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supersaiyanjisoo · 3 years ago

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"There's no shame in crying. I promise." (Cheelai to Broly) All the fluff, with some angst. Please??

Anon, I'm so sorry, you waited more than two months for this... I really have no excuse. I hope you will be able to enjoy this still, and thank you for your request and patience!

Wet Towels, Broth and Trust

Rating: G

Warnings: Sickfic/Sick character, Light Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Also on AO3!

“Mmh. Cheelai was right. Your temperature is quite high.”

Lemo let out a sigh, shaking the little device he stuck into Broly’s mouth minutes prior– which was apparently called a thermometer.

Broly frowned. “But– what does it mean?”

“It means you’ve got a fever. That you’re sick.”

The word reverberated within his skull a few times. He ended up nodding absentmindedly as Lemo disinfected the thermometer with a wipe. By the side of the bed, Cheelai gave him a bit of a conflicted look, torn between worry and uplifting, her fists clenched upon her knees despite the smile she displayed.

“So, even big guys like you can get sick?” She teased to light up the atmosphere.

Broly’s forehead met the foreign feeling of a wet towel as Cheelai gently applied it on. Though it wasn’t unpleasant, the Saiyan did not know how to react in any other way than to look awkwardly at his hands on the blanket in which he was wrapped in like a child.

To be honest, if it wasn’t for the little woman, he certainly would have never noticed something was wrong with him in the first place.

Ever since leaving Vampa for the second time, which hadn’t been without troubles, he felt a restless feeling stirring in him every now and then. But, wasn’t it to be expected? It would be a lie to say the first time he left the hostile planet did not bring its share of misfortunes.

On the day of departure, he thought himself to be ready; yet he found his breath short, his heart throbbing in his throat and cold sweats trickling down his temples. But then, making him open his eyes abruptly, a warmth spread across the back of his trembling hand. On top of it was Cheelai’s. She shot a confident smile, yes, one that was… What was the word?

Friendly. Reassuring. Comforting.

“Trust me. This time, it’ll be alright.”

So he believed it would be.

However, as days spent between space travels and stopovers for food supplies or secondary duties went on, Broly still couldn't shake that feeling of unease that had penetrated his body. He felt like freezing in place, only to burn hot in his clothes a second later. Yet he endured it in silence, for he was so unfamiliar with the concept of expressing his emotions, as his father used to read him like an open book.

Cheelai was the one to step towards him in that moment, again. She always did.

“Hey, how you’ve been doing up there, big guy?” She slightly grinned at him. “You’ve kinda seemed under the weather lately.”

Broly blinked twice at the question. “There’s no weather in space.” he said, pointing a porthole aside that showed nothing but the infinity of space.

Cheelai could not help but laugh, and he did not get what was so funny about what he said in the first place.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?” She gestured to him to bend down to her. “Come down here, I want to check something.”

He had no reason to refuse, and did as asked, but when Cheelai abruptly closed the distance between their heads, he stepped back dramatically.

“Why are you trying to hit me?!”

“Wha– I’m not trying to headbutt you, dummy!” She put her fists on her hips. “Would that even hurt you anyway?”

Broly gave a hesitant look, pretty much unconvinced, came down again nonetheless and let her connect her forehead to his. Surprisingly, hers was much cooler than his. The turmoil in him somewhat subsided to that soothing impression spreading.

But, before he could dwell in the sensation enough to enjoy it, she backed off, drawing a groan from him.

“That’s what I thought! Leftovers at lunch, and now you’re burning like a furnace! Lemo, get the health kit, Broly isn’t feeling well!”

Not feeling well?

He barely had the time to realize what she had said: he was guided to bed by his two friends, overwhelmed with attention in such a way it made him feel kind of awkward. Not to help, the moment Cheelai had stated that he wasn’t feeling well, the heat muted, becoming more tangible than ever and starting to toast his brain. His body could seemingly not decide between hot and cold, and so heavy sweat drops were only rivaled by mad shivers climbing his spine like frost spiders. Yes, he was… Sick.

Lemo shrugged. “Well, I can’t say it wasn't to be expected. Now that we’ve left Vampa, your body must adapt to a lot of new environments, and among them come bacteria and viruses it has never encountered before. Besides, there may still be traces of your fight on Earth… You’re still recovering, though it may not look like it. It’s quite normal that your immune defenses would be weakened.”

Weakened…

“Tch!” Cheelai huffed as she folded her arms, frankly annoyed. “And Goku said that junk he gave us only works on injuries, didn’t he? Geez… What do you think, Lemo?” She turned to her friend. “Wouldn’t it be safer to take him to a doctor?”

He thought out loud, scratching his chin. “Mmh, I’d like to avoid that if possible. A Saiyan never goes unnoticed nowadays and if it tumbles into the Freeza army’s ears, they could see a perfect opportunity to seize and attack us. I doubt Broly would even be in a state to defend himself properly… We’d be an easy target more than anything if taken by surprise.”

Broly’s fists tightened. Sick. Weakened. An easy target…

Each word said put an heavier weight on his sternum, and confused him much more than the fever itself. Their echo within… It brought his voice, father’s voice, to resurface in his feverish brain.

Crying is for weaklings, Broly. You should be ashamed of yourself…

Ashamed… Shame. Yes, that was it.

Right now, he was feeling ashamed of being nothing but a dead weight. Of what use was he if in no measure to defend his friends? Even in health, he could not have saved his own father…

A morbid shadow passed on his face.

Lemo pursued. “Of course, if his state worsens, we’ll have no choice but bring him to a doc. Just seems wiser to wait and watch for now”, he concluded, nodding to himself.

Cheelai agreed and gently tapped the Saiyan’s shoulder. “I’m sure Broly is plenty capable of kicking a virus’ butt in no time! Isn’t that right?!”

The call of his name and contact pulled Broly out of his thoughts. He couldn’t bring himself to share her enthusiasm, but agreed out of habit.

“Yeah... What’s a doctor?” He asked plainly, finally realizing he never heard that word before.

He could see the complete surprise in both his companion’s eyes. It was not the first time one of his questions provoked such a reaction, and though Cheelai did her best to retain herself from saying insensitive words, there had been numerous times where she could not help but exclaim: really, you don’t know what that is?!

Each and every time, it hit him a little more. How little he knew about the world...

“A doctor is a person that specializes in curing people that have diseases or injuries”, Cheelai started to explain. “They give you stuff you have to eat to feel better, like pills, or open your body to fix what’s wrong with it –hey, don’t give me that frightened look! It doesn’t hurt one bit, they make you inhale a gas that makes your body all numb beforehand! And they only do that to the poorest people, now… Healing capsules have become super sophisticated.”

“Right, medecine is practically automated these days… And if someone hadn’t spent a quarter of our money on clothes, we could have even got an automatic diagnosis device”, Lemo added, the tone in his voice leaving little doubt as to who that someone could be.

“Hey!! You spent as much as me, as long as I remember! Sorry I didn’t want me or Broly to rot in those uniforms forever, unlike others!”

“...So you don’t have to worry, Broly”, the other continued, ignoring Cheelai as she stuck her tongue out at him. “The absolute worst you could get is a medicine that tastes like sand, or a shot.”

“A… shot?” Broly arched an eyebrow.

“Yep! They put the cure into a syringe, and inject it into your veins using a needle.”

Broly’s eyes popped open at the mental image of a needle plunging into his arm– for if he did not know what a doctor or a syringe were, the vision of Vampa’s beetles and their hooked tongue remained very vivid in his mind. He backed up towards Cheelai, a very faint whimper escaping his lips, as if Lemo was the one on the point of stabbing him with that Hell-bound needle.

The girl chuckled as she spared him a pat on his back.

“You’ll be alright, Broly! With plenty of rest, you’ll escape the needle just fine!”

As if fate indulged in contradicting her, his lungs and throat started itching and he began coughing. Her hand went up and down his back, a sympathetic pout on her face.

“Maybe some syrup would help?” She suggested, but as soon as she grabbed the bottle amongst the medical kit’s mess and opened it, Broly snatched it out of her hand and swallowed its whole content in bare seconds. Not a single drop was left.

She gasped. “Broly! That could have been dangerous if it hadn’t just been syrup!”

His itching somewhat fading, Broly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s fine. Until now, everything you gave me was good.”

Cheelai’s little mouth formed an ‘o’ of surprise before she turned away from him, muttering a flushed “Still!”.

“Anyway, shouldn’t you back up a bit, Cheelai?” Lemo interrupted. He had been careful staying afar from Broly’s bed ever since the conversation started. “This could be contagious, as much as we know.”

She scrunched up her face. “Naaah, it’s fine. I got pretty much everything as a kid. Heck, almost thought I'd been done for twice, but I'm still here! My body’s defenses are used to the deal. I haven’t been ill in years now."

The old man tried to convince her still, with little success. She remained by Broly’s side all while arguing. Meanwhile, her unfortunate patient watched her very intently.

“Mmh? What is it?” She asked when she finally noticed.

“Cheelai… You must be incredibly strong to have survived this so many times…!”

His eyes were sparkling with admiration –if Broly had sometimes been too weak to move, pinned to the ground of a cavern because of either Vampa’s rough life conditions, the exhaustion of training or the stabbing pain of a new wound that was deep enough to leave another scar on his body, it was pretty much the first time he was… sick. It was still new to him, but one thing was for sure: it was not enjoyable. At all.

To win a fight by resting –kicking the virus’ butt, as Cheelai said– and be patient seemed more than oxymoronic to his Saiyan nature. He only knew of himself strong and thriving –and yet, he was now rendered powerless.

Therefore, imagining Cheelai, Cheelai who was so very small and fragile like a porcelain figure compared to him, defeating again and again what put him in such difficulties right now… That impressed him. It truly did.

Meeting his boyish gaze, Cheelai snorted, a proud blush and grin animating her traits. She passed her finger under nose, a hand on her hip. “Well… I guess I am pretty tough, yeah!”

“Please don’t flatter her ego like that, Broly”, Lemo sneaked in. “I don’t want the ship to deviate because of that infatuated head of hers.”

Broly let out a little smile, but instantly stopped when Cheelai puffed in disdain as she adjusted the covers upon his shoulders and straightened them with her palm.

That gesture…

“Sorry, Lemo. We don’t talk to cowards who’re scared of a little flu.”

“When did I say I was scared?”

“Well, why don’t you come and help change Broly’s towel, then? It’s already dry.”

Lemo gulped. “Eer… I-I think I’ll let you handle it this once! You’re closer to the basin, anyway!”

Cheelai let out a mischievous giggle of triumph. “Hey, Broly–”

The end of her sentence was lost in the air. Smothered under soft covers, Ba’s ear lying above them all, and his head on several pillows, Broly was fast asleep. Though he wanted to laugh along with his friends, Cheelai’s simple gesture –her hand smothering the end of the cover, again and again–, had taken him back to the times his father had done the same in his childhood. Fluctuating in his imagination, the hazy memory sometimes reminded him the warmth of Ba’s ear he let himself entirely drown in, only to show his father’s cape the second after, reminiscing even before his friendship with the giant animal.

In the end, he could not pinpoint it exactly, the times that happened, yet he remembered it, the soft pressure of that gigantic, rough hand stroking his hair, giving him a sense of security, and… One would probably call it love.

Slumber had hit him before anyone could react, and as Broly and Cheelai turned down the lights and left the room, nothing but gentle smiles hovered over their face.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

The lights of the corridor behind Cheelai made her shadow stretch from the entrance to the feet of Broly’s bed, her small voice distracting him from his initial contemplation of the void of space through the room’s porthole.

“No, I woke up earlier.”

“Yes, but you’re resting, I mean…”

“...Not really.”

“...What are you doing in the dark, then?”

“I can’t light the room.”

“Huh? You forgot how to do it? You gotta clap your hands, remember?”

“I know that, but I can’t.”

“...Why?”

“When I tried with Lemo, it exploded.”

“...Oh, so that was why he insisted on buying two whole sets of lightbulbs… Erm- try doing it again, very slowly?...”

Broly looked at his palms with what little luminosity came from the corridor, a bit uneasy. He clapped as calmly as he could manage, and yet the sound was deafening enough for the lights to go full power and blind him. Thankfully, his eyes quickly accommodated themselves, and Cheelai’s figure, still in the entrance, greeted him with a smile.

She congratulated him with a flash of her ‘thank you’ gesture, to which he responded… almost perfectly. “See? You did just fine! Phew... I’m sure Lemo exaggerated your condition, he always does. So, got enough of an appetite to care for dinner?”

While talking, she pulled in a trolley on which a huge pot, large enough to feed a whole regiment of soldiers, was standing in a precarious balance. Cheelai had come to know that what she thought was enough to keep her stuffed and satiated for one week was merely an appetizer in Saiyan terms. Really, out of all her years spent meandering in space here and there, they had to be one of the most glutton species she ever encountered.

“I have to warn you though, it’s just broth. It ain’t good to eat greasy stuff in your state.”

Broly sat up straight on his bed and nodded energetically. Ah. Not surprised. Food was still food!

Carefully, Cheelai pushed the trolley further inside, and took an ample bowl which she started to fill after positioning herself on the stool nearing the bed.

“Where is Lemo?” Broly asked as he peered at the open door, expecting to see him appear anytime.

“Fella fell asleep on the job. Good thing autopilot mode got our back, isn’t it? Ah, wait–!”

The instant she had just finished filling the bowl, Broly tried to snitch it away of her hands along the large spoon she held –sick this, sick that, regardless of it his stomach was still rumbling!-, but before he could, Cheelai both backed up and put a foot on his torso to keep him away, all in one movement.

“Oh no, you don’t!” She groaned in her awkward, nearly-acrobatic posture. “I know you, you’ll gulp everything down before I even get the chance to say anything! You back up, sir! Shoo, shoo!”

Broly frowned, but ended up doing as advertised. Cheelai sighed, just glad she hadn’t spilled the burning hot broth on any of them.

“You’ve got to take it slow! How can you even savor your meal if you throw yourself at it?! Oh, wait, I know…”

The Saiyan blinked twice as the little woman got up her stool, put one knee on the mattress. Before she proceeded further, she looked up to him with her almond-shaped, smiley eyes, and asked him in a kind voice: “Allow me?”

Broly hadn’t the merest idea of what she wanted him to allow her for. With the fever still messing and flaring his mind, all thoughts went blank when addressed him with such a soft, gentle gaze.

It was so… She was so…

Without really realizing it, he acquiesced, but it was just his silly squeezing heart’s fault, making him feel weird, and nothing else.

Cheelai helped herself to the bed, and presented to his lips a soup-full spoon with a happy smile. “Come on!”

The gesture still confused him. With quite a bit of difficulty, he had finally learned how to get ahold of both cutlery and chopsticks alongside his two little friends –but how was he supposed to take the spoon without splattering the bed with broth?

“Don’t bother”, Cheelai said when he went in to pick up the spoon. “Today, you can just eat and not worry about the rest. I’ll be your nurse, I guess– so let me take care of you! You better enjoy it, because I won’t do it everyday!”

Her laughters had always been somewhat contagious, but Broly could only address her a shy and clumsy smile as he took the spoon in his mouth. Then another, and another, Cheelai drawing the warm broth from the bowl, then the pot.

If it wasn’t for the vacuum of space and the regular, soft puffs of air Cheelai blew upon the hot liquid, there would be no sounds around them, leaving them in a little bubble of their own. Somehow, each sip he swallowed reminded Broly a bit more of the first time he met her. Oh, for sure, the taste of a chocolate bar and a broth were nowhere near alike, but, in all truth, so were the feelings that agitated him then and now.

He remembered her taking the time to open the packaging, and in that split second of waiting, his stare drifted from the offered food to her face as she turned back to him.

What weird eyes… He wondered, meeting her flamboyant irises, then didn’t give anymore thoughts after she shook the snack.

‘Weird’ was the best word he could come up with to describe what sensation these eyes ignited in him. It made him slightly curious. He had never seen such a vivid color before. All colors Vampa ever offered to the eye were nuances of green and dusty orange, after all.

Yet, what was originally nothing but an object of curiosity became associated with other words over time, and other feelings, which fever only seemed to tremendously exacerbate.

Broly was hence once again disobeying and, instead of enjoying his long-awaited dinner, he kept glancing at Cheelai. At her eyes mostly, of course, but neither were the pearl-like hue of her white hair, the softness of her traits and jaw, or the grace of her ungloved hands spared by his stare. He kept looking so long that what was meant to be the slowest meal of his life seemed to pass way too fast.

He didn't know a person could be so pleasing to the eye, before.

He had come to appreciate Ba's scary figure with time, and associate it with joy then happy and bittersweet memories, but he certainly couldn't fool himself into thinking the beast crimson-blood eyes weren't terrifying.

But Cheelai? Cheelai had always been pretty.

The prettiest... Beautiful.

“Here we go!” She exclaimed when there was nothing left in the pot but thin leftovers of minced vegetables. “Was it that hard?”

He shook his head. Gently, she then raised her arm to wipe some oil in the corner of his lips. Even then, he couldn’t detach his gaze from her, and he felt the heat on his face intensify as she unintentionally grazed his cheek.

“Mmh.” She emitted with a frown. “Your face is still hot.. I’ll refresh your towel, alright?”

As abruptly as it came, the warmth let him as Cheelai slipped off the bed, took his dry towel and went to the basin. Unknowingly followed by Broly’s eyes.

How dismaying it was to be… taken care of.

“Here you go”, Cheelai hummed, applying the fresh towel on his sweaty forehead.

Her hand met his cheek again, sending another shiver. This time, he instinctively jerked out of her way, startling her. A sudden troubled look passed on her face as he now avoided her eyes.

He did not know if he liked it. Being taken care of.

He enjoyed company. He enjoyed resting to a certain extent –a rest that felt like the first ever in his life, a rest that wasn’t plagued by the anxiety of survival, loss of control, the pain of electrocution. He enjoyed the warmth –the good kind of warmth– Cheelai spread so easily in his chest with a single touch of her magic fingers, contrasting with the raging fever that came from within.

And yet, each time he thought it was enjoyable, the image of Father and his own powerlessness flashed in him. Making him feel miserable.

Father then, and now them…

He realized it now. All he was good at was being taken care of. Even if it was in his own way, Father did take care of him. He taught him how to talk. How to survive.

The sole memory of that soft gesture on his chest that would always distill tranquility within him, was enough of a proof for his care.

It did not matter if the sweet touch of warmth and security was replaced with the cold tightness of a collar. It did not.

It was still care. He repeated it to himself. Father took care of him.

...And yet he had failed him as a son.

Broly... Broly was no good to anyone. No good to Father. No good to Ba, either. He was no good to anyone –and now, in this pathetic state where Cheelai wouldn’t let him feed himself, he couldn’t even protect those who had saved his life and had come to… take care of him, whether they admitted it or not, in Father’s stead.

“Hey, what’s with the long face suddenly?” Cheelai called him back to reality.

He considered pretending his fever was simply bothering him, but, no matter how hard he tried, he never managed to resort to lying. Only closing himself off in silence.

Nevertheless, emotions suddenly rolled on his tongue with such fluidity it astonished even himself. To leave the comfort of silence so easily… Surely, his fever was no stranger to this. The words blended in his mind and mouth, coming out only half-thought.

“I’m sorry… For putting you in danger… Not being able to… Protect you and Lemo right now…”

For all response, Cheelai smiled.

“Ah! What danger? Freeza may have eyes everywhere with his minions, but I know for sure he doesn’t know the big Saiyan is pinned down to his bed! Besides, even if we end up having to get you to a clinic and get spotted, I’d rather much take the risk than letting your condition worsen here. We’re ex-Freeza Army soldiers, remember? Okay, sure I wasn’t one for a long time, but it still counts. Fear was pretty much the usual for us. Hell, a little before we found you and your father on Vampa, I was bad mouthing that sucker and, well, when we accompanied you to his room in the ship, I felt like I was gonna piss my pants remembering what I said! Scooters are treacherous little bastards, you know. And yet I’m still here, with you and Lemo, aren't I? Sick or not, I know I'm much safer with you right than any second I passed in that damn army. We're a team! We'll manage our way out somehow, I'm positive!"

She had obviously thrown that fit of blabbers and giggles to distract him from his sudden gloom, but it didn’t remotely uplift his mood. He remained immobile, his eyes downcast.

“Still… Without my strength… Or even without… I’m not any good. If I wasn’t born like his… Even my father… Probably wouldn’t have come for me...”

As he talked, tears formed in the corner of his eye without him even realizing. Somehow, all of it had flown out of his control, in a way he poorly experienced before –blurring his vision, then dripping down his face, the teardrops falling upon Ba’s thick fur. They were small, quiet tears.

The brutal squeal of the stool’s feet rubbing the floor made him cringe.

Her cheeks flushed and her fists tightened alongside her thighs, Cheelai made her steps heavy on the floor as she began to adjust Broly’s pillows, a bit rougher than what she visibly meant to do.

“Put your head on your pillow. You’re too tired to think about all that, it’s not doing you any well. I can tell– you’re not making any sense behind those eyes.”

Unable and unwilling to protest, Broly put his head down, his tears now running across his temples. Though the blur in his eyes, he could make out Cheelai’s figure above him quite well.

“Close your eyes, Broly.”

He closed them with a deep breath, that for once had nothing to do with his coughing.

Shortly after, a soft, delicate pressure pushed down the mattress, and another rested upon his forehead, the thin wet towel being the very only border between him and the alien touch.

His eyes quickly flew open, but a little hand covered them right away, spurring his eyelids to go back to where they were.

“Keep them closed, Broly. Keep them closed.”

She pressed her forehead closer, wiping his tears and her indexes following their trail.

“We all have times of vulnerability, Broly. It doesn’t mean you’re weak, or bad. On the contrary…”

Her whispers were hot and wet to his ears.

“People think one is strong when they can take care of themselves… Or themselves and others. But, what takes real strength… It’s allowing others to take care of you when you need it, and not reject them out of ego or shame. Trusting others, during that time… It’s a strength very few people have. So, don’t reject us, Broly. Nor Lemo, nor me.”

Broly let out a small cough despite himself. The fever, and the warm words that created strange sensations he couldn’t bear to comprehend in him, all of it teased the border of his consciousness.

His tears doubled. It took Broly a moment to get where they came from so suddenly.

It was… tiredness. A good tiredness, with which also came another thing –relief.

His hand flew to his face, aggressively wiping what it could before being rejoined by a light, comforting weight on its back.

“There’s no shame in crying. I promise.”

“Mmh. Broly was right. Your temperature is quite high… Looks like you’ve got yourself a fever.”

Cheelai coughed in defeat, smothered under a sea of covers and pillows, while Lemo flaunted a wry smile as if to say “told ‘ya!”.

At the very least Broly had had the delicacy not to add Ba’s stinky ear to the pile of covers –she meant it with all due respect to the big beast and its Saiyan friend, but damn, no matter how many washes it got, it still stank to no end!

“You can only blame yourself.” Lemo taunted her with tongue click, as if she wasn’t already down the very bottom of shame. “If you two didn’t get so lovey-dovey when Broly was sick…”

“We WEREN’T lovey-dovey!!” Cheelai screeched from the dead (or so did it seem, considering how hoarse her voice was) and raised her fist in protest, followed by her upper body. Broly, who was sitting beside the bed, gently pushed her back down the mattress.

Lemo turned around, raising his non-existent eyebrows. “Yeah yeah, whatever you say, tough girl.”

“Why, you!...”

“Broly, you seem excited enough about this, though.”

The huge Saiyan, now all cured and swell, nodded quickly and nimbly.

“I’m not happy about Cheelai being sick, but…”

“Say, are you two really going to continue talking about me as if I wasn’t just here?”

“...it means I get to take care of her, now. She gets to be all mine.”

Lemo choked on his own spit and a millisecond Broly deadpan dropped that –then bursted out into laughter when Broly blinked at him in disbelief.

“Why are you laughing?”

He turned to Cheelai in confusion, only to get more confused. She was practically hiding herself, covering her very red face with both her hands and whining in embarrassment.

“Broly, for the love of EVERYTHING, don’t say things like that out of the blue!!”

“Huh? What things?”

Cheelai bolted out of her lying position, pointing a finger gun right between the poor guy’s two eyes.

“Oh, really, you DARE act like you have no idea what that means?!”

Broly looked back at her intently, actually genuinely interested in learning what was the issue. “Did I… offend you?”

At the sight of his innocent face –you could draw a question mark above his head and it wouldn’t feel out of place–, Cheelai suddenly lost all her resentment and strength, then melted back into her bedding, shoving her blushing face underneath the covers once and for all.

“...Nevermind…”

It did not take him long to forget the matter anyway. He reached to stroke the little white locks of hair that got past the covers, falling cutely on the humid fabric of the towel.

“I’ll refresh your towel.”

#brolai #broly x cheelai #cheelai #broly #fanfictions requests #my fanfiction #my writing

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