gift from his fraternity brothers that read ‘World’s Best Mama.’ Hero laughed every time he saw it, though this time it came out more like a breathy wheeze then a cough. “It’s lemon and echinacea since you’re sick. I put a little honey in it for you too.”

Hero smiled as she handed him the cup. He probably shouldn’t have been surprised. Zoey was one of his best friends. She probably knew more about him than anyone else—of course, that would extend to knowing how he took his tea. But it wouldn’t extend to knowing he was sick, would it?

“Thank you,” he mumbled, taking a sip of his cup of tea before he took a long, shaky breath. “Hey…Zoey?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you know I was sick?” Hero swallowed hard—then coughed again. Zoey tilted her head pointedly at him.

“It’s kind of obvious,” she quipped—deflecting. Hero sighed. He knew a lot about that himself.

“Yeah…but did someone tell you? Ask you to check up on me?”

Zoey sighed heavily, but she finally admitted. “Yes. Scotty mentioned it when he called me earlier. He said you were too sick to drive home this weekend so you had to cancel your trip.”

Hero blinked at her. It took a minute for the words she had said to register. Scotty was her nickname for Kel, some reference he had never quite gotten himself, but it seemed to make his brother happy to have a nickname. Hero’s head ached. His brother…? “Kel?” he asked in a weary confusion. “Kel called you?”

Zoey nodded. “I helped him with his math homework.”

Hero swallowed hard. Somehow he knew that wasn’t the entire truth. The thought made something twist in his chest. He bit his lip as he quietly asked, “Is he worried about me?”

“What do you think?” Zoey paused, but from the look she was giving him now, Hero knew the answer, if he hadn’t already. “You two are a lot alike you know—you both worry about each other but won’t really say.”

“I don’t want Kel to worry...” The words slipped out without him really thinking about them—honest, vulnerable, real. The feverish haze was loosening his tongue, it seemed. Hero’s brow furrowed. He didn’t like it for the same reasons he didn’t like drinking. It felt like losing control—only this time, he didn’t have the energy to care too much.  

“Then I don’t think not telling him anything is the answer,” Zoey replied. “Kel’s pretty smart, you know? He knows something’s wrong even when you won’t say—knew you were way sicker than you let on. He asked if I could stop by and check on you.”

Hero’s face flushed. He couldn’t really process what she was saying, “Kel did that?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

Hero swallowed hard. He met her eyes—hoping the look in them would say louder than any words that she already knew why. Ever since their fight, he had felt Kel slipping away—walking on eggshells around him like he was scared he was fragile and would snap again. No matter what he did to try to reassure Kel that he was okay and that he would never lash out at him like that ever again, Hero couldn’t shake the feeling that he was losing his brother. He tried his best to stay connected—talking to him all the time, planning trips home to visit him, even letting him stay with him in the city, and even though things had been getting better since they had learned the truth two years ago, Hero knew that they would never be the same. They could never be the same, not anymore. Not after…

“I really hurt him…” Hero’s voice cracked—breathy, dazed, but heart-wrenchingly guilty even all these years later.

He hadn’t realized he had said that aloud, until Zoey gently reassured him, “And you apologized and moved on. That’s all, in the past now. I don’t think Kel holds it against you at all.” She paused, sighed. “What if he’s sitting around, saying the same thing—worrying the same thing…?”

Hero’s chest ached, but he shook his head. “No, I…”

“Hero,” Zoey sighed, cutting him off. “If there’s distance between you and Kel, it’s only because the two of you won’t just talk to each other. If you did, maybe you’d realize you’re both scared of the exact same thing, and that it’s not worth being worried about. You had one fight. It doesn’t mean your relationship is just broken forever.”   

“It was a really big fight,” Hero gently protested, swallowing hard before he tried to catch his breath. “There are some things you just can’t come back from.”

“And I can promise you, this is not one of them.” She reached out and took his hand again, holding it tightly until he looked up at her and her reassuring green eyes. “You should hear the way Kel talks about you. It’s constant—all the time, no matter what we’re talking about. We’ll be working on polynomial functions and suddenly he’ll just start going on and on about how you always got all As on your report card or how you jumped into a lake to save Sunny and Basil or how you won some hot dog eating contest. He polishes all your trophies while you’re away at school. He’d be the first to tell you that you are the kindest, most amazing person he’s ever known, and he wants to be just like you. You’re his hero—no pun intended. And nothing you could possibly say could change that—could change how much he looks up to you.”

Hero’s face flushed red—he could feel the tips of his ears burning as he turned away from her staring down at his duvet. “He…he said all that?”

“He didn’t have to. Scotty wears his heart on his sleeve. It’s obvious, and honestly you only have to talk to him for five minutes to know how important you are to him. It honestly makes me wonder a little about what Jared and Lorraine say about me—probably nothing nice,” she chuckled teasingly with an affectionate roll of her eyes. “I can almost guarantee you; most people are not talking about their siblings like they’re actual saints behind their backs.”

Hero chuckled lightly, but his expression softened—something warm spreading through his chest as he thought about Kel. Could that really be true?

He sighed, pushing the thought away—grateful for the opportunity Zoey had given him to change the subject to her own family. Hero knew that wasn’t her intention, but he was taking the opportunity anyway. No matter how easy Zoey was to talk to and how many private and difficult things he had told her about himself, he still didn’t like to be the center of conversation and would never enjoy talking about himself. Zoey didn’t enjoy that either, so he wouldn’t want to put her on the spot, but this was about her siblings, right?

Hero didn’t know Zoey’s younger brother Jared very well, but he didn’t really seem like the type to have many nice things to say about anyone, but her twin sister, Lorraine, was also a good friend of his. They often knitted or did arts and crafts together during which time Lorraine tended to gush about her sister in a way Hero found very sweet and endearing. He hoped Lorraine wouldn’t mind if he told her that.  

“Lorraine has nothing but nice things to say about you,” he admitted with a slight smile. “She’s always telling me how smart, driven, and beautiful you are. How you’re strong and honest but so kind, so much softer than you want people to know. She says you’d make a great girlfriend.” Hero blushed. That last part had just slipped out—he probably wouldn’t have said it, if he wasn’t so feverish, but Zoey just laughed.

“Lorraine said that to you?” She sighed, rolling her eyes somewhat affectionately but the look in them was genuinely guilty. “Sorry. I’ll talk to her.”

As he coughed, Hero shook his head. “No, it’s…it’s okay. She’s right…” His voice trailed, distant and breathy, but he couldn’t stop the words that tumbled out of his mouth, “You are all of those things, and if you did ever want to date someone, that person would be very lucky…”

“Not nearly as lucky as the person who gets your heart, Mr. Prince.”

Even though Hero was sure she was only teasing him, his face flushed anyway—burning to the tips of his ears. He pursed his lips together, then stared down at his hands on the duvet. “It’s pretty broken…I’m not sure it’s much of a prize anymore,” he mumbled, trying his best to play along despite the sadness that crept into his words.

He bit his lip, but he felt her warm, gentle hand reach out to take his. He couldn’t look at her face, but he felt her squeeze his hand, heard her voice—quiet but sincere. “I don’t think that’s true.”

As he took a long, shallow breath, Hero shivered, but he wasn’t sure it was from the fever. Zoey let go of his hand immediately.

“You’re trembling. Let’s get you another blanket,” she said, turning towards Kyle’s bed. “You can have Kyle’s. He won’t mind.”

“It’s okay. I have a quilt…It’s under the bed.” Hero struggled to catch his breath as he leaned forward, trying to pull himself out of bed to look for it, but Zoey gently reached out her hand to stop him.

“I’ll get it,” she insisted; then she pulled the quilt out of one of the plastic bins under Hero’s bed—unfurling it then tucking it around him, all the way up to his chin. With a sigh, she ran her hand across the carefully stitched pattern of bright orange and yellow marigolds. “It’s beautiful.”

“My Tía Gloria made it for me after Mari died.” The words just slipped out—automatic, unfiltered. Hero flushed. He hadn’t meant to say that—probably wouldn’t have to anyone else, maybe not even to her if he was a better state.

“Oh Hero…” Zoey began quietly, but Hero cut her off with a fit of coughing that upset his blankets. Zoey pat his back again, but he could feel her tender hand running across his shoulders long after he had stopped coughing.

“Zoey…I…” he began, hoping the words would come to him if he just started talking, but thankfully she cut him off.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything—unless of course, you want to,” she paused, blinking at him with a soft expression in her eyes. “But I don’t need explanations, especially not now when you’re sick.”

Hero sighed in relief, and hoped the look in his eyes would convey the gratitude he didn’t quite have the strength to express at the moment. “Thank you...”

“Don’t mention it,” shrugged Zoey. “You look tired. You want me to go?”

“You can stay if you want—maybe watch a movie…?”  

Zoey smiled, but as she glanced over at the tv and shelves of tapes which, naturally almost all belonged to Kyle, she teased. “Let me guess: the choices are raunchy comedy or sports biopic?” 

Hero chuckled, lightly, breathily. Zoey certainly knew Kyle and his movie collection very well. He supposed he would expect that given how long the two of them had been friends. “We rented The Godfather from Blockbuster.”

“That’s not bad,” hummed Zoey. “But if we’re talking about Brando’s mob movies, On The Waterfront is better.”

A smile twitched in the corners of Hero’s mouth. “I have that one.”

“Really?” Zoey asked, her brow furrowing, and Hero nodded. “So you really do like old black-and-white movies after all, huh? Here I was thinking you were all talk.”

Hero let out a few chuckling heavy breaths, then swallowed hard. Finally, he took a sip of water trying to cool the burning of his hoarse throat. “I only have a few tapes. Most are in color, but I have some black-and-white.” He paused—shutting his eyes as he tried to clear his head—sifting through the fogginess to focus on his tape collection until he could picture it in the feverish haze of his mind. “Casablanca, Roman Holiday, It’s A Wonderful Life, 12 Angry Men, Christmas in Connecticut…”

“You do not have Christmas in Connecticut over there,” Zoey interrupted in disbelief.

Hero took a deep breath, but he nodded. “It’s on the bottom shelf.”

“I’ve never met another person who has even heard of that movie,” laughed Zoey, but Hero just shrugged, pulling the quilt up around his shoulders again.

“It’s one of my favorites. Always makes me laugh. I love the scene where she tries to flip the flapjacks and the pancake sticks to the ceiling.” Hero laughed then, par for the course, coughed.

“It’s one of my mom’s favorite movies too,” Zoey said as he handed him his water, giving him a firm but gentle pat on the back for good measure. “I used to wonder if that was because the main character falls in love with a navy guy.”

“Like your dad…?” asked Hero, worrying only after the fact that it was a prying question. He didn’t know much about Zoey’s father except that he was an admiral in the navy, and, according to Kyle, particularly stern, serious, and somewhat frightening. Zoey, however, only shrugged.

“I don’t know. I think my dad is a lot rougher around the edges than Jefferson Jones.” Her lips curved into a smile. “Jefferson’s pretty soft—quite the catch actually: sincere, generous, kind, domestic…and he can play piano.”

Hero’s brow furrowed, and he stumbled in confusion, “Is…that a…?”

“Perk?” Zoey finished for him. Then she chuckled dryly and nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Are you just saying that because you know I can play?” asked Hero dryly, but his mouth twitched in the corners.

“You know I’ve never actually heard you play before,” she teased back. “You could be terrible. In which case, it wouldn’t be a perk at all—more like a deterrent.”

Hero chuckled lightly. “I probably am terrible. I’m really rusty, and out of practice.”

“Well, we’ll never know for sure will we.” Her mouth curved into a lopsided grin before her expression softened. “Though Scotty told me you used to be quite the pianist—had a lot of fun with it. What did you used to play when you were in practice?”

“Nothing too complicated. I…I think my favorite song to play was ‘Vienna.’”

“Billy Joel?” asked Zoey, and Hero hummed. “That has a great piano part.”

“Yeah it’s pretty fun. I’ve always been a fan.”

“I can see that…” teased Zoey glancing over at the stack of CDs on Hero’s bedside table. Cold Spring Harbor was on the top—probably because Hero had been listening to a particular song on it on repeat. His face flushed as he thought about why, but he swallowed hard and shrugged his shoulders, trying his best to push the thought away.

“I used to annoy Kel with it a little, I think,” he admitted. “I played it over and over. He once threw a pillow at me while I was practicing and yelled ‘Don’t you know any other songs?’” Hero chuckled breathily, and Zoey laughed.

“When was the last time you played it?”

“I dunno. It’s been years…had to have been before Mari died.” He paused—catching his breath, but he kept talking, almost like he couldn’t stop. “I haven’t really played anything since then. I played a few bars on her piano before her family moved away, but…” His voice hitched, and his chest ached—panging in that all too familiar space in his heart that Mari had left behind. “You know I…honestly I learned to play piano because she loved it. I enjoyed it sure—it was fun, but Mari…Mari was the one who had real passion for music and I guess…I just wanted to be part of that. After she died, I just…I didn’t want to play anymore—didn’t want to play without her.”

Hero stopped—his face flushing. He hadn’t meant to say all of that. Talking about Mari with Zoey was getting easier—clearly, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, just like he wasn’t sure if he would have even said all of that if he hadn’t been sick or feverish. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, to know that he made the smile disappear from her face, made something sad pass over her eyes.

“I’m sorry…” he began to apologize. “I keep talking about her…” Swallowing hard, he stared down intently at his quilt—running his hands over the thoughtfully embroidered orange and yellow marigolds—a symbol of hope, remembrance, a connection that endures even after death.

“It’s okay, Hero…” said Zoey, quiet, gentle as she reached out to pat his hand. “And it’s okay if you never want to play piano again either. You don’t have to. It’s nothing to feel guilty about.”

Hero took a long breath, watching as Zoey’s fingers slipped between his. He curled his hand catching hers—intertwining their fingers, holding on tightly to her. “I’d play for you if you wanted…”

“I know you would,” Zoey replied with a tilt of her head and a kind smile. “And as much as I would love to hear you play piano, I’d only want you to play because that’s what you wanted—not because you felt obligated. Someday if you see a piano and you just feel like playing, I hope you will and then you can call me and play for me, but don’t force yourself. It should be something that makes you happy, like it used to.”

Hero’s chest ached, but he managed the twitch of a bantering smile as he asked dryly, “How else will I pay you back for taking care of me when I was sick?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Our debts are paid,” she insisted with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You took care of me first remember, and besides I’ve already gotten my reward which is getting to see you in your grandpa pajamas,” she teased winking playfully at him.

“Zoey!” Hero burst into a fit of laughter mixed with intense, nasty coughing.

“If you’re going to have a coughing fit every time you laugh, do you really think we should watch this movie?” she quipped, but Hero shrugged.

“It’s fine. I’m probably just going to fall asleep anyway.”

Chuckling, Zoey got up from her seat and put the tape into the VCR with a “Okay. Whatever you say” then she curled up on the edge of Kyle’s bed—pulling her knees to her chest as she leaned back into his mountain of throw pillows.

Hero chuckled a little himself before his weary eyes started drooping again. He had been right, of course. He started nodding off during the opening credits and was sound asleep before he even got anywhere close to his favorite flapjack scene. He wasn’t sure if he had dreamed it or imagined it in a half-asleep daze, but he could have sworn that once the movie had ended, he had felt gentle fingers tangling in his hair as it was pushed out of his forehead and Zoey’s voice whispering, “C.J.’s back now and will keep an eye on you, so I’m going to head out. You take care of yourself, Henry…”

*-*-*

Two Weeks Later…

“You made it!” exclaimed Kel excitedly as Hero walked through the front door with his suitcase. Kel threw his arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“Sorry it took so long,” Hero chuckled lightly as he scratched the back of his neck somewhat sheepishly.

“Are you feeling better at least?” asked Kel with a kind smile, and Hero nodded.

“Yeah…I was only sick for a couple of days, and my friends looked after me.” Hero paused, meeting Kel’s eyes with an expression that said more than his words, “Thanks for that, Kel.”

Kel flushed a little, but he laughed. So Hero had figured that out after all? He should’ve expected that from his brother. He was always so smart. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind too much that Kel had meddled, not that he’d really tell him if he had. Still Kel smiled and teased, “Hey, no problem. You’re lucky I didn’t drive up there myself.”  

“Your father and I almost drove up too,” said their mom before she pulled Hero into another hug herself. “It was horrible thinking of you so sick in the city all alone.”

Hero’s face softened, as he pulled away from their mother to look her in the eyes. “I was fine, Mom. Please don’t worry.”

“Hero! Hero! Wanna play zoo?” exclaimed Sally, twirling around him with her favorite plastic animal toys until he scooped her up into a hug.

“Of course, Sally, but uh…”

“Give him a minute,” Kel interjected with a good-natured laugh. “He hasn’t even taken his coat off yet.

“Oh let me take that,” said their dad—patting Hero heartily on the back as he slipped his arms out of his coat. “It’s good to have you home.”

“Good to be home, Dad,” Hero replied with a kind smile.

“Let me take your bag upstairs,” exclaimed Kel reaching for the suitcase Hero had brought with him, but his brother reached out a hand to stop him.

“Oh…you don’t have to do that. I can get it.”

Kel waved his hand at him. “Don’t be silly. It’s just upstairs. Come on. You can freshen up for dinner too.”

“I made all your favorites,” said Mom. “And I even ordered a hero sandwich for you from Gino’s.”

Hero scratched the back of his neck—the slightest tint of pink in his cheeks. “Thanks, Mom, but you really didn’t have to go through all that trouble.”

Kel snickered and was still snickering as Hero followed him up the stairs. “You know Mom’s just going to make a big deal out of every time you visit even if you tell her not to, right?”

Hero sighed conceding, “Yeah…”

As Kel opened the door to their room, he set Hero’s suitcase down on his bed—still perfectly made from the last time he had visited, but as he turned back to his brother he paused, tilting his head curiously as he watched Hero staring wide-eyed at their old keyboard, pushed up against the wall next to the door.

“Oh uh…yeah…we found that when we were cleaning out the garage—” Kel shrugged, scratching the nape of his neck. “Thought we might as well set it up again.”

“Are you going to start playing again?” Hero asked, and Kel laughed.

“Nah. I don’t think I can even read music anymore, but maybe Sally will want to. She likes to come in here and bang on it sometimes—doesn’t sound much like music though.”

Hero chuckled, but before he could say anything, Kel said, “Or you could…if you wanted. I found a bunch of your old books and sheet music and stuff.” He motioned to a box on the ground near the keyboard, but he twisted his mouth to the side. He didn’t want to seem pushy. He knew Hero hadn’t played since Mari had died, and he probably wouldn’t want to ever again. Kel supposed, it was just one of those things his brother just couldn’t bring himself to do without Mari.

Kel sighed—blinking at Hero’s unreadable expression. Had it made him sad? He couldn’t tell. Maybe he should have given him a heads up about the keyboard or hidden it in the garage or something while he was visiting?

“Yeah. Thanks, Kel,” shrugged Hero, clearly putting this conversation to rest.

“Well uh…” Kel began to stumble before his mother’s voice called for him.

“Kel, can you come give me a hand for a minute?”

“Sure, Mom!” he yelled before turning back to Hero with a somewhat helpless shrug of his shoulders. “Hey, uh…I’ll be right back okay?”

Hero nodded, and Kel disappeared through the doorway. He shook his head. Why did everything have to be so awkward?

Kel sighed, and his chest ached. He knew why. But he swallowed hard—pushing the thought away, focusing instead on helping his mom set the table. As he was setting out some silverware, he stopped abruptly—his ears perking up at the sound of distant music, a familiar progression of notes he recognized.

“Do you hear that?” gasped Kel in disbelief, but it seemed his mom could only blink at him with wide, surprised eyes as Sally gushed and giggled.

“So pretty!”

Kel nearly dropped the silverware he was holding—fumbling around with the forks and spoons until he finally dropped them in a disorganized heap on the table and raced up the stairs—that all-too-familiar song growing louder and louder. As he burst through the door of his room, he could scarcely believe his eyes. Hero was sitting at the keyboard—his hands gliding across the keys playing music again.

“Hero?” Kel choked in a breathy disbelief which must have startled his brother because he stopped playing abruptly—clearly bumping the wrong keys in surprise creating a dissonant chord.

“Oh uh…sorry…” he mumbled, his face flushing somewhat sheepishly as he fidgeted—recoiling his hands away from the keyboard. “I just uh…I saw the keyboard and…wanted to play…”

Kel could only blink at him with wide, dark eyes. “You wanted to play piano?”

Hero’s blush deepened, but he nodded. “Yeah…uh…” He scratched the back of his neck. “I know you don’t really like that song but the music was on the top of the stack and…”

His voice trailed, and Kel’s expression softened, brightening into a wide smile. He supposed Hero was right. Once, what felt like a lifetime ago, he had given his brother all kinds of grief for playing that particular song over and over, but in the years that had followed, he would have given anything to hear him play it one more time, would have given anything to hear him play again. And now that he hadn’t heard it in so long—now that their room, their home had been quiet and empty for so long…

“I…I can try to play something else…” Hero chuckled awkwardly, but Kel cut him off.  

“No, I’ve never been happier to hear anything in my whole life.”

Hero laughed lightly, and his mouth curved into a smile—a real one that reached his eyes.

Kel’s chest ached. He had missed that even more than the music. He rushed forward—throwing his arms around his brother and hugging him tightly, hoping that gesture would say more than his words ever could.

“Kel!” Hero gasped quietly, leaning backward in surprise, his shoulders stiffening a little before he relaxed. He wrapped his arms around his brother, running his hand across his back as Kel pressed his chin to his shoulder.

Kel shut his eyes tightly, but he whispered with the brightest smile on his face, “It’s so good to have you back.”

He could feel the chuckle reverberating in Hero’s chest before his brother patted him on the head and whispered, “It’s good to be back.”

#ah yes suffering favs...my favorite #omori hero #hero omori #kel omori #omori kel #hero and kel's brotherly bond #it's the brothers 💙🧡 #i really just want the brothers to hug okay? #let the brothers hug!!! #hero deserves to be happy #kel also deserves to be happy #omori oc: zoey #omori spoilers #hero friendships #when sun shines again⛅ #hero fic #our content #thanks for reading #self indulgence at its finest #happy birthday to me

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A/n

im not gunna lie guys this one took me way longer than i thought it was going too, so im hoping ill be able to post at least weekly on Sundays. hopefully more than once a week

also!! Im not going to embarrass myself or others with attempting to translate Spanish and i think for coherency and comprehension i am just going to stick to italicized typing to indicate Spanish

Thank you!

   They found themselves alone on yet another airstrip. The chaos of the last mission washed away in cold base showers, and was forgotten over a basic meal with the remainder of their team. They had gotten orders that just Ghost with Soap and Badger were going off to Mexico to meet up  with the Mexican special forces on another tip off that Hassan was there. 

   It was a relatively smooth ride in a cargo transport to Las Almas, and passed in as much silence as Soap could manage when he hadn't sprawled himself out on several of the wall seats to sleep. 

   They landed in the early hour of the morning, the sun was barely rising casting a golden hue upon the new airstrip as they walked down the ramp to meet a rather stoic looking man. As they stepped out of the hull of the plane Soap was first to acknowledge the man as the Commander of the Special forces that they are linking up with. 

   “Alejandro!” 

   “Sergeant MacTavish” his voice was deep, and gravelly, he seemed less stoic as he was speaking, he reached for Soap's hand in a shake. Soap met it with a mild smile as Ghost and Badger finished getting all the way down the ramp and joined them. 

   “Call me Soap, That's Badger” he nodded over his shoulder towards Badger who  just nodded politely at the Colonel. Alejandro nodded and turned towards Ghost

   “Lieutenant, Laswell says they call you Ghost” 

   “Actually, I believes he prefers to be --” Ghost turned sharply to Soap and interrupted him

   “That’ll do.” Badger watched Soap’s face pinch up as he was foiled in his joke, he bumped his shoulder into Soaps as consolation before turning his attention back to Alejandro,

   “Welcome to the City of Souls' ' He turned on his heel and started walking to the first truck in a small caravan on the airstrip.

   “I've never been to Mexico” Soap took the lead following the colonel,

   “This isn't México,” Alejandro raised his arms to gesture around them, highlighting the mountains lit up in gold and the slow moving clouds, a small smile graced his lips when he spoke again “This is Las Almas” it was home to him, that much was obvious to Badger. 

   “Shepherd's contractors are inbound for reinforcements. They’re bringing hardware, they'll need room.” and there is Ghost, always straight to the point.

   “My base is your base.” Alejandro responded simply 

   “Good. Now, where’s Hassan?” Badger was a straightforward person but seemed to constantly be getting whiplash from the manner that Ghost spoke to people, he understood pleasantry always had their time and place, but maybe meeting an Ally for the first time was the time to use them regardless of how urgent their mission might be. 

   He was surprised that Alejandro took it in stride though instead of seeming off put by it,

   “Cartel Safe-house, ten clicks from here.” they reached the truck, “get in.”

   Ghost climbed in as Soap and Badger went to the other side, Soap stood dumbly for a second clearly trying to avoid the middle, Badger rolled his eyes and pushed him forward.

   “Get in chatty Cathy, ain't got all day” Soap looked taken a back before another more rougher push got him going,

   “Shut yer pus, im goin” He swatted at him as he climbed in and settled down with a huff, once Badger was in Soap seemed to purposely take up as much of his room as possible, Badger supposed it was only fair. 

   “C’mon, let's move!” Alejandro shouted to the rest of the caravan before climbing into his seat of the truck, he waves a head over to the driver, “This is my second in command, Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra.” 

   Rodolfo smiled and leaned over to Alejandro just slightly, a look of false concern crossed his face as he spoke to Alejandro, “I’m afraid of Ghosts” Alejandro snorts and swipes at his shoulder before pointing to the road for him to start moving, he turned over his shoulder and looked at the men piled into the back. 

   “You know Spanish?” Ghost just looked away, and Soap shook his head lightly and muttered a no, Badger raised his hands and made a so-so gesture and then looked up into the rearview mirror to catch Rodolfos gaze.

   “Enough” Alejandro smiles at that before turning to Soap.

   “You will”

   The sun had fully risen by the time they made it to the colorful city of Las Almas, Badger was enraptured  by the colors of the buildings and the vibrancy of the people. The city was bustling for the early hours of the day, the streets were lined with cars and people chatted in door frames and in shops. A white truck passed them in the opposite direction with four men in the back of it. 

   Badger hadn't realized how much Soap had pushed into his space till he felt rather than heard Soap call it out, and he had to grab his arm to keep him from going for his weapon. He saw Ghost tense as well and tossed him a look before Alejandro turned around looking annoyed. 

   “Hey- tranquilo. Easy-- that's normal here.” he waved his hands as he spoke “Guns on the street is the jurisdiction of the police.”

   “Where are the police?” Ghost spoke up this time

   “Well, Las almas has a very serious problem, there are few here to uphold the law. And many of those who resist corruption disappear.”  

   “What about the military?” the tone that Soap spoke in unsettled Badger, these guys were supposed to be allies, interrogating them seemed like the wrong move. 

   “Well, because we are well trained, soldiers are recruited by the narcos” he spoke off handley as if he hadn't noticed the change in tone and instead looked at them through the mirror again

    "Why not you?” Ghost just barely avoided interrupting Alejandro, Badger tightened the forgotten grip on Soap before looking down at where he had grabbed his arm previously, Soap seemed to not have noticed that his grip lingered, Badger frowned slightly and tucked his hands back to himself and turned to look out the window again, watching the street go past. 

   He saw Alejandro lean back over towards Rodolfo and shrug his shoulders

   “We grew up here, they call us Los Vaqueros” he smiled at Rodolfo again but turned to look back at Badger when he spoke up,

   “Cowboys?”

   “Si, Cowboys, we love this place. And we will die fighting for it.” That familiar warmth was back in his voice from the airstrip, Rodolfo seemed to share the same sentiment,

   They drove past a street vendor at the corner of the street, it was a quaint little cart decorated with colorful cloth banners, Badger couldn't see what was being sold but did see the little family speaking with the vendor. He also saw the two armed men just a few steps away from the family. It was a stark contrast. Badger grunted when he felt almost the full weight of Soap pushing against him yet again as he tried to look out the window, Badger just looked over at Ghost with mild annoyance, he just rolled his eyes at him. 

   Soap started to lean back as they drove further away from them,

   “Kids, guns and balloons. That's a new one.'' Again with the confronting tone, Badger elbowed him back into his place in the middle and swatted away a retaliatory hand and gave Soap a stern look. 

   “Narcos use generosity to win over the people” Alejandro was watching ahead as the traffic started to slow as it became backed up. 

   “Even the children?” Soap questioned. 

   “Especially the children.” It was Rodolfo that spoke this time, a slight glare reaching them from the mirror again, Soap had the decency to look a little sheepish. It was clear he was getting annoyed at the interrogation that  Soap was putting up. 

   The traffic reached a standstill and they were stopped next to a taped off alleyway that had a truck and two bodies on the ground behind it covered by sheets that were covered in scrawling writing. Badger was mildly thankful that it was on the other side of the truck and extra thankful that Soap seemed to have enough common sense to not pull the same shit with Ghost, and instead just sits up more to look out the window without pressing into Ghost. 

   “What's on those sheets?” 

   “Nacromantras” Alejandro looked upset from the sight of the scene and it was reflected in his voice.

   “Cartel Cloths” Rodolfo clarified for them “Messages from El Sin Nombre. Warning, marking territory.” The caravan started moving again, Alejandro shook his head in disgust

   “Our streets are laced with death,” he said it like a curse before pointedly looking away from the scene. 

   “Who is Sin Nombre?” the misspoken name sounded rough from Ghost

   “El Sin Nombre,” Alejandro corrects him, “the Nameless, the leader of the Las Almas Cartel”

   “Where can we find him?” Soap spoke but then seemed distracted by a rather large mural that they started to drive by. It was painted on a three story house. It had what was clearly a symbol for the Las Almas Cartel painted directly in the middle surrounded by vibrate roses, motifs of the Madonna and guns, a banner was painted just below the symbol EL SIN NOMBRE filled the banner and just below that was likely more of the naromantras from the sheet but it passed to fast for Badger to be sure. 

   Alejandro was also caught by the mural, “ You can't, no one knows who he is. But he is everywhere and this a challenge” He turned back to Rodolfo and chuckled “But Los Vaqueros like Challenges” Rodolfo nodded back to Alejandro before he looked back through the mirror again looking back at Ghost specifically.

   “With your mask, you'll fit in well here, Ghost” Badger stifled a smile as he watched Ghost slowly turn his attention to Rodolfo in the mirror, his eyes were like ice and he just stared. Rodolfo's smile faltered as he caught Soap making a “don't do that” hand motion

   “Hey easy”  Alejandro tried to comfort before being distracted by an upcoming checkpoint, “Checkpoint, Its the Army, turn right, we’ll go around”

   Soap pursed his lips in confusion before leaning forward to question as the took the turn down a narrower road,

   “Why?”

   “Some troops are in the pocket of El Sin Nombre, like I told you. He is Everywhere” Alejandro looked frustrated, leaning back to speak to them “cartel is hiding Hassan in the Village across the river, let's hope he's still there” 

   The road they took turned into something that could barely be called a road, mostly just packed dirt from frequent use. They remained in silence for a while, badger was messing with his comm unit, pinning the ear piece into place and then started to mess with the inputs on the unit. He looked up and started to ask for the right input so their comms would all be linked but Alejandro had caught on to what he was doing and without having to ask to read off the correct codes to join their systems.

Badger fixed Soaps comms to the right settings as well and watched over as Ghost adjusted his. 

   They parked just outside of the village, Soap Ghost and Alejandro stepped out first and went to grab kits from the back of the truck, Badger was stepping down out of the truck when Rodolfo spoke to him, he was adjusting his comms unit as well.

   “I would’ve  thought someone with the name Badger would be asking all the questions” 

   Badger looked back at him a little sheepish, he had noticed how much all of  Soap's questions had bothered both of them, and while Rodolfo was better at hiding it than Alejandro it was still evident even if Soap hadn't noticed. Or cared. 

   “Badger for a different reason,” He looked over at him before he collected is own kit “sorry to disappoint” Rodolfo just patted his shoulder before heading over to Alejandro, who had just called for all the team leaders to circle up on him. 

   “Where are they holding Hassan?” Soap joined them in the circle with Ghost right behind him. 

   “White two story building, back of town” Alejandro fist bumps Rodolfo before pointing off towards a gate that seemed to lead into the town, and with a wave of his hand Alejandro leads them off towards the town, as Rodolfo takes his team off a different way. 

   They gather around the gate, Alejandro has bracketed himself to breach the door and coordinates over the comms with Rodolfo's team. 

   This town lacked the colors that Las Almas had; the buildings were all browns, whites and oranges, they all seemed beaten down and in disrepair. It also lacked the people that las almas had, there wasn't just less people here there was no people here and it left the town eerily quiet

   “Where are the civilians?’ Soap spoke up as he walked past a window that was broken peeping his head inside as they passed

   “Gone, Cartel took over people left, it's a hideout now”

   “Good place to keep Hassan then” 

   They approached another black gate and could hear the cartel men clamoring around as they started to notice the breach into the town, this gate was left partially open. Ghost pushed it further open and Alejandro went guns blazing through the gate with Soap and Badger behind on his heels. 

There was a brick building to their right as they burst through the gate and a white building down at the end of the slope little more than a hovel. Cartelmen used them for cover trying to avoid the hellstorm that was Alejandro's team. It was easy to clear them, they wore little for protection and seemed to only have rudimentary grasp on their weapons. Alejandro ordered a push forward. The man called Rodriguez moved with them as they pushed further into the town and into an ally. 

   Badger crossed the ally fast and took cover behind the white building, Soap cleared the final man from inside as they moved. More firing from further up the ally. Three more cartelmen dropped from their fire. He called another push up and made a break for a set of cement stairs and just barely took cover fast enough to be missed by incoming fire that broke up the brick wall behind him into pebbles. 

   Alejandro was pinned down behind the stairs unable to make anything other than blind return fire, Soap had pushed past Badger and peaked from the corner of the building into the alley way, took aim and downed the final cartelman. He called clear

   "Secure this house, then we go for Hassan” Alejandro ordered as he got up from his spot behind the stairs, he pointed to the orange brick house that ended the alley in a dead end. 

   “Cartel will move him fast.” Ghost protested as he also came out from his cover behind an abandoned cupboard against the wall behind them, he had taken rearguard with Rodriguez,

   “Then we move faster” Alejandro moved up to the teal door of the house, crouched low waiting to enter as soon as the door was breached. Badger moved to the door and waited for his signal to break it down. 

   The door almost shattered as he kicked it down, it was much thinner than he expected so he almost tipped into the room had Ghost not pulled back on his vest roughly settling him back on two solid feet before He Soap and Alejandro burst into the house, clearing it as they went. Badger and Rodriguez held rear guard until Clear was called again. 

   They joined them in the house, which was low ceilinged, dark and now littered with dead men, a great sight to be in a forgotten child bedroom.

   “What happened to the families here?” Badger asked as he entered the kitchen area

   “The cartels bring violence, so they leave '' he was short with his answer, gruff it was clear the lack of control he had on the cartels upset him greatly. “Lets go, get ready to move” 

   Soap takes the lead to the door in the kitchen that goes to the outside, Soap made a show of using the deadbolt to unlock the door, tossing a ”see its simple”  look to Badger as he started to open the door, Alejandro’s hand pushed the door shut, and pointed out the window “Stand By. Victor-2 this 1-1, Deploy smoke. We’re moving external” 

   “Copy, smoke out” Rudy called back over the comms and the plunging of smoke canisters could be heard as they struck the ground and slowly filing the atmosphere with cover

   Soap broke the silence that had comfortably fallen as they took the second to prepare for rushing the next house.

   “Where’s your Family? Alejandro?” Badger snapped his attention to him, eyes slightly wide and a grimace set in place. The man simply didn't think before he spoke. He flicked his eyes over to Ghost where he stood watch at a window. Ghost didn't seem to care about Soaps dumbassery and just rolled his eyes when Badger looked over.

   Alejandro took a deep breath before he spoke. 

   “I keep that a secret, hermano, to protect them.” it came out stern but not angry much to Badger's surprise. He watched as Soap opened his mouth to speak again, but was thankfully cut off by Ghost.

   “We have concealment” 

   “Let's Move, on me Soap” Alejandro clasped Soap on the shoulder, removing the hand he had blocking the door. The moment it was open Alejandro took off towards the large two story house just across the courtyard. 

   The door was broken into with ease and the first floor was cleared too easily, there was an unsettling lack of resistance for a house that was supposed to contain Hassan. It set Badger on edge. 

   “Clear! No Hassan!” Alejandro calls out as he moves towards the stairs, 

   “Second deck” Ghost orders as he makes his way up towards the loft, the rest of the team in tow. It was also cleared in seconds. Alejandro cursed as it became obvious they missed Hassan.

   The house was littered with dead men and weapons, it also was strewn with dolls and other toys, a kids bike was broken on the floor in the kitchen, the bedrooms had been decorated in accordance to those that had previously lived here, those that had clearly left the house in a hurry as boxes that had likely been hastily packed laid turned over just about everywhere you looked. 

   When Badger made it back up to the loft, Ghost was looking through files on the desk, Alejandro Soap and Rodriguez were discussing Hassan and the intel that they operated on. Badger went to the big bay windows and found a photo of the family that had lived here toppled over, he had bent down to pick it up when movement up on the roads caught his eye. 

   A Caravan was rolling into the village, and fast. They were tearing up the roads and kicking dirt into the air behind them. Badger sat back up quickly, the speed of the action grabbed the attention of the others, he was about to speak when Rodolfos voice broke over the comms.

   “Commander! Army is rolling in!” Fucking hell this was going to be bad.

   “Shit” 

   Ghost looked up from the paperwork on the desk to Badger, “What is it?”

   Alejandro answered for him. “The Army”

   Soap joined him at the window to look out to the ever closing Mexican Army Transport. He looked confused.

   “We’ve got reinforcements”

   “Negative.” Alejandro sounded grim. “0-3, fall back, fall back”

   “Copy that”

   Ghost caught on quick and stepped away from the desk and took up a spot couched in front of one the bay windows.  “What’re we doing?”

   “Covering my men,” Alejandro waved up to Rodriguez to block the entrance of the loft, dragging a shelf over to the door, and pushing the couch against that. “Once they’re clear, we fall back” 

   Soap was taken aback “You want us to engage the fucking Mexican Army?!” He had stepped close enough to Badger that he grabbed him and pulled him down so that he wasn't standing dumbly in front of the large windows and nearly growled at him. 

   “Didn't you hear a single thing he said in the truck Soap? That not the fuckin army thats the cartel payroll.” He roughly pushed him back as he let go and went back to leveling off the trucks in his scope. Soap flushed red, and a dumb ‘oh’ dropped from his lips before he managed to remember himself and join them in targeting the caravan. 

   “Hold your fire, we dig in until my men are clear”

   “Multiple vehicles, troops transport, light armor” Ghost calls out 

   “Hold fire, let them get close” 

   One of the trucks launched a large smoke canister, blocking them from seeing when and where the caravan stopped, but they saw troops emerge from the smoke with shields and take aim at the house. They have mere seconds to turn away from the windows before they're rained upon by glass shards as the windows are shot out above them. Alejandro called for weapons free. 

   The room thundered with fire, and it made moving for any extra cover nearly impossible. The few shots he was able to get in after getting up from his low crouch seemed to do nothing.

“They’re Armoured,” Soap shouted in annoyance. 

   “Target the helmets, they're weak” 

   “They’re using shields” Ghost shouted over the clamour as a well, it was clear that they were doing little to minimize the amount of combatants against them, the simply had to pull the fire away from Rodolfos squad and hope they could last long enough. Badger watched as shards of wood ripped away from the walls from the incoming fire, and cursed. It was quite a bind. They started falling back from the windows and just sought cover. 

   “Commander, we're clear!”  oh thank the light, they can start moving from this deathtrap.

   “copy ! rally at the safehouse!” Alejandro orders before turning to them “lets get the hell out of here!” He popped up from his spot in the corner and made for a shuttered window, tossed it open and hoped down and slid off the roof onto the ground and took off like a bat out of hell to a path that led down the ridge. Rodriguez followed with the same grace, then Soap. Badger rather fell from the window than slid but still took off the same as Ghost  reached the ground and followed. 

“Down the hill! We’ll lose them in the mountains!” Alejandro shouted over his shoulder as they raced to catch up with him. “Fan out and stay close” 

   It was like everyone just had the ability to melt into the forest with how quick he seemed to lose everyone and he hoped that he didn't get lost. Shots fired down from above tossing up small handfuls of dirt as high velocity rounds stuck the earth by their feet rather than them. 

   The army had caught up. They jumped off a steep boulder and rolled behind cover, turned and returned the fire. Rodriguez went down with a shout. He was nearby. Badger looked around and saw him face down a few paces away, He ran over to him and looked him over.

   “You're fine, let's get you up boyo” Badger pulled him up against the boulder they now shared as the rest of the team was trying to clear the army. Rodriguez groaned in protest of moving. “It hit your back plate, it'll bruise” Rodriguez nodded and tried to calm his breathing for a moment. The firing came to a sudden stop and they were hauling ass again, Badger tried to stay with Rodriguez to give him extra cover, he was slowly lagging behind. 

   “You know these trails?” Soap called out to Alejandro as he took the lead,

   “Very well, but do does the army” 

   “Cant hold off the Army. We need extraction” 

   “Rodriguez! Call for extraction!” Alejandro ordered, they stayed closer this time as they dropped down the hillside, more than once Badger crashed down off rock faces compared to the grace and Alejandro and Ghost demonstrated.

   “Contact!” 

   Fire rained from above again as they tried to find over, Badger pulled them behind a larger rock again and took up fire as Rodriguez crouched low, tucking himself into the cover between Badger and the rock, fiddling with his coms trying desperately to reach Rodolfo.

   “Control, victor 1 request immediate extraction at Soul River Bridge, How to copy?”  he was shouting into the comms. 

   The fire stopped again and badger pulled him up and kept him in front of him as they ran again down the hill, he continued to shout into the comms with no response

   “Rodriguez where are we with comms?” 

   “Mountains blocking out comms!” Rodriguez called back.

   “Your man got the call out?” Ghost questioned as they slid down a slope a bit further

   “Let's hope so” Alejandro laughed a little, 

   “What's the plan then?” Soap jumped down a boulder next to where Badger and Rodriguez were moving and he joined them. 

   “There is a bridge at the river. Extraction will be there.” Alejandro explained to them as he looked for a specific path to lead them down. 

   They reached a steep drop, Badger threw himself down it and rolled out of his fall in front of a tree when it exploded with an RPG. the force of it shattered the tree throwing shards of wood back at Badger, a shard struck him before he could cover. He was bleeding from the hairline, with a curse he stood back up and continued forward wiping roughly at his forehead.

   “Anyone hit?” Alejandro called out from cover as he was firing up the ridgeline, everyone called out a negative from where they stood firing hoping desperately that the onslaught of men would end.  Eventually it did.

   They seemed to be running out of places to run as the clift side seemed to come nearer, Alejandro stopped abruptly at the edge and looked back towards them,

   “We have to jump here”  Soap reached the ledge and looked over it down to something unseen by Badger.

   “Can we even make that?” Badger paled slightly at the comment of the unseen ledge and looked over to Soap and then back to Alejandro 

   “Are you serious?” It took a lot to keep the nervousness from his voice, it was one thing to jump from a plane and another to jump from good solid ground. If a parachute failed when jumping it was just a rush that ended quickly, who knows if he misses if the fall will kill him. 

   “Do or Die hermano” Alejandro tossed over his shoulder as he jumped, Badger made it up to the ledge to watch him fall down and slide across a very far and very thin outcropping from the clift, and watch him pop up and jump to an even further outcropping that rounded around the cliff face. 

   Soap followed bravely and executed flawlessly, Rodrigues followed with the confidence of someone who's done it a million times. Badger steeled himself and took a step back to give himself momentum for when he jumped down,

   He hit solidly and slid down the rough ground of the slope, and just barely managed to get his feet back under him for the second platform, of which he rolled onto and slapped softly into the stone wall. He heard Soap make a small sound of surprise when the other two on the platform let out a small snicker at his less than graceful execution.

   Ghost perusal just seemed to appear silently and unbothered as he crouched down, weapon in and and scanned the tree lines for snipers.

   “Where to, Alejandro?” Soap asked from his watch position. 

   “Soap push forwards, Rodriguez keep trying on the comms, the rest of you watch for snipers” Badger settled down in front of Rodriguez’s position and turned outwards towards the tree line mirroring Ghost who was a few paces away from him. “Soap, use that ledge there will be a way up the mountain”

   Soap disappeared out of sight with a grunt as he presumably jumped to whatever ledge that Alejandro pointed out. Badger could hear Rodriguez speaking into the comms again as he and Ghost looked for the tell tale gleam of a scope or barrel in the sunlight. 

   “Got anything?” Badger questioned over to Ghost who just grunted a negative in response. 

   “They’re out there,  believe me” 

   “control , this is victor-1, do you read me?”  Rodriguez sounded desperate as he looked back up to where he knew the Army was, the action made him look incredibly young and it struck something in Badger. He's quickly distracted though as Soap calls that he's found a way up the mountain, as they are just finishing getting up the steep cliff face Ghost spots a Helicopter with a curse. 

   “Get to a firing position. We’ll take them by surprise” Alejandro confirms the heli sighting and helps direct them back into cover.

   “Which way is the bridge?” Ghost asks as he pulls himself up last from the final ledge, following them closely. 

   “Straight ahead. Past the helo” he paused a moment in thought “they'll try to cut us off” 

   “Grand” the sarcastic excitement sounded wrong coming from Badger “then I guess we’re goin through them” 

   It was almost like he called for them to appear with how fast the Army dropped down from an up ahead ridge and immediately took to firing upon them. But they made it easy for them to return fire. The sun was to their advantage, casting their hiding spots into deep shadows and lit the ridge and boulders they took to walking on in bright golden light that simply begged for them to shoot the brains out of anyone who stepped too far forwards.

   The inched their way up in the shadows creeping closer and closer to the remaining army troops that had been smart enough to attempt to find cover, even if it wasn't successful. Ghost shot the last man on the ridge and called clear. It was a right mess on the boulders that they had to climb to get to the bridge.

   They pushed up the hill and Alejandro called out that the bridge wasn't too far; they entered the top of the hill. It was gorgeous up there, and had they not been running for their lives from the Mexican Army Badger would have stopped to just absorb the landscape. It was towering mountains and the sun hit just right to light up a thin waterfall that casted a shimmer around it. 

   Alejandro warned them about hidden shooters.  

   “There's the bridge”

   “No visual on extraction”  a curse ripped from Rodriguez that Badger didn't know but knew it as colorful from the bits he understood, he watched him take a calming breath though turn towards Ghost.

   “Comms didn't get through” Badger clasped him on the shoulders and gave him what he hoped was a comforting look. 

   “We’ll radio when we get down there” Alejandro waved them forwards and dropped an extremely steep drop off, and while Alejandro took it with grace even Soap had tripped up his landing and Badger downright slammed into the ground yet again. They took off down even more narrow outcroppings than last time, Alejandro taking the lead with Soap following, Badger kept Rodriguez in front of him and per usual Ghost took up rear guard. 

   They were quite literally shuffling along and outcropping no wider than a boot, when shots started above their heads. Bits of rock broke off from the walls from missed shots

   "Sniper! Move!” Ghost shouted as they all tried to go as fast as they could without slipping off the cliff, they had almost made it to a larger outcropping when another round of shots fired. 

   A shot ripped through Rodriguez's thigh, and he shouted and tipped forwards reaching out behind him, Badger surged forwards to try to grab him, but he slipped as another shot just barely missed him. Just for a moment he had Rodriguez in his grip before he fell too far forwards tumbling into the valley. 

   “Rodriguez!”  Alejandro shouted mournfully, and Badger was gasping as he was pulled further back onto the narrow outcropping, a hand laced into his vest at his shoulder. Ghost hurried him forwards keeping a tight grip on his vest. 

   Badger didn't hear the return fire from Alejandro but he nearly felt the rumble of Ghost's voice as he praised “Bloody good shot, mate!” 

   They all looked upwards as they heard the Army catching up to them again, their orders to follow them down the cliff side sent dread through Badger.

   “Army's still on our trail” Soap urged them to move, Alejandro looked down the cliff side remorsefully before steeling himself and then turned to take the lead again. Ghost let go of Badger as they looked off again.

   They slid to a stop at the end of an outcropping a bit further down the cliff face, it was a deadend. 

   “You led us to a deadend mate,” Ghost complained, looking pointedly at Alejandro. 

   “We jump from here, don't lose your weapon” Alejandro basically gave the last order while in the air, there was absolutely no hesitation before jumped off the clift, it was a solid moment before he splashed into the water. Badger took a nervous gulp. 

   Soap brave as ever followed quickly with a little whoop of excitement, he too splashed safely into the water. 

   Badger stepped forwards and hesitated a moment before looking backwards towards the ridge that he knew soon would be full of soldiers shooting down at them again. His eyes flicked to Ghost who surprisingly didn't roll them or slide off his gaze.

   “Your turn sergeant” it was missing the usual roughness that typically accompanied Ghost. Badger swallowed again before nodding and turning forwards again, pointedly avoiding looking down. 

   “Fucking hell” He jumped. And he damn near forgot to hold his breath until moments before he crashed into the water. Vaguely he thinks he hears ghost land in the water shortly after him. 

   When Badger resurfaces he tries his best to minimize the gasping he is doing, he barely manages to call back that he's okay when Alejandro asks. 

   “Move down river to the bridge, use the rocks for cover” they start down the river drifting from rock to rock and mostly travel under the water in an attempt to remain hidden from the banks. Alejandro attempted to reach Rodolfo on the comms. “All stations, this is victor-1 how to copy?” 

   Finally a voice crackled over the radio in response to them.

   “dow-1! Do you- say again,-o you’tre---?” It was an American voice. 

   “Radio is picking  up something! Soap sounded elated and looked back excitedly to Badger and Ghost. His smile dropped a little when he looked at Badger, eyes flicking towards his forehead. 

   Ghost made a sound of approval “sounds American” he commented and was promptly cut off again by enemy fire.

   Badger couldn't say he had the most experience fighting in water and had to admit it was adversely affecting his ability to be effective in combat. He swam to a rock that was jutting out of the water and clung to it to steady his hand on his weapon, that miraculously wasn't lost when he crashed into the water, and fired upon the right bank noting that more trucks were rolling in behind the current line of soldiers. 

   “Vehicles on the bridge” Badger called out and continued to swim up river as the bank was cleared,

   “They're not ours” another curse spilled from Soap's lips as he checked his ammunition, they're all low. 

   The river shallows out the closer they get to the bridge and thankfully more boulders were available for cover as they rose from the water.

   “We have to hold here and get extraction” Alejandro started firing upon the vehicles on the bridge, it was doing alarmingly little. 

   “We can't do shite against that armor!” Soap complains as he continues to fire upon the vehicles trying to target helmets again, when the voice that crackled through before returned

   “This is Shadow-1! Engaging the bridge north of your position. Danger close!”

   “Who the hell is that?” Alejandro shouted the question over his shoulder as he continued his fire.

   “Commander Graves, Shadow company, they're with us” Ghost responded as they all took the welcomed reprieve that was watching the Army be blown to bits and at the bridge collapsing with them on it. Ghost jumped onto the comms to confirm the hit with Graves, “Shadow-1, Bravo 0-7! Good shots! Fire for effect!” 

   “All stations, no enemy movement detected. You're clear” Badger let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, “Good to see you boys''

   “Likewise, mate,” Ghost replied and motioned for them to follow Alejandro to the left bank of the river and onto dry land and towards the bridge. Thankfully there was one ruck left behind. “Graves, we located a vehicle for exfil”

   “Roger that. Be advised, we got a possible hit on Hassan, two clicks north of your position”

   “That's cartel land, they have a compound there”    They reached the truck and dumped some of their wet gear into the bed of the truck, Alejandro hopped into the driver's seat and Ghost filed into the front passenger, 

   “You boys, good to roll up Hassan with some fire from the sky?” 

   “Lets wrap this fucker up, Graves” Soap sounded full of confidence for someone whos missed Hassan twice and was chased down a mountain, Badger couldn't say that he shared the confidence,

   “Solid copy. We are pushing to the target directly. Shadow-1 out” 

   Badger pushed himself firmly into the back seat and closed his eyes,  trying to ground himself and take account of his body. He was tired from the mad dash down the cliff and his forehead was starting to really hurt as the adrenaline started slipping from him on the drive,

   He felt Soap lean closer to him and he turned his head rather roughly to give him a mild glare, really not feeling up to his shenanigans at the moment. He was surprised to see that he had gauze in hand and a small first aid kit sitting between them, he looked startled at Badger not expecting the hostility. Badger looked at him confused before Soap gestured to his forehead, and Badger remembered the tree exploding, and reached his hand to the cut on his forehead, fingers coming away red. What he thought was water dripping from his hair was actually mixed with blood and covered a good portion of his face. He must have looked deadly if the worried look he caught from Soap was anything to go off of.

   He looked down at Soap sheepishly and let him take his head in his hands, Soap dabbed at his face carefully, occasionally gripping his chin and moving him about so that he could reach everywhere. Badger felt his face heat up and closed his eyes to avoid looking at Soap as he worked, who had drawn his lip between his teeth unconsciously. 

   It wasn't long until he cleaned up his face, applied a small amount of antiseptic, he cooed at Badger when he had flinched not expecting the sting, and applied small wound closure strips to the gash across his forehead.  

   Badger thanked him quietly when his hands left his face, and he leaned back into his seat. He looked into the rearview mirror and caught Ghost staring back at him. He flushed again and closed his eyes trying to catch the little bit of rest before they were tossed back into the frying pan. 

   He tried not to dwell on the feeling of warm hands now absent on his face. 

First Next Last Masterlist AO3

Thank you so much for reading! Please consider leaving a comment also i take suggestions for one shot and drabbles

#mw2 2022 #cod mw 2022 #soap cod #ghost cod #ghost x male reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #soap x ghost #ghost #john soap mctavish x reader #soapghost #john soap mactavish #soap #john soap mactavish x male reader #polyamourous #reader pov #reader insert

[midnightshard06]

Flufftober Day 14

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50489362/chapters/128440129

Summary: Knuckles makes the foolish decision of saying he's cold around a pretty touch starved werehog. Sonic is happy to help him out.

Pairing: Sonic the Hedgehog/Knuckles the Echidna

Warnings: None

Word Count: ~600 words

AN: Based in the same au as these doodles from this post- https://www.tumblr.com/midnightshard06/730864248738217984/so-my-brain-decided-to-oh-so-helpfully-have-me?source=share

@flufftober

“Let me go mutt!” Knuckles struggled to get out of Sonic’s grip but despite the echidna’s strength he stood no chance. It was nighttime after all and Sonic was much stronger as a werehog.

“Look you’re the one who said they were cold, I was just fixing the problem.” Sonic grinned at him, pulling the protesting echidna closer before lying down next to the fire Knuckles had built.

“I didn’t mean for you to grab and cuddle with me! Let me go!” Despite Knuckles still protesting he was starting to slow down. The echidna was acting like Sonic had never caught him snuggled up with him of his own free will before. Well, maybe he didn’t know because Sonic had never told him. Either way. Though it was pretty nice considering Sonic had spent most of his nights alone before Knuckles found him. Also even if the echidna wouldn’t admit it he probably enjoyed it as well. Why else would he keep doing it? 

“Let me think about it.” Sonic made a show of looking like he was thinking really hard for a moment. He could feel Knuckle’s glare despite not looking at him. It was something he was pretty used to at this point after all. “Alright I thought about it, and no I don’t think I will let you go. At least not until morning.”

Finally Knuckles sighed and stopped trying to escape. “You’re insufferable.” He grumbled.

“Only to you.” Sonic winked. “Others would call me charming.” Sonic grabbed Knuckles’ hat and put it down next to them so it wouldn’t get squashed during the night.

“Others are wrong.” Knuckles growled as he tried to snatch the hat back.. “I still can’t believe I got stuck with you.”

“Not one for good company huh?” Sonic yawned. The duo had fought some of those weird monsters earlier so he was actually tired. Which was still sort of an odd feeling for this early in the night. “Or any company at all.”

“Things were just simpler back up on my island. Most importantly I didn’t have to deal with annoying werehogs like you.” Knuckles did his best to cross his arms despite the position, finally giving up on retrieving his hat. Sonic fought to keep in a laugh at the attempt.

“Come on, it's not that bad. You still get to see the world, and save it at the same time. I was gonna end up stuck with someone anyway. Are you saying you’d rather it be someone else?” Sonic hummed. “Someone who doesn’t have the knowledge to be a decent guide?”

Knuckles grumbled under his breath before sighing. “First, I’m way more than decent. I’m the best guide you could have asked for.” His eye twitched. “Second, no. At least this way I can keep an eye on you. Make sure you’re actually doing your job.” He glared, but there wasn’t really any heat behind it. “Gaia forbid you get stuck with that fox friend of yours. He wouldn’t know how to tighten your leash.”

Sonic gasped dramatically. “How dare you speak so ill of Tails! I’ll have you know that he’s talked me out of a lot of stupid things over the years I’ve known him.”

“Not enough for you to not make them a habit clearly.” Knuckles huffed.

“Hey, gotta keep my person intact you know?” Sonic chuckled. “Plus you know you like it.”

“I hate it.” Knuckles frowned.

“No you don’t. Don’t try and act like you don’t like me. I thought we were over that?”  Sonic sighed through his nose.

“Keep thinking that mutt.” Knuckles shivered before moving closer to Sonic and his much warmer fur. Sonic decided to not say anything about that.

“I will keep thinking that, thank you.” Sonic laughed.

#flufftober2023 #day 14 #sonic the hedgehog #sonic fandom #knuckles the echidna #sonic the werehog #sonknux #ao3 link #sonic au #bound by fate au

[umbry-fic]

kokoronashi

Summary: When had they gotten into the habit of lying to each other?

Chronic Angelus Crystallus Inofficium and its effects.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Colette Brunel, Original Daemon Character Relationships: Colette Brunel & Original Daemon Character Rating: G Word Count: 1806 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 21/11/2023

Notes: Another entry in the Daemon AU! This is basically me going back through and writing about parts I didn't cover in the first fic. This one sent me down a rabbit hole about Daemons and illnesses...

Title from kokoronashi by Chouchou-p.

~~~

“Hey, Colette...”

It was the beginning of a question that should have been nothing more than innocent concern, posed by the minute Daemon perched on the edge of the bed, his tiny talons resting against its frame. Shattering the lazy silence of a drowsy morning, it froze Colette in her tracks, her fingers ghosting over the doorknob. Something lurking in his tone made her pause, and she was acutely aware that all of the other girls and their Daemons had left the inn room, leaving the two of them alone.

“What is it, Pan?” she replied, cocking her head as a smile slipped onto her face.

Her Daemon didn’t shift, beady black eyes fixed on her. Once, she would have known every emotion that touched his heart, for their echoes would have gripped her own, just as her own grief had often overwhelmed him. Now, however, the link that had once flowed freely between them like a river had been severed, replaced by a chasm that could no longer be crossed.

She could only attempt to read him as she would any other person, the thought making her heart tighten in her chest. It had always been Colette and Pan, Pan and Colette. They’d been privy to each other’s secrets, whispered under the cover of night, from the moment she’d been born, Pan curled up next to her and a Cruxis crystal in her hand. He was the very extension of her person, the other side of her soul, her heart - yet it would never be the same again.

“Is something wrong?”

His talons began to rap against the wood of the frame, tension gathering in his tiny form as he shifted to and fro.

“No.” The word tumbled from her lips with ease as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, hoping he wouldn’t notice the slight tremble in her fingers. It was a hope that wouldn’t be granted, she knew, he could read her as well as she could read him. “Why? Is everything alright?”

Through the tattered remnants of their bond, slivers of emotion filtered through, slipping through her fingers before she could identify them.

“It’s nothing,” he mumbled, turning away, right wing folded at an awkward angle. The conversation was over.

Slipping from the room, she suppressed a wince as the green scales that had been slowly creeping down her right arm bit into her skin. Heaving a sigh, her fingers curled around the necklace Lloyd had clasped around her neck some weeks ago. It winked in the sunlight filtering through the window set in the wall, and she wondered when it had become so difficult to speak the truth to her Daemon.

~~~

Pan could remember a time when Colette had been very sick, afflicted with a fever that had refused to break. They’d been twelve, and she’d been confined to bed for a whole two weeks, her breaths rattling in her chest. Grandmother and father had hovered over them the entire time, worry colouring their voices as they tended to the two of them, their Daemons scrambling to gather towels and buckets of water.

Back then, his form had still been shifting - a mouse for one second and a sparrow the next, looking for a place to settle. He’d slunk as close as was physically possible, curled into a ball atop her beating heart. While he had been spared the physical symptoms of her illness, a crushing lethargy had weighed him down, leaving his limbs heavy and unwilling to move. Not that he would have - her presence gave him comfort, and he was certain that staying close would grant her some form of relief.

Her skin had burned beneath his touch, and she had coughed weakly, blue eyes dull as she stroked his head with a tired hand. He’d described the scenery outside their window - a few children mucking around in the dirt, a woman hanging up laundry on clothing lines, a lone guardsman standing by the village gate. They’d be able to rejoin the world soon, he’d reassured her.

“I’m sorry,” she’d mumbled, the words slurring a little, her hair, drenched with sweat, sticking to her face and neck.

She’d pressed kisses to his head, still apologising, and he’d wrapped his tail around her wrist, nuzzling his cheek against her hand. A silent acknowledgement of her words, and a sign of his forgiveness.

There was no need to apologise.

It had not been her fault, to begin with, that they were confined here. Nothing had ever been her fault. And he would stay by her side forever, regardless of what was to come. He would face the trials that awaited without hesitation, for together they were braver.

Until the time came when they would both be hollowed out, he would protect her.

~~~

He’d suspected, for some time, that something was wrong. That Colette was hiding something, something to do with why he sometimes pitched to the side mid-flight, his entire wing going numb from pain. It hadn’t taken very long to learn how to hide these episodes, enduring them silently so Arielle wouldn’t pounce on him and demand to know what was hurting him.

Every attempt to extract the truth from Colette failed, for the words always got stuck in his throat. Unable to force them out, he could only silently watch as she lied to his face, something in his heart twisting painfully every time.

On the grass outside the Iselia ranch, stained red with blood that would be washed away with the next rain shower, he could only watch as she collapsed, flames of pure agony licking at every inch of him. The singed remnants of her sleeve did nothing to hide the scales that swallowed her skin, glittering under the sunlight as if to mock him.

Waves of rage swelled within him as he landed on her shoulder, snapping at Lloyd to send the signal. It must have been a pitiful sight - a bristling hummingbird, as if this weak, useless form could ever hope to achieve anything.

The emotion that flashed across Arielle’s face, akin to pity as she and Lloyd turned away, only made the waves crest higher.

There was so much anger that had nowhere to go, for it was directed at nobody but himself. He hadn’t been able to protect her before, unable to see beyond the veil of falsehoods that had been pulled over both their eyes. And he had once again failed to protect her.

He was nothing more than a coward, afraid to peer at the ugly truth.

~~~

Colette awakened with strangled gasps from a void of inky black, barely pulling free from the shadowy fingers that threatened to pull her back under. Blindly, she flung an arm around her, ignoring the pain that flared to life as she searched for the familiar softness of feathers.

“I’m here, I’m here!”

The other half of her beating heart pressed himself against her fingers, putting an end to her frantic motions. Stifling the sobs that had gathered in her chest, she stroked the top of Pan’s head, letting the rhythmic motion calm her racing heart.

She’d witnessed Pan fall to the floor of the Tower, grey and lifeless, in her final moments of lucidity before her soul had been locked away. She’d been afraid, afraid that when Lloyd brought her back like he’d promised he would, she’d be all alone. Just as she had been within the confines of the crystal.

In the daylight, her nightmares could not touch her. Their darkness dissipated with the steady thrum of life within her constant companion, still here by her side.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered. There was no accusation in his gaze, only a bone-deep weariness - the ashes of a frustrated anger that had burned itself out.

Gazing down at the ugly scales that had covered her flesh, she bit her lip, knowing there was no use covering it up any longer. And she was so very, very tired of lying to him. It hurt whenever she did it, like she was giving up a sliver of her soul.

“I’m sorry.” The words slipped from her trembling body as tears budded at the corner of her eyes. Letting Pan sit in her cupped hands, she cradled him close to her chest. “I just… didn’t want you to hate me.”

“I already told you I wouldn’t…”

He’d promised that he could never hate her on the day her soul had been restored. But that had been before - before her sins had returned to haunt her, before she’d realised that she had once again chained him to an early demise, before the web of lies she’d become so used to spinning had gone out of control.

“Because I failed.” The words she’d hidden for weeks upon weeks spilt from her. Who else could she confide in if not for Pan, her dearest heart? “This is my punishment for not regenerating the world, and I ended up dragging you into it again…”

There was a stark memory, of a forest clearing and a sobbing Pan, desperately pulling at their bond until it resembled a rubber band, ready to snap. She had shattered that sacred bond at the holy grounds of the final seal, its shards scattering against the floor and slicing into her skin when she’d tried to pick them up.

All she’d ever done, from the moment she’d been born, was hurt him. If he hadn’t had the misfortune of being born as her Daemon, then perhaps…

Softness brushed against her cheeks, wiping away her tears and pulling her from her spiralling thoughts. “Don’t apologise,” Pan mumbled as he tugged his wing away. “I was the one who failed to protect you.”

Those simple words made her world screech to a halt, and she stared dumbly at her Daemon, who glared defiantly back at her. Behind that rugged determination was a wellspring of guilt, clinging to his tiny form.

It was like staring into a mirror. And finally, understanding struck her.

Laughing shakily, she offered her arm for him to perch on. They’d both been such fools.

“Guess we both failed.” She smiled weakly, the familiar sensation of his talons slightly digging into her skin soothing her. “But from here on out, we can both protect each other.”

It was her promise, for there to be no more lies.

“Alright.” Pan yawned, shifting on her arm to get comfortable. It didn’t take long before he’d passed out. He must have been up for hours, attentively watching over her.

Gently, she pet him, her heart finally at ease.

Things would never be the same between them - but they could reforge their bond into something new.

So long as Pan remained by her side, she was certain they would be able to weather anything.

#this is a bit late oops was busy with practice papers #fanfiction #one shot #tales of symphonia #colette brunel #i think with this there's only one more draft from august that i haven't cleaned up (yay!)

[substituted-shinigami]

Learning to Breathe

(aka Please Remember To Put On Your Oxygen Mask Before Assisting Others)

Characters: Rukia, Renji, Byakuya, and some Fourth Division OCs, (RenRuki)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, some Angst, some Humor, Family

Rated: T (for mentions of medical tools such as needles and depictions of anxiety, but nothing is graphic or even really overly described. This story is more about the emotions than the medical drama)

Story Summary: Turns out purple eyes and short stature aren’t the only things that run in Hisana’s family, illness does as well. As Rukia and Renji try to help each other navigate through this new storm in their lives, will they remember to take time to breathe? (Rukia gets the same disease that killed Hisana (Bloodlines AU), Post TYBW, Post renruki engagement)

Click the link to read below or click here to read the story from the beginning on AO3!

(1/7)

Prologue: Boarding Call

(AO3 chapter link)

Chapter Summary: Good morning passengers. We are now boarding flight 50S to Anxiety Seireitei City. Please remember to store all of your baggage in the carry-on compartment above your head, so that it will not be revealed until the end of the trip. Thank you, and have a pleasant flight! (A prologue in which Rukia and Renji get a diagnosis.)

 

It had been such a peaceful morning…

"Pleasantly surprised to see you this morning, Sister,” Byakuya had said rather fondly to her as she entered the dining room that morning, “But do you not usually leave for the Thirteenth by this time?”

"Normally, yes," Rukia had agreed as she sat down at the table, "But I'm actually only working a half day today. I have my yearly physical at the Fourth this morning, so I’m going into the office late. I'm trying to get it done and out of the way before the wedding."

"A wise decision," Byakuya nodded.

"Speaking of which, after my appointment, I'm stealing your lieutenant for lunch," Rukia continued between bites of kyuri no tsukemono. She was having trouble not shoveling the whole thing into her mouth. The fresh but sour taste of the pickled ginger and cucumbers, the mild kick from the sprinkling of chili, these were the kinds of flavors that she loved in the morning. Their palate, a perfect pairing of coolness and heat, served to invigorated and inspired her! Plus they were tasty too, "The bar we have chosen for the wedding reception has some dishes they would like us to taste for the event. Afterwards I'll go back to work in the afternoon, followed by going to the seamstress in the evening to get the measurements for my dress."

“Indeed? You are quite busy as of late,” Byakuya replied as he sipped his tea, “Well, if you’re done with your appointment early, do come by the office anyway. I would say so that we can chat, but considering how Abarai gets when he waits for you, I doubt I'll get a word in."

"Oh? What do you mean?" Rukia asked, a little surprised. Byakuya put down his tea cup, and gave his sister a withering look.

"Sister, he is unbearable whenever he waits for you. Between the foot tapping, and the sighing, and the constant checking of that infernal communication device all you young shinigami carry around…” Rukia rolled her eyes at him.

“...A soul pager, Niisama?”

“Yes, that. Anyway, it’s a wonder he gets any paperwork done at all! If I thought marrying you two would get him to stop, I would move up the wedding to tomorrow, but I’m sure that it will just make him worse.” Rukia chuckled fondly in response.

“Well, I will be sure to speak to him about it.”

“Please do,” Byakuya said, as he picked up his chopsticks, “But enough about my insufferable vice captain and your incurable fiance, tell me about-” They continued to talk amiably for the rest of the morning.

A simple routine check-up. That’s what it should have been…

The tech taking her spiritual pressure made a face at the monitor.

“What is it?” Rukia asked in a mildly amused tone, “I know I’ve always been a bit weird, but I didn’t think that my spiritual pressure was that strange!” The tech didn’t laugh, however.

“Not sure, something seems off…” he murmured more to himself than to her as he stared intently at the monitor, “Hold on, I’m gonna grab the nurse.” He grabbed the nurse, who also looked at the monitor, and then immediately left to grab the Relief Team Leader.

“Hanataro,” Rukia addressed the Fourth Division’s Third Seat as he peered at the monitor with a voice she hoped didn’t betray her growing trepidation, "What is going on? You know I don’t want to rush you, but as I told you earlier, my schedule is pretty packed today,” she gave him a mischievous look, “If you let me leave early, I promise to bring you back some cake from the tasting I’m going to!”

“Ah… Sorry, Rukia… But cake or no, there is something about your reiatsu that seems…off. We are going to need to run some tests to be sure. Probably even draw some labs…" but as he said it, Rukia's eyes went wide and her body went cold and stiff.

"I…I see…" she barely got out, as her hands involuntarily balled into fists.

Hanataro looked up and smiled at her kindly, "Don't worry, Rukia, I'll handle it."

"Thank you…" Rukia replied, relaxing just the tiniest bit. Unfortunately, the situation did not improve.

“We’re not positive of anything yet, Rukia, but your reiatsu doesn’t seem to be flowing or filtering normally, so we feel it’s best to monitor the situation," Fourth Division Captain Isane had said when they admitted her.

Rukia had already texted Renji to let him know she would be late for lunch. She thought it best that she text him again. He was there in minutes, sprinting into the room.

"Rukia!!!"

She had been laying in the bed, propped up by some pillows, when he had arrived. When she saw him, she sat up straight and gave him a little smile and a wave.

"Hey, Renji! What’s up?"

"That’s my line!!!!" Renji put his hands on her shoulders, "What happened? Are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere?!"

Rukia reached up her hands to gently hold on to Renji’s wrists, "I'm fine, Renji. Don't worry, it's just a precaution," she dismissed casually, before smirking up at him teasingly, "Although my shoulders kind of hurt now."

"Dang it, Rukia! This isn't a joke!" Renji exploded as he let go of her shoulders. But he immediately deflated and slumped down in the chair next to her bed, "I was so worried, I…" Rukia took a hold of his hand, lacing their fingers together.

"I know. I’m sorry, Renji. I didn't mean to scare you."

Renji bent his head down so that it touched hers, "Don't apologize, idiot. Just feel better soon, ‘kay?"

"Okay,” Rukia replied, tilting her head up so that their noses touched.

"I love you…” he whispered to her as he squeezed her hand, “...so much…"

"I know… I love you too," she whispered back.

They continued to stay, just like this, sitting close, whispering soothing words to each other, when they were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a large thump by the door. Rukia peered around her tall fiance to see Byakuya clumsily trying to fix the vase of flowers that had been set on the end table by the entrance. He looked extremely uncomfortable.

"Oh, Nii-sama! I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," she said. She gave him a kind smile, before bowing, "Thank you for visiting me!"

Byakuya turned away from the offending plant towards his sister, but didn't manage to step any closer into the room. Instead he stuck his hands in his sleeves and asked, "How…are you feeling, Rukia?"

"I'm alright," she began. Renji gave her a pointed look, "Honest! I don't feel any different. If they hadn’t protested so much, I wouldn't have let them keep me at all!" Byakuya regarded her silently, almost sadly, before tearing his eyes away from her.

"I'm…glad you chose to listen to them," he told her quietly.

“Yeah!” Renji agreed, turning back towards her, “No breaking out of here, you hear?” He squeezed her hand again, “I know hospitals suck, but I’ll be here whenever I physically can. We’re in this together, okay?”

“Okay,” Rukia agreed, “And thank you, both of you, but like they said, this is just a precaution. I’m sure they’ll let me out by the end of the day!"

The Fourth did not release Rukia by the end of that day, or for the rest of that week, but eventually, the diagnosis did come in. CRVS, also known as Chronic Reiatsu Vent Stenosis, a rare reiatsu vent disease that tended to run in families, and the same disease…the same disease that killed her sister, Hisana.

And just like that, everything changed…

#bleach #renruki #fanfiction #renji abarai #rukia kuchiki #byakuya kuchiki #post tybw #learning to breathe #L2B #bloodlines au #hurt/comfort #some angst #some humor #family #wcabw #wcabw season 1 multi-chapter fic

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

Whumpcember 11

All of this Whumpcember is a single, long fic, with the prompts used in specific scenes, in order. See the Masterlist and AO3 link here.

((content warnings: coughing blood, illness / fever, domestic abuse, violence, silent treatment, imprisonment, abusively depriving a disabled person of their accessibility aids ))

promptspiration: @whumpcember Day 11: Infection

Whumpee: Draco Malfoy whump type: sick fic / abuse fic type: post-Hogwarts AU

words: ~3000

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

Draco continued to sleep with Harry because it was the only way he could stay warm through the night. When he tried not to, the cold of his body in the morning was actually alarming. He had to admit that it also seemed to help him sleep better; even with the sleeping aids, he could cough or shiver himself awake in his own room, but that didn't seem to happen when he was with Harry. 

He still didn't feel good about it, if he let himself, but the feelings waned in importance and grew smaller in his mind as physical concerns took over. 

He woke with Harry's arms around him, giving him heat as he reached for his hand to check his temperature. There was a flash of disoriented fear but it faded quickly and without taking him over; he had gotten better at recognising and redirecting the emotion, and it only took control when it came on him unexpectedly now. A coughing fit distracted him and he turned his face into the bed to try to smother it. That was all he could do, just hold on and get through it. It seemed to last forever. 

Harry rubbed his back patiently until it finally subsided, and he pushed himself back weakly from whatever he had coughed out, struggling to catch his breath. His chest ached, and he hoped it was just from the effort of trying to breathe. There was a smear of blood across the sheet, but at least it was that this time, not the foul-smelling phlegm that sometimes came. Not that either was good, probably. 

"I didn't mean to wake you," Harry said apologetically, and reached for his hand again, checking his temperature. "You okay?"

He nodded silently.  

Harry ran his hand over his hair. "You're hot," he noted. "Fever, I think… Let's have you go have a bath while I clean up and see what that does for you." 

That was a plan he liked. He painfully sat up, shivering at the air outside of the bed, and Harry helped him stand up and make his way down the hall to the bath, and then left him alone there with the hot water. The steam seemed to help him breath a little better, and he enjoyed the hot water, and especially removing the gross sweat that told him Harry was probably right about a fever. But he didn't want to be too long, to leave Harry waiting and thinking he couldn't manage anything himself and was just waiting around for Harry to do everything for him, so he didn't linger. Or, at least, he tried not to, but he was aware he wouldn't know if it had been an hour…

That thought already had him feeling vaguely bad about himself as he drained the water and dressed in clean clothes, disgusted with his useless mind, and he gave his sallow reflection a glare on his way out. It seemed like it paid him back with the coughing fit that started as soon as he opened the door and let the cold air in. This time, it didn't stop. He leaned one hand on the wall and tried to get to his room, but the coughing took him over until he couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He slid down the wall to his knees, coughing and gasping helplessly. 

"Hey." Harry came — he didn't know where he came from, but he was there, gently helping him back to his feet, holding him against his chest and rubbing his back. "It's okay, just breathe… You done already?" He couldn't answer; the coughing was trailing away but not gone, and his breath wasn't coming back, leaving him wheezing and coughing in between them. His chest felt so tight, like it was being squeezed every time he coughed, forcing him to just cough more and more out without letting anything in. 

Harry helped him down the hall to his room, cold and draughty, but closer and cleaner than Harry's. The bed buried in blankets looked appealing. Harry sat on the edge of the bed, holding him against his side, and pulled up blankets to cover him, draped around his shoulders. He kept up a litany of reassuring murmurs about breathing, and slowly, painfully slowly, his chest loosened up and he began to get a little more air with his breaths. 

Harry's fingers rested against his forehead, and felt cool to the touch.

"Definitely a fever," he murmured, and rubbed Draco's chest with the other hand to help him breathe. Draco coughed weakly. "I don't know why…" 

Draco turned a little and rested his head in Harry's shoulder, trying to hold back another cough he could feel forming because it hurt too much and not being able to breathe afterward was frightening. He wasn't thinking much, or feeling much, he just didn't feel good and he wanted it to go away…

Harry rubbed his side and held him close, kissing the top of his head. He didn't even have the energy to pull his head away from it. 

He couldn't hold back the cough forever, and when it burst free it was another long, painful fit that left him doubled over against Harry's chest, gasping futile little gasps for air, clutching at his own chest and the pain inside it. He didn't mean to but he coughed a thick mist of blood into Harry's shirt.

"All right, that's enough," Harry said, voice firm with determination. He brushed his hair back and kissed his forehead, holding him close as he slowly regained his breath. "I won't let this go on any further. I don't care what I have to do, I'll put a stop to this. I promise." He squeezed him fiercely and murmured into his hair. "I promise," he repeated. "Just hold on a little bit longer." 

Draco nodded, and when he got that acknowledgement, it seemed to be enough. Harry rubbed his back and helped him lean against the wall instead, and made sure he was covered up as warmly as possible, and then vanished from the room. 

His head was swimming. The cool wall felt good against his forehead, and he breathed shallowly to not aggravate the lurking cough. He wished this would stop…

"What the fuck, Draco?" The yell drifted up from downstairs, but it was clear enough. He lifted his head, blinking slowly at the door and Harry's faraway voice. He heard heavy, angry steps and he pushed himself up, swallowing, focusing, trying to be alert. 

Harry threw the door against the wall as he came back, and Draco flinched from that and the storm in his expression. He was holding several of the pink bottles in one hand. 

"You stupid son of a bitch!" He threw one of the bottles; Draco ducked and it shattered against the wall above his head, spraying tiny glass shards and droplets of spicy pink brew into his hair. "You stupid, pathetic, useless, conniving, deceitful, ungrateful bastard!"

"Har—"

"Don't you even!" Harry snatched for his arm; just on instinct he pulled back, and that was a mistake, it sent a cloud of fury over his face, and he threw the bottles down onto the bed so that he had free hands to grab him with. He seized him by the leg and Draco had a confused view of the ceiling and wall as he was dragged off the bed, ripped free of the blankets. He hit the floor hard flat on his back, and it hurt, and he tried to curl up, coughing, but Harry was above him and shoved him back down. 

"I've been so fucking worried about you!" he yelled, hand holding him down on the chest, almost on his throat. Draco didn't want to look at his face, see the snarl there, the bright wet eyes, so he shut his own, clenched them tightly like he could make it go away. "I go to do some research, figure out what I missed, see what I was going to have to do for you, even think about sending you to the hospital, and what do I find shoved behind the books?" He shook him by the front of the shirt, forcing his eyes open so he could see what he was holding in front of his face. "The potions you're supposed to be taking for the exact fucking thing you're sick with right now!" He ripped the stopper out of one of the bottles and upended it over his face. Draco choked and lifted his hands to try to shield his eyes, try to keep from breathing it. The spicy liquid burned as it ran into his nose. 

"You let me go crazy thinking you were dying, and this whole time you just weren't taking your damned medicine!" The bottle smashed on the floor beside his head, sending sharp lines of razor pain across his cheek as he flinched away. He didn't know if Harry had dropped it carelessly or slammed it down on purpose. "Did you find that funny, huh? That someone could be so worried about a piece of shit like you? Were you laughing at me?" 

"No—"

"You get off on manipulating me?" He seized the collar of his shirt in a fist. "Was that your plan, to get me to send you to the hospital? You're still that desperate to get away from me?" 

He couldn't answer, just pulled his hands over his face, trying vaguely to block it all out.

Harry braced himself against Draco's chest to shove himself back to his feet, and the brief crushing pain of the weight of him made him choke, and this time he was allowed to curl up on his side, coughing and trying to breathe. Harry paced above him. 

"I put so much work into taking care of you, making these potions for you with my own hands, and this is how you treat it? Like trash?" Another bottle smashed into the floor above his head, making him flinch again, jerking up an arm to cover his head. "I don't know why I expected anything better from you, you've never done anything but use people. I'm the fool."

He gasped into the floor. "I didn—"

"Save it," Harry snapped. "Completely fucking save it. I'm done. You don't need your medication, then you clearly don't need anything else I've been doing for you either — no more sleeping potions or pain relief or appetite potions or even fucking meals! You don't need my help then fine, take care of your own damned self!" 

No, he couldn't, he couldn't go! He reached for him blindly. "Don't—" 

Harry hauled back and kicked him in the shoulder, shoving him away like he was a dirty thing, and the door slammed behind him before Draco even realised he was gone. 

Draco slowly rolled over onto his knees, coughing until he could finally suck in a lungful of air and then sat there, panting raggedly, trying to catch his breath. His arm hurt. Blood dripped down his cheek and onto the floor in front of him. He unsteadily leaned on one hand to get back to his feet; he hissed in a surprised gasp of pain, and his elbow gave out, all but spilling him to the floor. There was a shard of glass dug into the middle of his palm, welling up a small lake of blood. The fingers of his other hand pulled at it but only slid off; they were too weak or it was too slick. Instead he curled that hand against his stomach.

Standing was too much. Bed; he shoved himself to the edge of it, reached up for a blanket, and dragged himself along it into the small space between the foot of the bed and the wall. Better. Small space, hidden, hard to reach. He curled up in the corner, the walls on two sides and the solid weight of the bed on the third, reassuring, and when he pulled the blanket over his head it blocked out the light and felt like being invisible. 

He hadn't meant it…

The pink ones… He hated them, but he never meant for any of this… He couldn't even remember why he stopped taking them, it was just a habit to hide them, he never thought about it. He never realised… he never put it together… He didn't want to be ill, if he'd realised they would have helped it he would have taken them… If he could only explain…

His weak hand gripped a fistful of his hair and pulled his head down into his knees with a strangled whimper, not pain, just the sound of helplessness. He was so stupid, he couldn't take it. He did this to himself, he broke everything… Made Harry angry… He hadn't meant to insult him, he just did something wrong!

He had to fix it… but he didn't know what to do… 

The glass in his hand eventually slid free; he hadn't even realised his fingers were worrying at it until he felt the pain and then he was holding it. He gasped and tossed it away, and he had to wrap his hand up in a corner of the blanket to stop the bleeding. That let light into his hiding spot, made his spot no longer secure, and when he couldn't stand that anymore, he left his small corner and crawled into bed, brushing as much of the glass out of it as possible, and buried himself in blankets. 

The door opened and he looked up sharply. Harry flung another bottle at him, and it also exploded against the wall over his head. He pulled up his arm to hide behind, and when he lowered it, Harry had gone, without a word. 

The next time it happened, he had no clue how long later, Draco realised that Harry was scouring the house, and every time he found any of them he was bringing it to throw in his face as an accusation. After that he pulled a blanket over his head and stayed that way, curled up in a tight ball and barely breathing except to give stifled coughs, waiting anxiously for the next time, only to flinch every time the door came open and another bottle smashed against the wall or bounced off of him. He tried to say he was sorry, once, and Harry slammed the door so hard that Walburga's portrait started yelling in the hall and he couldn't breathe. He didn't try to speak again.

The door opened and his breath caught, and he was tense, waiting for the impact. 

It didn't come. "Draco," Harry said. His voice was cold and distant. "Sit up." 

Slowly, he followed the instruction, pushing back the blankets and looking at him warily. Harry's expression was stony and forbidding, and there was a bottle of familiar pink liquid in his hand. Draco looked away uncomfortably. 

Harry reached out for him; he flinched without meaning to, but that didn't stop Harry's hand from settling on the back of his head. "No matter how much of a bastard you are," he said, and his fingers tightened into a firm grip, turning his face toward him and not letting him move, almost painful, "I'm not going to let you die." He lifted the bottle, pushing the cork free with his thumb. 

Medicine. Of course. He raised his hands to take it, but Harry jerked the bottle out of his reach. He wasn't supposed to…?

Only after he dropped his hands uncertainly back to his lap did Harry bring it back toward his face. He turned his face from it as much as he could and reached up again. "I'll—"

"Stop," Harry ordered, gripping his hair tightly, and he froze. Harry pulled his head back and shoved the bottle into his mouth. The medicine, spicy and thick and horrible, poured over his tongue and down his throat, and he thought he was prepared but he still ended up breathing some of it and choking. He gripped and pulled at Harry's hand, trying to turn his head so he could breathe, the awful stuff filling up his mouth, but it didn't stop. 

He only pulled the bottle away and simultaneously let go of his hair when it was empty, and a bubble of it escaped the corner of his mouth before he could clamp his hands over it to hold it in. 

"If you throw it up, I have more," Harry said coldly. "You're not getting out of it that easily."

He shook his head silently and, with great, slow effort, managed to make himself swallow the majority of it. Pink liquid was running between his fingers, winding between his knuckles. When it was finally gone, he gasped and coughed, wiping his mouth and catching his breath. "Har—"

"I'm going to be cleaning the house," Harry said over top of him. "We don't need any of your little tantrums going rancid behind a bookshelf and stinking up the whole place. Stay in this room until I say otherwise." 

Draco stayed silent and dropped his eyes to his hands resting on his knees. The half one was bleeding again, and he curled it to watch the blood pool. Harry left without another word.Eventually, Draco stood to use the lavatory so he wouldn't have any reason to leave anytime in the foreseeable future. But the door was locked. Right. He looked at it blankly for a time, unable to summon any thoughts, and then returned to sitting in the space at the foot of the bed with blankets on top of him, hidden, feeling nothing except bad.

#whump writing #whumpcember2023 #whumpcember2023 day 11 #infection #draco whumpee #draco malfoy whump #not a prompt whumpitlikeyoumeanit #whumpitlikeyoumeanit wrote it #abuse tw #violence tw #sick fic

[uwingdispatch]

Endlessly

Endlessly

Notes: Cassian Andor/Reader, everyone lives au, post-rebellion, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, disabled reader, domestic fluff, fluff and angst

**CW: **chronic illness, migranes disability, implied sexual intimacy, 

Ao3 Link

★★★★★★★★

You’d had plans this weekend. You and Cassian were meant to be in hyperspace right now, on your way to visit friends. But you knew this morning you’d have to call off the trip. You’d told Cassian to go without you. That you had Arseven, your support droid, and could call someone if there was an emergency. But he wouldn’t even consider it.

And as the sun begins to set you’re thanking the stars that Seven has somehow convinced the pharmacy droid to give you just enough migraine tablets until your doctor can see you next week.

In the kitchen the kettle whistles and you grit your teeth, hissing as you squeeze your eyes closed. Cassian curses as he rushes from where he’s sitting to stop the noise.

You open your eyes when you hear him set a tea cup on the living room table. He sits down next to you on the sofa and you curl into his body, laying your head on his chest, the softness his clean cotton t-shirt cozy and warm.

“Sorry about the kettle,” he says. “I wish you would let me take you to the clinic. At least let me make you something to eat.”

“Seven will be back with my meds soon,” you say. “I shouldn’t have let my prescription lapse.”

Tenderly, Cassian cups your face in his hand, kisses your temple. “I should have reminded you.”

“You know I hate when you do that. It isn’t your fault.”

“You just don’t seem like yourself, my heart,” he says, holding you close. “You’re sure you don’t want to see a doctor? There’s a Navy neurologist who owes me a favor—”

The door clicks and slides open and Arseven rolls straight into your living room, whistling and chirping her concern.

“You are a miracle, Seven,” you tell her as she hands you your pills. “This will help so much. Can you bring me my canteen? I think I left it in the bedroom.”

Kay lumbers in from the garage. “No improvement?” he asks.

He’d found you in tears last night, after Seven had docked into her charging station. You hadn’t wanted to wake Cassian as he’d been sleeping poorly over the last few days, dealing with a nasty bout of insomnia. But Kay had heard you when you dropped a bag of ice on the kitchen floor. Despite his own medical protocols, he decided to wake up Cassian himself.

“Not yet,” you say. “But soon, I think. Thank you for taking Seven to the pharmacy.”

“I can’t remember the last time you had a headache this bad,” Cassian says.

Seven hands you your canteen as she rattles off a date in beeps and chirps. It’s a date long before the little astromech had been a mainstay in your life, and Cassian appears startled.

“How do you know that?” Cassian asks.

Seven whistles low: Medical records.

You watch his face while he puts it together. He’d been on Tatooine when that happened. And you hadn’t heard from him for two weeks. “You never told me you were sick while I was gone.”

“When you got back, I was just so relieved to see you. And I wasn’t sick anymore, so…I didn’t want to put that on you and chase you off again.”

You take your meds and close your eyes. With any luck the pain will abate soon and you’ll be able to eat something and keep it down. Seven tells you to call if you need anything before retreating to the backyard where she’s been helping Kay with a project in the garden.

“Hey,” Cassian whispers, caressing your face. “You could never chase me off. Not then, and not now.”

You thread your fingers through his long, dark hair and he brings his forehead to yours. There is nothing he could say that isn’t said in this touch.

“I believe you,” you say.

“Is the medicine helping?”

“It is.”

“Can I make you dinner?”

“Stay here with me, Cass,” you say. “Just a little bit longer.”

*

It was raining when he called, late into fall, the kind of night where you could see your own breath when you went outside to pick up a parcel that had been delivered. It had been a few weeks since you’d heard from Cassian, and it was just like him to call at midnight and tell you he needed to see you.

You’d been starting to wonder if something horrible had happened. And you were tired—this was the second time he’d disappeared like this with no communication. And last time he’d said it wasn’t something he did regularly, it had been an emergency. And you'd believed him—you still believed him—but you didn't know how much of this your heart could take. You hadn’t quite been together a year, but your relationship had gotten so intense so quickly and now you weren’t sure what to do.

But this was Cassian. Of course you told him he could come by.

When there was a knock at the door, your stomach flipped. Still you let the door slide open for him. He looked half-drowned, his hair dripping wet, his jacket soaked. When you took his hand, it was freezing cold.

“You came here on that?” you asked, noting the speederbike parked outside. “In the rain?”

“I needed the clarity,” Cassian said. “And my speeder is in the shop. It’s a long story.”

You let him inside and he shrugged out of his wet jacket and hung it up—something he usually didn’t do. Somehow this worried. you.

Pulling you toward him, he placed a soft kiss on your forehead before stepping back, realizing he couldn’t kiss this better. Knowing you had every reason to be upset.

“I know what this looks like—” he started. But you cut him off.

“Just tell me,” you said. “If this isn’t going to work out. If there’s someone else. Just tell me, Cassian. I’m exhausted.”

“No,” he said. “Of course not. There’s no one. Nothing like that. I just got caught up in something…delicate.”

“You mean dangerous.”

“Yes.”

You turned from him for a moment, mumbling that he was dripping all over you floor. As you went to the hall closet, you wondered how he could possibly make sense of this. Despite the baggage each of you brought to the relationship, you’d gotten through the high holidays with just a few hiccups. You’d both grown comfortable. He was at your place more often than not before this disappearance. More than once he’d used the word forever. So this? It was not only a breach of trust, but anxiety-provoking. Painful, even.

You returned with towels, throwing one to the floor where a puddle had started to form. Cassian took the other and began to dry off. Somehow, for a moment, everything seemed normal. But the truth still hung in the air like a fog.

“I didn’t hear from you for three weeks, Cassian.”

He let out a long breath. “I lost my comm on Tatooine. Mos Espa. I owed someone a favor. Someone you don’t say no to. I didn’t want to contact you on any comms I wasn’t in complete control of. Safety in Mos Espa—”

“I know about Mos Espa.”

“So you understand.”

“I understand that you’ve told me that this is the kind of thing you left behind.”

“It is,” he said, hanging his damp towel on a hook next to his coat. “It’s not who I am anymore. It’s not who I want to be, at least.”

“Okay.” Your breath hitched at the idea of Cassian owing favors to a cartel on Tatooine.  “Where’s Kay? I couldn’t reach him either.”

“He’s been with Jyn. Sensitive Navy business. I don’t even know exactly what they’re doing.”

“I hate this.”

“I know, my heart.” He held out his arm. “May I?”

You nodded and he pulled you into his embrace.

“I thought you were ignoring my messages,” you said. “I thought maybe you were leaving and didn’t want to deal with a goodbye.”

“I do hate goodbyes,” he said. “But I’d never leave you like that.” He paused. “Truthfully, as long as you’ll have me, I’ll never leave you at all.”

From the corner of your eye you spot a pair of his boots, left here before his unplanned trip to Tatooine. You’d looked at them every time you left your apartment, wondering where he was, what you’d done wrong, whether he was okay. But now you remembered the night he told you about the Imperial prison, how he escaped with Melshi, no shoes on either of them, how their feet were raw and bloodied when they finally made it to safety. How all of this had spilled out of him when you told him you liked his new boots. You took a deep breath, considering how much of his life he’d offered to you, the kinds of things he didn’t tell anyone else.

Cassian caressed your back, his hand running softly over your thin t-shirt as he held you close. “I don’t owe any more favors to anyone you wouldn’t want to invite to dinner,” he said.

And you laughed then, looking up into his warm, brown eyes. You knew he was a skilled liar—because he’d told you as much. It came with the job, with what he used to do. But he’d also told you he’d never lie to you, and he’d never given you any reason to doubt his honesty.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

You replied, “I know.”

“I tried to send you a message from the ship’s comms, but I was out of range. It couldn’t find your device,” he said. “I just had to hope that when I got back I’d still have your trust.”

You reached to touch his face, every fiber of your being knowing that had any other man done something like this you wouldn’t have even let him in the door tonight. “You’ll earn it back,” you said.

“I will,” he said. “You have my word. This…was unintentional. But you deserve better. I know that.”

“Then you’ll do better,” you said, letting him lean in until his nose brushed against yours.

“May I kiss you?” he asked.

And when you said yes he kissed you with a desperation you hadn’t experienced before—somehow both apology and catharsis, his lips capturing yours deep into a promise you wouldn’t soon forget.

“You’re shivering.” you said, pulling back for a moment, noting the goosebumps along Cassian’s muscular arms, realizing he’d only been wearing a white undershirt under the wet jacket he’d shed as soon as he’d come in the door. “Take off your shoes. Let me get you warm.” You took his hand, leading him to your bedroom.

“I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to,” he said as you ease his t-shirt over his head.

“Cassian,” you said, “all I want right now is you.”

*

You’d forgotten that this medication had a tendency to knock you out. And when you wake, still on the couch, the sun has fully set. Your tooka-cat has curled up around your knees and you can feel him purring. You sit up, trying to shake sleep from your head.

“I was wondering if you’d wake, my heart” Cassian says. He’s at the kitchen island, slicing fresh bread. “Do you think you can eat something for me?”

You smile. “Yeah…I’m pretty hungry actually.”

“Good,” he says. “It’s just some noodles and broth. I threw in some of the veggies Seven brought in from the garden. You think you can handle that?”

Cassian brings you a bowl of noodles and a slice of buttered bread. He’s taken to wearing an oversized cardigan around the house, and there’s something sweet and vulnerable about it. You know the hardened soldier is still in there, but it’s good to see how comfortable in himself he’s grown since you first met. How much his walls have come down.

The tooka jumps up and heads to the kitchen, crying for his dinner. You’re about to get up to feed him but Cassian eases you back down onto the sofa. “Eat, darling. I’ll take care of the little beast.”

You hear him pouring the kibble, cooing at the pet he always claimed to dislike but who had taken to him the first night you’d let the man into your home. When Cassian returns to your side, he has a bowl of noodles for himself. You eat together in comfortable silence for a while. Outside, the rain has started to come down.

“This tastes like home,” you say.

Cassian looks startled. “Like home?” he asks.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” he says, resting his hand gently on your knee. “It’s just that…my mother used to say that. There was this one meal my father used to make, back on Ferrix, before things got bad. It wasn’t anything fancy, but…she always said that it tasted like home.” He pauses. “Stars, they would have loved you.”

You place your empty bowl on the table next to his, reach out to take his hand, and squeeze. He pulls you toward him, presses a sweet kiss to your lips, caresses your cheek with his fingertips, his hands so soft now, so far from the years of combat and struggle.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. “I’d really like to take you to bed.”

“Would you?” you ask.

He kisses your jaw, your neck, pushes aside the collar of your shirt to kiss your collarbone. “I would.”

You stand, offering him your hand as he gets up from the sofa, leading him to the bedroom where your clothes soon find their way to the floor. The rain is coming down hard as you ease your way under the covers, Cassian on top of you, your hands sliding from his firm chest to his bearded jaw and into his hair.

“I love you,” he says, his hand making its way over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

And he kisses you again before you can tell him that you love him, too. Because he knows. You both know. As he ducks under the covers you hear him whisper something in Kenari, a term of endearment and a promise. A word that doesn’t have an equivalent Basic, the closest word being “eternal.” But so much sentiment is lost in that translation.

And as the rain pounds on the transparisteel of your bedroom windows, you thank the stars that this gentle man somehow managed to make it across the stars to you. That you both survived all that you did to hold each other close both in times of crisis and in times like this as he kisses your tummy, whispering words you can’t entirely make out as he eases his way toward your pleasure.

Tomorrow, you think—tomorrow you will take care of him the way he took care of you today. Maybe a small outing, something to make up for your missed trip. Because even though he’s the first one to tell you that he doesn’t deserve happiness, that there’s blood on his hands, that he’ll never wipe the slate clean—he’s wrong. Cassian deserves the galaxy, and if you can, you’ll give it to him.  

★★★★★★★★

Thank you so much for reading! I hope this fic makes you feel seen and loved, especially as we enter the holiday season which I know can be difficult for a lot of us.

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