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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 5 months ago

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Rain

Sike, this fic is not the sequel to Feelings. I happened across a brain worm for this fic and so it came into being. Here's one more for all you young Silco fans

Summary: It's just had to rain while you were outside, luckily your saviour is here to shelter you

You hate it when it rains. Water floods the streets, raindrops patter on roofs and splash onto the ground below. The rain soaks through everything — your clothes, your boots, chilling you to the bone. Usually, you would try and be under shelter when it rained, but today the rain caught you out in the open, leaving you a shivering wet mess.

"Stupid rain," you mutter, kicking a nearby pebble. Water drips off your hood into your eyes and you wipe it away, leaving a wet trail from your eyes to your cheek. A sliver of rain drips into your mouth and you make a face, the water tastes terrible. You spit into the river and pick up the pace, eager to get to The Last Drop for a drink to wash your mouth.

People hurriedly rush past you, splashing water all over. More cold rain soaks your boots and you swear, pulling your drenched coat around you tighter. Merchants holler at others to give way, their carts barreling down the streets and kicking up even more water as wheels crash into puddles. You move out of the way as a wave of water leaps at you, bumping into someone else in the process.

"Watch where you're going!" The person snaps, shoving you angrily with their shoulder. You stumble, shooting them a glare before continuing your journey back to the warmth and dryness of The Last Drop. A warm glass of wine sounds good right about now, and maybe some whisky to add to the fire in your stomach.

A sneeze builds in your nose but you quickly force it down, pushing against the flow of the crowd to get home. The now drenched bag of vegetables you had managed to snag from a bunch of snobbish Piltovians presses against your chest, a spot of chill in your otherwise still rather warm body. You hope none of the vegetables are ruined by the rain, Felicia would be sad but she wouldn't blame you, neither would the two brothers either.

Sighing, you try to cover the bag as much as you can. The only good thing this rain does is wash away the smell of smoke, and well you suppose it clears away some of the polluted air, although it's quite hard to tell since you've been breathing that air since you were born.

You duck and weave amongst the crowd, finally reaching the last stretch of your journey where there's space to move around since merchants don't frequent here. With a sigh, you close your eyes, letting the rain fall on you. Without the noise of the market, it's serene, tranquil even, a sensation that's rare in the Undercity. You can see the lights of The Last Drop, a warmth beckoning you over and smile. You're almost there.

"Whatcha got there, little snack?" Someone blocks your path.

"A middle finger, now get out of my way," you snap back, rudely gesturing at the figure. The rain only makes you more irritable, you're cold, hungry, and someone purposely getting in your way is the last thing on your bucket list right now. Your mind doesn't even register how large the figure is compared to you, or that the size of his palm could probably fit around your throat and snap it with little to no effort until said palm reaches out and curls around your neck.

"Do I have to teach you some manners?" The figure sneers, lifting you with ease. Your precious bag of vegetables fall to the wet ground with a sad plop as you gasp for air, legs kicking. Your nails dig into the flesh of his arm, leaving scratches behind but black spots are already starting to appear in your vision. Each kick and scratch is getting weaker, but you still muster the energy to spit in his face and wheeze out a last insult.

"Anyone — ever — taught you — how — to — say please?" The grip on your throat tightens and the figure snarls in anger, but his face contorts into one of pain and suddenly you're falling to the ground, hitting it with a splash.

You cough, a hand pressed to your chest as your lungs heave, inhaling as much air as they can. The smell of iron is starting to fill the air, courtesy of your saviour. A smaller and more lithe figure dashes towards you, bundling you in a thicker coat.

"What are you doing out in this weather?" A familiar voice snaps. Amidst the raindrops blurring your vision, you can make out sea foam coloured eyes narrowed in a mixture of annoyance and concern which makes you choke out a laugh.

"Taking a shower." Apparently, it's not as funny to him as it is to you because he scowls even harder and pulls you to your feet. Slinging your arm over his shoulder, he bends down to pick up the now very drenched bag of vegetables you had so carefully tried to protect and begins helping you back to The Last Drop.

"This is a miserable shower you're taking," he mutters and you grin back at him.

"It's free." You snigger and Silco lightly smacks you on the head.

"Then maybe I should just leave you out here to take your free shower." He promptly drops you ungraciously into the nearest puddle.

"Wait! No! I want to go back!" You yelp, scrambling to your feet. He simply walks faster and you lunge at him, tackling him to the ground. He lets out a shout as his clothes get drenched while you laugh, straddling him. "If I'm taking a free shower you're taking one too!"

"I never asked for one!" He splutters, quickly moving the bag of vegetables out of harm's way before throwing you off and sitting up. He shakes the water out of his eyes, slicking his hair backwards and glares at you. The puddles reflect the neon lights behind him, framing him in a soft neon glow and leaves you gaping.

"You're not catching any flies like that," he mutters, splashing water in your face. The sudden chill snaps you out of your stupor and you feel your cheeks heat up. You quickly look away, half-heartedly splashing water back in his face.

"I'd prefer to catch someone instead," you mumble to yourself, shivering. Your antics have only served to further drench you, and now the thicker coat Silco had wrapped you in is soaked as well.

"Are the two of you done flirting or should I just leave you both to it?" Felicia stands at the doorway of The Last Drop, arms folded across her chest.

"We're not flirting!"

"As if I'd ever flirt with them!"

Felicia snorts from the shelter of the bar and Vander peers over her shoulder, curious, before smiling and heads back inside.

"Well, once the both of you have had enough of playing in the rain, get back inside and shower while Vander and I prepare dinner." She gives an annoyed huff.

"Wait! The bag! Vegetables!" You flail your hands at Silco, gesturing towards the bag that sat on the wet ground. "Are they alright?"

"They would have been more alright if someone hadn't pushed me into a puddle." Silco bends over to pick the bag up, checking its contents. "Hmm they look alright."

"Vegetables? So that's what you were up to this morning? Bring them in, I'll use them for tonight's dinner." Felicia grins. "Oh but don't you dare set a foot anywhere near the counter, I just cleaned the area."

"Dibs on the shower!" You run towards the door, eager to get away from the cold of the rain and into the warmth of the bar but Silco shoves you aside with his shoulder, glowering at you.

"You? I should be the one showering first! You pushed me into the puddle!"

"You're too slow!"

"Me? Slow? Who's the one who takes forever in the shower because they're just stoning there?"

"As if you don't stone!"

"Not if I'm holding up the queue!"

"Maybe they should just take the shower together," Vander hums.

"No!" The both of you chorus together, causing Felicia to giggle.

"They do indeed argue like a married couple."

"We do not!" You glower at Silco, who glowers back and you flip him off again. He rolls his eyes, taking the opportunity to duck into the corridor that leads to the shower and leaves you momentarily confused, until you realise that he's going to be able to shower first whilst you shiver in your soaked clothes that cling to you like second skin.

"Silcooooo!"

#arcane #arcane x you #silco arcane #arcane silco #arcane fluff #arcane x reader #arcane s2 #arcane season 2 spoilers #silco x reader #young silco x reader #silco fluff #young silco fluff

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month ago

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Follow You Anywhere 15/Final

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, blood/violence, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: thank you all for coming along for this ride <3

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You slow as your lungs scald. You heave and bend over, unlooping the forgotten rope from around your neck. You're lucky it hasn't caught around anything.

You dizzily stumble around and hide it in the brush. If he's following, you can't leave any sign. Your mouth is full of saliva as your throat is scratchy and dry. You can't remember the last time you ran like that.

You keep moving. Even if you can't run, you have to keep moving. Sy will be after you. You got him deep but not deep enough.

If only you could have gotten him further over, right in the middle, maybe you could've killed him. The thought doesn't chill you, only your apathy to it. That's another thing he took from you. Your compassion, your trust, your naivete.

You trip and slide down an incline. At the bottom, sticks jab into your skin. You fix the shirt around you. The two buttons you managed to hook are loose. Your had bobbles as you blink and crawl over the ground.

You stand up and look along the curling road. Not a real one, not paved, but two dusty lines worn into the ground from the roll of tires. You turn toward the moon and start to walk.

As the adrenaline calms to a baseline thrum, your heartbeat slows enough to think. What do you do? Sy's a soldier, you're sure he's trained to survive, to find people. You're not trained for anything. And you're almost naked.

You wince as you step on a sharp stone. You hear something. A strange but familiar noise distorted by your ringing ears. You turn as a light flashes in your direction.

You dodge out of the way as you think it's him at first. But then the light splits and becomes two. It's not a flashlight, it's headlights. You hop back into the tire tracks and wave your arms.

"Hey, hey! I'm here! I'm here!" You holler and stagger.

You stare down the truck, certain it's going to run you over, then the brakes squeal to a stop. You gape at the driver as you see his shadow lean over the wheel. You can't move.

He opens his door and gets out. He strides along the hood as he sniffs, "now what're you doing all the way out here?"

You should probably wonder the same of him but all you know is you need to get away. You sputter and show your hands. "Please, I need help. Please. There's someone after me. He hurt me--"

"Who?"

"Just... this guy. Please, there's no time."

"Heh, you're telling me this isn't a trick," he scoffs and turns away, stomping up to his car door. "I know the type, you distract me and--"

He croaks and wheezes and you hear the new sound, the one you hadn't heard before that night. The noise of metal in flesh, squelching and stabbing deep. The man's body is hurled away, revealing the hulking shadow with the knife still in hand.

Your lip trembles as Sy bares down on you. His arm is soaked in his own blood, his hand in that of the man who's on the ground moaning. You take a step back, keeping your hands up.

"Sy, please, I'm sorry. I was... I was scared, please," you beg.

His breath grits in his throat like a growl, his chest rising and falling heavily as he advances on you. His eyes are pool of shadow as the moonlight gleams on the blood the slickens his flesh. He's naked, shameless, mindless. He only has one end. Yours.

You want to look around for something, anything, to get away, but you can't take your eyes off of him.

"I love you, sugar," he snarls as he gets closer and you take a pace back for everyone one of his. "How could you do this to me? I been good to you." He grips the knife tighter and his shoulders puff up. "I don't wanna do it..." he grits. "I DON'T WANNA DO IT!'

His holler echoes through the trees and leaves rustle as night birds scatter. Your heart seizes and your muscles buzz. The world narrows to just that moment, that road, and you see the dead end before you. This is it. It's over. You tried and it didn't work. He's going to kill you.

He growls again and adjusts his grip on the knife. He lunges forward and in an instant, he's hurtling sideways. He grunts as he lands in the dirt, the knife flying into the unseen brush. The snapping and snarling intermingles with Sy's yelps and grunts as you watch the dog's silhouette tear at her owner.

"Aika! Ahh!" Sy furiously tries to shield himself and she latches onto his hand. He garbles and growls as he struggles with the canine.

You don't think. You just move. You go to the truck and hop in the driver seat. The engine's still going.

You hear that man on the ground. He's gurgling. He's alive. It's not fair to leave him. He wasn't going to help you...

No, no. Sy didn't take all of you.

You get out and go to the man. He's not very big. Spindly with a bit of a pooch.

"Hey," you hiss. "Can you get up?"

He gives wet breaths and groans. He reaches for you. You plant your feet as you hook his arm around your neck. You haul him up, barely, and stagger with him toward the truck. He gets himself up into the front seat and you shove him across and follow him in.

You hear a yelp and the sound of paws scattering. You slam the door shut and hit the gas. The truck hurtles forward and you don't look back. If he's still alive, you don't want to know. You just want to get out of here. You want to be gone.

💮

The bright lights blind you as a figure blurs before you. The thumb tugs at your eyelid as the glow makes your eye water. The hand lets you go and the doctor comes into focus.

"Shock," he declares as you sit on the high hospital bed, still only in the dirty flannel shirt. "Nurse."

A woman in teal scrubs comes over and drapes a backless gown over you. Your legs dangle over the edge as you stare. They stare at you then the man in his white coat scribbles on the chart.

"She'll be fine. Not sure about the man."

The doctor leaves and the nurse eases you back to lay across the bed. You let her. She pulls the coverlet over you and her voice fogs in your ears. she points to a red string. She leaves with a hollow breath.

The walls become clearer, and the single window, the curtain beside the bed, and the shining sink faucet, dripping into the deep sink. The tempo keeps you from slipping.

The room darkens as the nurse comes back. She flips the overhead light but a lamp remains on near the bed. You rub your thumbs against your index. Someone tried to wash the blood off your hands. You can still smell the iron.

The morning rises and with it, the world settles back in around you. You take a breath as it washes over you. Is he gone? Or is he waiting right outside those doors?

Your hands rest over your stomach. You feel him inside of you. The way he tore at you, stretched you, tortured you!

You hope Aika got him good. You hope she killed him. That he bled out in the dirt.

Your eyes glaze with tears. A knock comes at the door. You don't react. It opens.

The nurse enters, a man in a dark uniform behind her. "Hon, the police wanna talk now."

You blink at the man. His face tenses. He looks at your hand and your blood-stained nail beds.

"You still got the cloths from that?" He asks the nurse. She points to the bin hooked from the end of the bed. He nods. He focuses on you and takes out a notepad. "Miss, we gotta ask you some questions."

"My computer. Check my computer," you say. You shudder and hang your head. "It's how he found me."

"One thing at a time," the officer says. "Last night. Talk about that first."

You take a deep breath then snivel. Your eyes sting and your cheeks pinch. If they're asking, you don't think they found him...

💮

Life is simpler now.

It's just you. It was before, but now for real. Just you and your books. You and the market stalls, the people, face-to-face. No more online shadows, no virtual wraiths to haunt you. This world is real. This world is only what's around you.

And Della. The golden labrador with her goofy expressions and soft coat. She's more than just a cuddlebug, more than your friend, she's your protection. The monster taught you more than he meant to. He taught you that you need to be vigilant. That it's good to have a loyal ally.

As sweet as the dog can be, she's not all soft fur and slobbery kisses. When someone gets to close to you, her head goes down. When she hears something odd, she growls. She's friendly on the outside but cautious on the inside. Like you.

You take her to the pier to paint or draw. You no longer sell online. You don't do anything online. You don't even have a phone.

That day, the dawn sky is a lazy shade of lavender dusted above cornflower and puffs of cloud. You carefully recreate the scene in watercolour, your easel set up in the sand. You never lived by the water before. The city was suffocating. This is airier.

In a way, it reminds you of that fateful day. Of him. Of that life he'd dreamt up in his twisted mind. But when you think of him, you push it away.

You're free of him and you're going to stay that way. He doesn't get any more of you. Not your fear, not your thoughts, not your grief.

They never did find him. After all the reports, the questions, the doctors, nurses, and officers, you stopped wondering. You read the short article on the discovery of a man and woman in a truck after an alleged attack at the beach, but it was so vague, it sounded skeptical. You're not sure anyone cared. The man who stopped, recovered, and wanted nothing to do with you. You didn't have much affinity for him either.

Maybe you're colder now. Maybe more distant. Wary. Wise? Some might call it that.

Three years ago, you started your page. To document your life, your existence, your thoughts. You did it to keep yourself from fading into nothing. To feel a little less alone. Now, you don't mind being alone.

You think about it. What use is it being a footnote on the internet? When you were in danger, no one cared. No one noticed. The only person who ever noticed you, well...

You sigh and step back to compare the sky to the painting. The sun's moved since you started. That's okay. The colours are close. The way the clouds curl is just so whimsical.

Della gets up and stretches, before makings circles on her blanket and flopping back down. She rolls so you can see her stomach. She wants attention.

You set down the brush and wipe your hands on the rag tucked into your belt. You go to her and squat down, scratching her belly as she wriggles and groans in delight. Her tongue lolls out and you chuckle.

In the end, you did get what you wanted. Not exactly happiness, but freedom. You have your art, you have a booth down in the town centre, you have Della, and you have the lake. It's all you can ask for and as much as you can handle.

Most importantly, it's yours and no one else's. You answer to no one and you belong to no one. You are no one and that's just fine.

#captain syverson #dark syverson #dark!syverson #syverson x reader #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #follow you anywhere #sand castle

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on-the-clear-blue · 4 months ago

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Something that I think people tend to forget is that...through the batman cross overs, Scooby Doo is canon to DC... that's just...truly insane to me.

It also makes me think about a certain teenage ghost that is commonly thrown into DC...

---

Danny stared down at a motley crew of four young adults, a seemingly speaking dog and man dressed in a sad, stained treanch coat looking so done with the rest of them.

Why you might ask was he staring down? Because some how, some way through a Rue Goldberg machine of utter bullshit he managed to get wrapped up in a net, that if the slight shocks to his body were correct, was ecto-charged, meaning he couldn't simply faze through them.

The tall blonde teen gave a woop of joy as Danny finally stopped spinning, "Wow, Velma! That net your aunt gave you sure came in clutch! Looks like this spooky spector ain't getting out of this one!"

Said girl, which Danny is now slowly, to his horror, is recognizing as his cousin, Velma Dinkley who was related to his mom, and if the almost terrifying glint to the girls glasses were to be trusted? She was just as wickedly smart.

"Well of course my dear Fredrick, once Shaggy and Scooby noticed the ghostly goo Casper up there was leaving around here it wasn't hard to figure out we weren't just dealing with a man in a mask, but a proper, bona fide ghost."

Velma held a proud smirk on her lips, hands on her hips as she looked up at Danny, she had caught a glint of recognition in her eyes, followed by a bit of doubt bit that was quickly shaken away.

The lanky teen, now identified to Danny as "Shaggy" looked both fearful and proud of himself, "Like zoinks Scoob! We really did catch ourselves a ghost...though this one doesn't look half as scary as the last one..."

(It was slightly unsettling to see the dog chuckle, though if Danny was going to be honest to himself it wasn't the weirdest thing he had ever seen)

The mentions of catching other ghost made Danny's head snap to them, a frown forming on his face, while he did know he was horrible at being spooky (much to his ghostly half's shame) he wasn't trying to be! He had been trying to stop Vlad get some sort of artifact that the sad trench coat guy had, though if this was the only ecto-net that they had...

Danny's eyes widened as he looked down at the group, "Shit you guys have to let me out of here! Please you...you just made him angry!" Fidgeting in the net, Danny could only helplessly beg the gathered people below, "You Guys won't be able to handle him...Please you have to get some where safe!"

The last teen, a girl with long red hair tilted her head up, and even while Danny was above her, it felt like he was being looked down upon, "Really? I have heard some pathetic threats but that one wasn't even thst good, you simply arnt going to be-"

Here words were cut off as the sad trench coat man started wheezing suddenly, grasping at his chest as sooty ash started pouring out from his mouth, great big blooms of black smoke, his cigarette falling from his now open mouth, his eyes screwed shut, but slowly a red light started glowing from behind screwed shut lids.

The red head backed away quickly, eyes wide as she watched more and more black smoke pour out from the man, "Freddy somethings wrong with Mr. Constantine!"

Before Fred could react, the red light shone brighter than ever, the last of the black smog falling from the newly named Constantine's lips before the man toppled over, body unmoving.

Danny could only watch helplessly as the body moved in a sickening way, bones popping and muscles rippling, a glowing red amulet floating out from the man's buttoned up shirt, and when the man looked up at Danny, cold chills ran down the teens spine...

Because those were Vlads eyes. Danny was too late.

#dc x dp #dpxdc #danny phantom #sdxdc #scooby doo cross over #tripple cross over #scooby doo danny phantom Constantine #crack idea treated seriously #minor horror at the end

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pedge-page · 4 months ago

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Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: Save Me From Your Brother, Tommy!

Summary: you call Tommy to save you from your husband's wrath...

- - - -

Maria just finished making popcorn, tossing one towards the couch where Tommy expertly managed to catch it in his mouth. She sits down next to him as he wraps his arm over her shoulder. They settle in together for a lovely, quiet, romantic evening watching TV when--

Her phone starts buzzing.

Tommy grasps it next to him and checks the ID. It's you.

Maria shrugs and let's him answer.

"Yello?"

Your frantic, desperate, hushed voice carries over the speaker: "Tommy? TOMMY! You have to help me..."

Tommy sits upright. Maria pauses the TV, wondering why her boyfriend has stiffened. "What is it. What's wrong? Are you ok?" Chills run down his spine. He's never heard you like this.

You sniffle, holding the receiver closer to your lips. Your fast, panicked breaths are shaken. "He's... he won't let me go. Please Tommy you have to get me out of here..."

Tommy puts it on speaker, looking at Maria, fear creeping into both of their souls. "Who? Where are you? Where's Joel?"

"Its... its Joel!" You squeak. They can hear more shuffling, like you're crouched somewhere small and enclosed. "I'm home. I'm hiding from him... I'm in the bathroom..."

Tommy's heart is escalating. He knows Joel. There's never been a single fiber inside that guy that could give way he could cause someone such fear. Let alone his own wife. Who he loves to death. Who he's obsessed with. Something must be horribly wrong for you to call so scared...

"What is he doing? Where's Sarah?"

"She's sleeping...she's ok...she's spared from him... from his..."

Suddenly, they can hear Joels voice calling your name distantly from another room. You audibly gulp. "Tommy, he's gonna make me--!"

"Make you what!?"

"Hes calling for me... i have to... he's gonna come looking," you whisper desperately. You turn on the face time screen, and Tommy can see you clearly. You're hiding in the bathroom, the lights off. Your bedroom door connecting to the bathroom is closed, but there's a bright light shining underneath, and Joel's voice calling for you again.

You open the door, and Tommy and Mariah hold their breaths....

Only to see Joel is lying in bed casually, his waist tucked into the covers and back resting against the headset. When he sees you, he smiles and waves. "Baby! I paused it for you, so you don't miss anything." He pats the bed next to him, opening the sheets for your invitation. His toes swish under the sheets, unable to contain his giddiness and joy. Even Spoon, who is lying on the bed, has her paws over her ears, face tucked into the sheets as if she is being subjected to the torture you're referring to.

Joel doesn't seem threatening or menacing or... really anything out of the ordinary that should make you as upset as you are, so what the...?

"Joel...please...." you plea, near tears.

"What? It's the Hallmark Christmas in July marathon!" He cheers excitedly.

Tommy and Maria look at one another and then burst into laughter.

You cry out, stammering your feet like a kid having to finish homework before play time. "Tommy, he's making me watch these fucking Hallmark movies!!! THERE ARE SO MANY. IT NEVER ENDS. Get me out of here!!

Maria is laying fully back on the sofa, nearly capsizing on the edge from her giggles. Tommy is trying to hold her up with his leg, but his hand is clutched over his heart, purple in the face from not being able to breathe from how hard he's equally laughing.

"Tommy, its not funny!"

"You on the phone with Tommy?" Joel asks curiously.

Finally Tommy responds, albeit wheezing through his words. "I didnt know Joel liked Halmark movies..!"

Joel looks at you with a frown. "You said you wouldn't tell anybody..." He says softly, a mixture of embarrassment and betrayal.

"Oh Tommy counts as someone?" Tommy stops laughinh for a moment, now deciding against helping you.

You slouch your shoulder and whimper poutily, trudging your body towards him. "Do we HAVE to?"

Joel rolls his jaw. "If only i did things for YOU, like a loyal, devoted husband, willing to do ANYTHING for his wifes happiness," he growls sternly.

You KNOW hes the best, and even now pregnant with his second baby, and going through the torture of being... well, you in this state. He really doesn't ask for much. But this specifically is payback for earlier today when you made him drive you 2 hours for your favorite bubble tea, only to find it closed because you didn't Google their week schedule beforehand. And then made him drive 2 hours back to your second favorite place, only to find they ran out of boba for the day. To which Joel started lecturing to the poor girl about how a boba tea place can be open and not have any boba. He was already exhausted, angry, and frustrated, and definitely deserved a reward for having to chauffer you around.

But THIS?

"Okay so this isn't an emergency. This is just the consequences of your actions," Maria explains. She always knew you were a dramatic bitch but this really took the cake.

"I dont deserve this torture! Tommy, he's your DNA!"

Tommy shrugs. "And you married him. Have fun!" Tommy and Maria wave through the screen before ending the call.

Your lower lip trembles as you stare at the black screen. You only chance to get out of here, gone.

You look up to Joel, who slaps your empty spot on the bed twice, very firmly, very threateningly. His jawbone flexes. You dragged him around all day, and now ratted out his guilty pleasure, something you SWORE you wouldn't tell anyone. You earned this punishment.

"Still got Christmas House, Christmas on Cherry Lane, and 12 Dates of Christmas! Now.... Come. Here."

You cry but hang you head low, dragging your feet to put up with the fifth day in a row of cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies in July.

- - - -

@jeewrites @harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist

#joel dealing with preggo wife #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou fluff #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us fluff #last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #joel miller fan fic #joel miller fluff

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captain-bubble-wrap · 5 months ago

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loved your sick gf/helpful quinn post

can we get a sick quinn this time? I feel like he'd be a big baby when he's sick

THE BIGGEST BABY

Quinn had coughed all night.

It had started off small but had quickly developed into something more consistent and with a persistent wheeze alongside it. He seemed so uncomfortable: tossing and turning, trembling with the chills and cold sweats. It seemed like with each passing hour a new symptom appeared: from the cough to finally the body aches. You wanted to soothe his pain and make him comfortable but he just pushed you away, It had kind of hurt your feelings having him reject you time and again, but you were just trying to help. Best you could do was tell yourself it was just because he felt bad and that he didn't mean to be that way.

By this point, you couldn't sleep. Quinn's constant shifting and coughing had given you no peace or himself for that matter. Sometime in the night, you grabbed your pillow and went to the sofa instead, You didn't want to leave him, but if he was sick, he would need someone to care for him come the morning. If you were running on a couple hours sleep, it wasn't going to be you; you might as well be sick right alongside of him.

Even from the living room, you could hear him cough, hear the wheeze cause him so much pain with its ability to take his breath away. You probably didn't sleep any more on the sofa than you would have beside him. Every so often you'd force yourself to get up and check on him. He had a fever and was burning up yet he appeared to be asleep. Quinn needed medicine and as soon as possible but you weren't about to wake him up to take any. Instead, you'd dig through the bathroom cabinets and find some multi-symptom cough syrup. The label said it would help counteract each of the things Quinn was dealing with but would it be enough? You'd leave it on his bedside table for the next time a coughing fit woke him.

When morning came around he seemed worse. Congestion had set in and it had changed the sound of his voice to something nasally instead of its usually velvety tone. Getting him to take anything was like pulling teeth because he just wanted to lay with the pillow over his head, hidden from everything especially the morning light. Though Quinn wasn't normally the dramatic type, when he was sick, it was like the end of the world.

"Baby, please, just take this and I'll leave you alone. That's all I asking you to do."

"I'm fine. I just-- I'm fine," he said from under the covers.

"You're not and you know it. Please, just take it?"

"I just need to sleep it off."

You tried to contain your sigh but it was hard. He was being completely unreasonable and it was starting to wear on your nerves. If he just took the medicine it would help but getting him to see that point wasn't going your way. This wasn't the first time he had probably felt like this, so why was he being such a baby?

"Why won't you take it, Quinn?"

There was a long pause. You knew he wasn't asleep. Was he ignoring you in the hopes that you'd give up and just walk away? If that were the case, you were close to it.

"Okay, fine. Suit yourself." Leaving the medicine on the table, you'd leave the room defeated. What else were you supposed to do? He didn't want to be touched, loved on, or anything but left alone. At least that's how it seemed. Even simple conversations were proving to be a battle.

You shut the bedroom door behind you and went to the kitchen. Food didn't seem like the magical end-all-be-all cure to his cold but if he didn't want it then you'd just take it for yourself. Soup seemed like the best choice even if it was the cliche option. "Comforting to the soul and stomach," your mom always said when you were sick. However, a quick assessment of the pantry revealed you didn't have what you needed for soup.

Instead of sticking your head back into the bedroom to let him know you were headed out, you texted his phone saying something similar.

"I'm going to the store. I'll be back in a bit."

Short and painfully to the point. It wouldn't be until you were in Quinn's car that you felt guilty for how you had come off. You'd text him once more before finally leaving; trying to rewrite your sour attitude towards him.

"I love you."

- - -

When you returned to the apartment, you could see signs of life that hadn't been there before. The cough medicine was now on the island; the used dosing cup had remnants of the syrup still in the bottom, A loaf of bread was poorly wrapped up alongside it, and what looked like a simple cheese sandwich sat on a napkin with one bite taken out of it. And finally, on the sofa, was a bundled up Quinn, his tangled curls spilling out over one of the pillows he rested his head on.

"Hi," he said, when you walked past him. His tone was defeated, moping even. Had you hurt his feelings? It wasn't your intention to, but it was just frustrating trying to help someone who just came off like they would rather stay miserable.

"Hi, baby."

"Where did you go? I came out and you were gone." Quinn didn't lift his head off the pillow or even his eyes. When you looked over at him he was looking at your feet.

"I texted you. I went to the store to get stuff to make you soup."

"I haven't looked at my phone. You didn't have to do that." His monotone was worse now, tinged slightly with his own flavour of annoyance.

Had you been in a worse mood, you would have said something about checking his phone, but instead you were able to bite your tongue. He didn't feel good, you had to remind yourself of this fact. This wasn't your Quinn - your sweet Huggy Bear - this was someone struggling with their body fighting against them to get better. You knew Quinn would never purposefully give you an attitude or be short with you, and the same should have been said about you.

"I'm sorry I was short with you, Quinn," you finally get out. You had hoped that would have removed some weight from your chest but instead it only made it heavier. He still wouldn't look at you. In fact, he closed his eyes after you had spoken your apology. Seeing him ignore you that way felt terrible, but you felt you had earned his cold shoulder. You had been sick a few times since you had been together and Quinn had been so kind and selfless. What had given you the right to be so unsympathetic?

"It's fine," he said, snuggling deeper into his self-made cocoon.

"It's not fine." Your heart hurts as you cross the room to kneel before where he lay. "Honey, I'm sorry." You brush the sweat-matted hair from his forehead. He was burning up with fever but this time he managed to look at you. He looked like he could melt into tears at any moment.

"I'm sorry I ignored you earlier," he replied, meeting you halfway with his own apology.

"You don't feel good, Quinn, it's okay. I'm sorry I got mad. I had no right to."

Quinn sniffled, either from the congestion or just because he was getting that emotional. Either way, you leaned forward and gave him a tender kiss to his forehead. This made the faintest smile appear on his half-concealed lips.

"You probably shouldn't kiss me," he mumbles, silently thankful for the gentle affection. Deep down, he wanted it; wanted to be babied and taken care of but instead of asking for it, he just found himself coming off as hard-headed.

"It's alright," you reassure him, a second kiss finding its mark along with the first. "I'll just get sick right with you."

"I don't want you to get sick, though."

"I know you don't but sometimes it happens. At least we'll have soup." You give him a smile, the first one that day. He returns the sentiment.

"What kind?"

"Broccoli cheddar and the classic chicken noodle. Which do you want first?"

"You got stuff for both?" His little voice sounded shocked, amazed that you'd treat him to two different types of soup varieties. Sometimes it was the little things that made the biggest impact.

"Of course I did."

Quinn tried to sit but got winded halfway through, a coughing fit taking what strength he had built up.

"Oh, baby, you need to rest. How about you get a nap and I'll wake you up when I get something done?"

"Okay."

"It's okay, sweetheart, I'll manage." You wink, trying to reassure him that everything would be okay, and that you could handle some soup-making alone. When you stood up, you caught the subtle trembling from under his blanket. "I'm going to get you another blanket, okay?"

"Okay."

Those short responses you recognized were the best he could do at the time and didn't strike a nerve like they had earlier. But walking away from him still hurt like it had the first time, and you could feel his eyes on you still. From a tote under your bed, you found a heated blanket your parents had sent you after you made the decision to move to Vancouver. Hopefully this would bring Quinn some more consistent heat despite his body running his internal thermostat like a child left unsupervised.

"Here, baby, this should help you. Do you want this overtop or...?"

"I want that one," he said, pulling the original one from his body as best he could.

"It's okay, it's okay. Here, let me get it," you say, helping Quinn untuck himself before draping him with the ultra-plush heated one. "Should be nice and hot in just a few minutes."

"Thank you," he said, gripping it tightly. "Thanks for helping me."

"Thank you for letting me. I'm going to go make you some soup, okay? I'll try to be quiet so I don't wake you."

"I'll just...I'll be right here," he said through a yawn, the medicine finally kicking in and lulling him to sleep.

#💌Maven's Love Notes #quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic #quinn hughes one shot #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic

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thecheshireprincess · 6 days ago

Text

The Little Things

Shuntarō Chishiya x GN!Reader (no pronouns mentioned)

Summary: Maybe the little things are the most important of all 🫶🏻

Content Warning: Mentions of blood, canon-typical violence (not explicit, just the aftermath), probably curse words bc I have no chill, little bit angsty but happy ending

A/N: Just a quick little Chishiya drabble; super short, kind of angsty, kind of fluffy (like me rn)

I hope you enjoy 🫶🏻✨️

Your relationship was built on a foundation of simple little things - small actions intended to evoke a smile, to make your life better. There was nothing grandiose or romantic about it, or so you'd always told yourself.

It was the coffee made just right, a wisp of steam billowing in the air as it waits on your desk before your overnight shift at the hospital. It was his steady, comforting presence at your side when you lost a patient or needed to find a way to deliver difficult news to a family. It was the way he always swooped in with takeout and the promise of companionship just when you were about to let yourself succumb to the familiar abyss of loneliness. The man was a steadfast presence over the years, his blonde hair casting light even in the darkest corners of your life.

But the Shuntarō Chishiya you knew would never say the three words most people yearn to hear, and you would never be caught begging to hear them from him. Doing so would implicate him in deeper feelings for you, would mean that there was something more significant than friendship between the two of you. And wouldn't that just ruin everything? Somehow, deep down, both of you know; though it's kept locked away like an inside joke that only you can understand. That his actions have spoken louder than words ever could, that he has been silently telling you all these years with every lunch together, every time he's shared his umbrella with you, every squeeze of your shoulder in encouragement.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

And now in this moment - after weeks - months? - of fighting for your lives together in a ruthless world and the lines of your friendship softly blurring, you feel the tug of desperation sinking in your stomach like a brick. Your heart cries out a silent plea as you sink to your knees on the warm, cracked asphalt beside him.

Please don't leave me here. I need you. I love you.

Fading chestnut eyes blink up at you, a crimson stain pooling slowly but distinctly on the ground; the consequence of a violent blend of pride, hatred, and similarity. Your shaking hands flit over his abdomen, a little pressure here, more pressure there. Blood soaks quickly through his signature white jacket, and before you know it, your hands are coated in the shiny slick too. Your eyes widen in true terror - there was nothing you could do in a place like this, any and all medical supplies in the area long gone. Chishiya knew it too, his cold, steady fingers gently finding yours instead, rubbing soothing patterns across your trembling skin.

"I do, you know. Always have," his voice rattles out with a wheeze, his death bed speech short but not surprising. He says just enough to make you let out a choked sob, your heart shattering like delicate glass in your chest. The memories of your time together both here and in the old world flicker through your mind on rapid fire, simultaneously breaking you further while also breathing new resolve into you - he has to live.

You nod emphatically, joyous and terrified tears mixing at your waterline. "I know, me too," you sniffle, stray tears cascading down your adrenaline-colored cheeks, "Tell me when we get home, okay? Consider it motivation to stay alive." The look on his face as he studies you, as if trying to memorize exactly what you look like in this moment - the moment you've essentially confessed your silent love for one another - knocks the wind out of your lungs in devastation. He brushes a hand over the wet path your tears took, cooing unintelligible words of comfort as he attempts to guide you to lay against him with a wince.

"Chishiya! What are you doing?" you ask in alarm, awkwardly maneuvering your body to avoid falling against his bloodied injuries. He huffs a slight laugh through his nose at the way you contort yourself as if trying to avoid something scary. "Lay with me, please? It might even help stop the bleeding," he jokes, his characteristic smirk stretching on his lips.

After a moment of anxious contemplation, teeth grating at your bottom lip, you gingerly allow yourself to curl against his less injured side. Any nervous tension left in your body melts away as he tilts your chin up to look at him. His shining eyes are filled with more emotion than you'd have thought he was capable of, somehow knowing they were a perfect mirror of your own. "You have no idea how much you mean to me, do you?" he whispers, searching your soul for the answer he wasn't really expecting from your mouth. Tears blur your vision again, threatening to ruin your tender moment. Chishiya doesn't mind, doesn't hesitate any further.

With a genuine smile, he pulls your rosy lips to meet his in the middle, soft skin meeting soft skin for the first time as your eyes flutter shut. Finally. His kiss is gentle but full of unplaced emotion; full of words you may never hear spoken outloud. None of that matters, now. Chishiya pours every ounce of love he has for you into your lips as you move softly against each other, hands gently exploring uncovered skin. This would be enough for you, it might have to be.

Breathless and looking a little paler, Chishiya lets go of your swollen lips, gently guiding your head to the place where his neck and shoulder meet. "Let's rest and wait for Arisu and Usagi to do their job, hm?" he asks, his arm wrapping around your shoulders like it belonged there, fingers stroking your bare arm. You snuggle into him further, pressing your hand carefully to the wound that was bleeding faster and situating yourself where you could hear the still steady thump of his heart. You focus in on the way it sounds, making each beat your mantra. Stay alive. The beautiful symphony of his proof of life lulls you into a light slumber as the sun sets in the sky, casting twilight shadows around Shibuya.

You shoot up in surprise as you're startled awake by hundreds of fireworks lighting up the starry sky above you. Your heart leaps with joy in your chest - Arisu and Usagi had actually done it. You don't realize that tears of relief are streaking warmly down your cheeks until the pad of Chishiya's thumb swipes them gently away. You hurriedly turn to kiss him again, a wave of calm surging through your body knowing he had made it. Your kiss now is a stark contrast to earlier; deeper, more passionate. All teeth and tongue as you express your excitement. You'd won.

When the cheerful robotic voice gives you your final choice, having interrupted your moment of passion, you look up at Chishiya for an answer. You want whatever he wants, and up until now he has been pretty on the fence about that. His tired eyes, framed by darkened circles look down to study you. "I don't want it," he mumbles with a strained cough, "I think." You grin dazzlingly up at him, his fingers stroking through your hair while you contemplate what you're going to say. "I want to go home," you murmur confidently, "With you." You lay your head back against him, nuzzling into his neck as your body grows heavy. The last thing you remember before the world you'd come to know fades to black was a warm kiss pressed to the crown of your head, and the comforting sound of Chishiya's voice.

I love you.

What you'd once considered the little things, well, maybe they weren't so little after all.You wouldn't be taking those for granted anymore.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

Masterlist

Everything Tag List: @potato-vagina @28361573 @maxinehufflepuffprincess @mocchii-writes @monkey4lifer @trinibadgyal @izzybizzyk

Chishiya Tag List: @kimsrie @jjkxxy

Please don't hesitate to let me know if you want to be added to (or removed from) any of my tag lists! You can specify if there's a character you like or if you want to see everything. Also, my asks and messages are open, PLEASE reach out, I would literally die to interact with you; ily guys endlessly 💕✨️

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signanothername · 8 months ago

Note

So, I know you've admitted to never reading For the Forgotten Ones, but I will note it has some very fanon Nightmare + MTT. And, so, it made me wonder;

the concept is just Ink being stopping from destroying his own SOUL by Nightmare, who takes him in. Ink ends up as a healer, before eventually discovering that he's Protector of Creation. Loosest way to describe the plot as possible. Could go more in detail if you'd ever like. BUT BACK TO THE THING I WAS WONDERING!!!!!!!!

How would that go with your version of Nightmare and the gang? With Nightmare finding the small, skeleton (small enough to be a kid), who has almost no knowledge of how the word works, and stubbornly refuses to ever fight or hurt or destroy, to the point he learns green magic, and barely anything else (he only learns his own magic aside from green), and Ink wants them all to be okay at the end of the day. How would that go with him? Even more so, what about MTT? In the story, Horror's the most chill with Ink, they're vibing. Dust/Murder is kinda vibing with Ink, arguably the two closest to Ink in the beginning. Killer is.....it takes a good minute for him to warm up to this one(Will say, at some point Ink falls into another AU o accident when opening a portal for the first time, nearly dies, is soaking wet ad scared, and he's given one of MTT's jackets, AND IT GOES DOWN TO HIS KNEES, I NEED YOU TO PICTURE THIS PLEASE....it was Killer's). By the end they're found family, but I really love your version of everyone, and I started rereading ftfo, when I wondered how different this could be if it were a DIFFERENT multiverse, a.k.a., your iteration?

Oh it’s definitely extremely different chhchc

I’m sorry to say that my multiverse isn’t much of a merciful one hchchchchc (I wouldn’t say my multiverse is a sad one, but it’s certainly a bittersweet one)

Biggest difference? Nightmare won’t even think of getting Ink under him or get him inside his castle to begin with

To Nightmare, That’s just another random Sans in this vastly wide multiverse, he already got 3, he doesn’t need another, sure, the circumstances of this particular Sans are interesting to say the least, but by that point, there’s nothing Ink could offer Nightmare at all except for his misery and negativity, but again, he already got 3 negativity meals that continuously feed him anyway, and this entire place is nothing but white void, so Nightmare has nothing interesting to be offered, there is literally no reason Nightmare would feel like he needs to change his routine to include a random skeleton who’s best they ever done is sit down and sulk

And hey, if being in this white void makes them miserable then who’s Nightmare to stop them from being miserable? :)

He’ll come in, take one look at them and their Au, get out, simple as that, and even if this random Sans had something to offer, Nightmare would simply settle for making a deal and leaving them there (no open positions for another member in his gang)

So basically the entire plot of the fic won’t even happen with my Nightmare, the fic is just gonna be reduced to a oneshot wheeze gchchcch

But for the sake of this ask, let’s imagine that my Nightmare did actually take Ink in, let’s explore how that would go

Another big difference? It’s Killer that’s gonna “warm up” to Ink first, (ngl, never understood the notion of Killer being the aggressive one cchhcch), i put “warm up” in quotes cause in reality it’s less warming up and more like, “wow! A change of pace? Something new? Interesting gotta squeeze every info outta them and maybe even manipulate them to suit me and convenient me while i’m at it”

Killer is social in nature, and unless Ink somehow reminds him of his own misary, there’s no reason Killer would pass up the opportunity to see how this new guy ticks, he’d study Ink like an ant, dissect them in his mind even, i mean, Nightmare getting someone new? He knows Nightmare isn’t one who likes change in his routine so what’s the new guy got that actually caught Nightmare’s interest this much?

All that aside, Killer is actually extremely docile to anyone as long as they don’t push him or force something upon him, and even when pushed, Killer is surprisingly patient and would simply let them get it out of their system all while making it clear he wants to be left alone until he loses that patience, so unless Ink somehow genuinely and actively pushes Killer’s buttons, he’ll never get on Killer’s nerves/bad side, Killer would simply treat Ink like he treats anyone, no genuine connection, just another thing (not person) to study and analyze

If Killer were to attack Ink in any way, it’s less aggression, and more “let’s see what this guy can do” just a quick test for his new lab rat

Killer wouldn’t form any genuine emotional connection with Ink, to Killer, Ink is just another toy Nightmare wanted to get for himself, and that’s talking about Stage 2, Stage 1 is… outta commission, I don’t think Ink would truly have the chance to meet Stage 1 Killer, meeting Stage 3 is a big possibility, but let’s hope Ink doesn’t have to cause I don’t think Ink would know how to deal with him

Murder and Horror are a different story, Horror wouldn’t want anything to do with the new guy, he already got a ton to deal with, he’s not interested to add another problem to his pile of problems, I wouldn’t say Horror would be aggressive, more passive aggressive, Horror is the old tired guy™ in the group, he’s got a splitting headache most of the time, a bitchy boss, hunger eating away at him and a Killer he would like to choke sometimes, he isn’t really in the mood to make friends

But as long as Ink doesn’t bother him, Horror would simply just co-exist with them, and even answer their questions or converse with them, but all in a “hurry up i want a nap” attitude

Horror has the capacity to warm up to Ink, but it’ll be a long slow journey till there, and Ink would have to do all the work cause Horror sure as hell won’t be the one trying to form a connection with him

Murder is a bit on the aggressive side, but not too much, just enough to make it very clear he isn’t up for making friends either, a bit of a cold shoulder if you will, but generally, Murder would just keep his distance, not trusting Ink too much, a bit paranoid about who he might be and why Nightmare brought them in considering they don’t look like they’d fit in their band of misfits at all

Still, Murder would warm up to Ink eventually if he truly realizes that Ink isn’t really that much of a bad guy, just another lost unfortunate soul that had miserable luck in life that Nightmare found them first

I’d say Murder is the one that might form a friendship with Ink, a twisted form of friendship where it’s “you’re now tolerable and so i might lend a hand here and there but every man for himself”, definitely not a rose filled friendship where it’s all rainbows, but a friendship nonetheless

But still, Murder is kinda the opposite to Killer, Killer is docile, Murder is hostile, so if Ink were to be hurt by one if the MTT first, it’s most likely Murder’s doing

But in general, it’s Killer that’s gonna help Ink “catch up” and get up to date on how things go around the castle and in general, it’s pretty much his job as he’s Nightmare’s right hand man, so if anything happens or if Ink steps outta line which could’ve been prevented had Killer done his job by properly introducing Ink to their “work flow”, it’s an 80% possibility that Killer is the one that’s gonna be in trouble

Don’t Imagine Killer doing his job in the sense of actual genuine love to help and more, cold distant “here’s how you can survive” without much emotion behind it even, just Killer smiling his dead smile and chatting it up, and even going as far as physical harm for “demonstration purposes”

When it comes to Nightmare and his relationship with Ink… there isn’t any, Nightmare sees Ink as another asset, another miserable soul to do his bidding, if Nightmare somehow deals with Ink’s refusal to hurt anyone then two things might happen:

1- Nightmare tortures Ink with his fear of white spaces and if things continue they way they do, and Nightmare reaches his limit, he’d simply try killing Ink off (now whether that would work is really up to you)

And

2- would let Ink warm up to MTT, then use them as scapegoats to force Ink to do what he wants by torturing them every time Ink decides to be stubborn (even going as far as making an example without any actual reason and demonstrating it by breaking one of MTT’s bones like twigs as Ink watches)

Now MTT would definitely start pressuring Ink to do his “job” to just murder someone or hurt them, as they aren’t looking forward to Nightmare torturing them just cause Ink wants to hold on to such delusional ideologies, and maybe even ending up feeling a lot of distaste for Ink and his behavior, their environment wasn’t meant for good intentions to blossom, and they’re gonna teach Ink that

If Ink somehow got stuck with Nightmare and his lil gang then man, I genuinely pity him

I feel like Ink would crave a tiny bit of genuine connection after being stuck in a white void for so long, but Nightmare and MTT don’t have that genuine connection, MTT are just roommates barely tolerating each other who live in absolute horrendous conditions under an abusive boss in an abusive environment, where the nicest most genuine thing one of them might do is tell you “hey don’t talk to boss today he’ll make you relive your worst nightmares, yeah, he’s in a mood today it seems”, and then there’s Nightmare who would make Ink extremely miserable and would use Ink’s fear of white spaces against him like the cruel sadistic bastard he is

Nightmare gang isn’t a found family, it’s a group of forced enslavement and labor, and there’s no escaping it

(The image of Killer’s jacket reaching Ink’s knees is really adorable tho, have a sketch for it :D)

#anothers ask #anothers art #ink sans #nightmare sans #killer sans #murder sans #dust sans #horror sans #murder time trio

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ornii · 1 year ago

Text

|| My Kind of Crazy ||

Harley Quinn X Male Reader

So after Binge Watching Barbie, rewatching Suicide Squad, Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn), don’t forget that part, and The Suicide Squad, my appreciation For Morgot Robbie has increased more than it already has. Adore her. So, here’s part one of ?

(Any Tags I forgot please let me know.)

The Stench of rotting carpet, old wood and the tinge of blood was in the air. But this was all a part of the plan. Inside that old decrepit apartment you had your pistol Aimed at a man standing before you, Batman. Yes, The, Batman. A series of choices lead to this moment, but it wasn’t always like this. You were his Robin, his Boy wonder. Now you’re the shadow hiding within Gotham. Your foot was placed on the chest of another man, who’s cold and chilling laugher echoes though the room, Joker. It was on this same day, that you were Abducted; tortured, and subsequently Killed by the Very man. A Trip in the Lazuras pit changed you for the worst. But to your surprise after your revival, Joker was still alive, and Batman hadn’t sunk revenge for your murder, and all you could ask was…

“Why?” You as under your Helmet.. “Why him?” You said, Batman was stoic, silent.

“Who are you..?” He grumbles, his voice modulated to avoid detection, “You don’t know? I’m hurt.” You say with much sarcasm, you grip your helmet and tear it off, showing your face to Batman, even with the small J scar under your eye, it’s obvious who you were. Out of all the people he thought, he never expected his old Sidekick..

To be under the Red Hood.

Jokers eyes lock with the scar and he laughs much harder.

“Wow, now THAT, is funny!” He has his grilled toothy grin, and you placed your foot higher right on his throat. The wheezing laughter continues slowly.

“You don’t get to talk.” You growl at him, and then turnt your attention back to Batman.

“You know, I forgive you for not saving me, you can’t save everyone. But why, why is HE still alive?!” You scream, the rage and trauma building up in you finally. “After everything he’s done, he’s crippled, broken, murdered people! Why, why is he still here?!”

“You don’t understand… you never understood.” He said to you, and you scoff.

“What? That you can’t do it? That you don’t have the spine to! It’s too hard isn’t it?” You ask, Bruce shakes his head.

“No, I know it’s easy, he deserves to die a thousand times over, but if I killed him, i wouldn’t stop myself… I’d justify it, then I’d justify killing someone else, and it’ll keep going.. and I’ll sink further, and further into the dark.” Bruce said, you shook your head.

“You can’t control yourself… I’m not talking about Dent, or Penguin, Even Harley!” You toss the gun, Bruce instinctively catches it but, obviously isn’t capable of holding a gun.

“Do it, shoot him. Kill one, and save millions of lives… you’re the Batman right! You save people, don’t you? So save them! And kill him!” You demand, Bruce stares at you, both of you unwavering in your convictions. But he simply dropped the gun.

“No… I’m sorry, (Y/n).” He said in a solemn whisper.

“Fine!” You yell, revealing one last trick up your sleeve. an explosive set in the entire apartment block, revealing the dead man’s switch in your other hand. Joker laughs as he looks around it all beeping. He turns to Batman, and just smiles

“You, you found a way to win! But to lose everything! AHAHAHAHAHA—“ he laughs, reveling in the chaos as you let go of the switch, Batman made a choice, and now all three of you had to live with it, and in a flash, an explosion, it all faded to black for you.

You’ve been playing that in your mind for the past year you’ve been in Belle Reeve. Sitting in your orange room, captive. The 4x4 room kept you isolated, only for a bang at the door.

“Inmate. You’ve got a visitor! Stand up, face the wall.” He yells, you weren’t keen to listen to others. You stood up, facing the door, cracking your neck.

“Any of your men step in, I’m sending ten of them to the ICU.” You said, very calmly, the door opens and they rush in, training with the Batman made fighting multiple enemies a breeze, punches, kicks and knees flew all though the room as you delivered counters, combos and ruthless tactics. But all fun even came at an end as you were apprehended and locked into a chair. Struggling like a dog you strained to get out, you were wheels around Belle Reeve as you see eleven stretchers head to your cell.

“Told you..” you mutter, struggling in the binds. Being wheeled into an interrogation room, you kept your lips purse until you saw your visitor, she wore a women’s suit and skirt, her eyes deep brown like mud drowning you in muck. Amanda Waller. You looked around and saw that the room was being monitored by a single camera. She gave one officer the nod and he presses a button, the red light on the camera fades off.

“You’re not as scary as I expected.” She said, holding a file she sat down across from you. You knew about Waller, working with the Batman gave you some intel on contacts. And she was the nastiest one of all.

“Waller?” You ask.

“In the flesh.” She responded and opened your file, reading it off.

“(Y/n) Todd, Father was a factory worker, died due to Gang related activity. Mother was an addict, died years ago, leaving you alone, but you see.. that’s where it ends, as if you faded off the planet of the earth. Until you resurface a year later.” She said, all of that was true.

“What’s your point?” You ask. And she reads off another page.

“Peak Physical fitness, durability, speed, Agility, Strenght. Master Of Arms and a Genius level intellect… you are a dangerous and powerful individual, so I’m offering you a chance to cut your sentence down..” she offers

“You’re bluffing..” you struggle in the binds more, but Waller keeps her dead stare.

“Do I look like I’m bluffing?” She said, you stop and she looks you in the eye. “you complete your task, you get years off your sentence, you fail.. you die. Fairly simple.” She said, a million thoughts raced though your mind, but one did.

“Get out, Find Joker.. Kill, Joker.”

“…Im in.” You said, Waller takes her file and closes it. “Good, get his bomb in and relay with the others.” She says, your attitude shifts pretty quickly, “bomb?” You ask, “What do you mean bomb?!” You yell, but nobody said anything, being wheeled away you were held down by officers and a needle injected right into the base of your skull. Granted it wasn’t the worse thing that’s been done to you, still hurt. Finally reaching the breaking point you were wheeled outside, the sun finally hitting your skin and you found yourself surrounded by soldiers, many wounded, others preparing for what seems to be a war.

You turn your head left to spot someone you know too well, Deadshot. Seems he was also canned to Belle Reeve, and to your left was a woman you knew too well, Harley Quinn, also a prisoner. Your blood began to boil even more than before and you were ready to throttle her, but with all these soldiers here, you doubt you’d be able to do it without getting filled with lead. So you bid your time as any Hunter would. A Soldier approached them, and looked them up and down.

“Unlock 'em.” He orders, the soldiers obliged and your restraints are removed, you sit up from yoyr bindings and look further down your line. You even spot Killer Croc, in all his, Lizardy goodness. Harley Stretches and keeps her off putting smile. Closest to Harley was a man adorned with Tattoos, ElDiablo was his name, you heard a few reports about him from Batman.

“Mmm! Hi, boys! Harley Quinn. How do you do?” She said, obviously no one said anything. It was dead silence until she looks around. “Huh? What was that? I should kill everyone and escape? Sorry. It's the voices…” she said, but laughs, “I'm kidding! Jeez!…That's not what they really said.”

The soldiers aren’t done assembling their Squad, more soldiers drag over a sack that’s fighting pretty furiously.

“What do we got here? Twelve pounds of shit in a 10-pound sack. Welcome to the party, Captain Boomerang.” He watches them cut it open, Captain immediately swings on the first person he sees. The Soldiers pin him to a wall.

“Hey, what's going on, man? Hey, one minute I'm playing Mahjong with me nanna, then this red streak hits me outta nowhere.” Boomerang pleads.

“Shut up! You were caught robbing a diamond exchange.”

“I was not!”

He Totally Was.

There was one last member, Slipknot, the man who could climb anything, which was an odd ability set, it nonetheless he was here. The man before them all was Colonel Rick Flag.

“Listen up! In your necks, injection you got, it's a nanite explosive. It's the size of a rice grain, but it's powerful as a hand grenade. You disobey me, you die. You try to escape, you die. You otherwise irritate or vex me, and guess what? You die.” He says, which throws a wrench in your plans to escape, Harley obnoxiously puts her hand up.

“I'm known to be quite vexing. I'm just forewarning you.”

“Lady, shut up!” Flag yells, and then composed himself, “This is the deal. You're going somewhere very bad, to do something that'll get you killed. But until that happens, - you're my problem.” He explains, Deadshot looks him up and down.

“Mmm. So was that like a, uh, pep talk?” He asks.

“Yeah. That was a pep talk. There's your shit. Grab what you need for a fight. We're wheels up in 10.” He said, crates of gear was brought in for you and your “Teammates.”

“You might wanna work on your team motivation thing. You heard of Phil Jackson? He's like the gold standard, okay? Triangle, bitch. Study.” Deadshot, with those very inspiring words to flag suits up with everyone. You open your crate to see the old gear you had, still in damn good condition, and you suit up, Your body armor and jacket lined with shuriken, explosives and throwing knives, a combat knife strapped to your leg. Twin M1911 Dual Handguns, mint condition. And your helmet, still holding one scar on it, you take the helmet out of its case and stare at it. Your eyes waver for a moment to your other teammates, everyone seems to have some dumb gimmick, but your eyes dressed down Harley, not by your choice of course, you’ve been cramped in a hole for nearly a year, and the first woman you see was stripping down in front of you. An urge came over you and you knew exactly what it was, she finally gets her shirt on and sees almost every guy staring.

“What?” She said, they all quickly go back to doing what they were supposed to do, you as well, pushing those feelings down. You keep looking at your mask, Deadshot does the same thing with his.

“What? Won't fit anymore? Too much junk in the trunk?” Harley said to him.

“Nah. Every time I put this on, somebody dies.” He tried to shake it off, but couldn’t that.. this wouldn’t be a normal contracts

“And?” Harley said.

“I like putting it on.” He admits, she smirks and grabs her mallet, “Goody. Somethin' tells me a whole lotta people are about to die!” She sounds so giddy.

“Yeah. It's us. We're being led to our deaths.” Diablo said.

“I don’t plan on it.” You said, looking down the barrels of one of your 1911’s.

“You know something we don’t Mate?” Boomerang asks, “No.” You reply. “I just don’t plan on dying again.” You mutter.

“What you a zombie or something?” Deadshot looks unimpressed. “Something like that… point is; Been dead, done that… I plan on getting out of here..” you say, and turn to Harley.

“I’ve got business to take care of.” You made your claim pretty obvious but it didn’t matter to you, escape is the only plan, and getting this explosive disabled. “You don’t seem to giddy like these guys..” you ask El Diablo, “I’m not here to hurt anyone man.” He said. Deadshot was the first to let them all know.

“Y'all might wanna leave old boy alone. He could torch this whole joint. Ain't that right, ese?” He looks at Diablo, who calmly shows his hands, flames emitting from them, but low ones:

“Ain't got nothing to worry about from me. I'm cool, homie.” He says, Flag returns to them, holding a tablet with Amanda on screen.

“Behold the voice of God.” He said, and she gives them the rundown. “For those of you who don't know me officially, my name is Amanda Waller. There's an active terrorist event in Midway City. I want you to enter the city, rescue HVT-1, and get them to safety.” She orders.

“I'm sorry. Uh... For those of us who don't speak good guy, what is HVT-1?” Deadshot asks.

“HVT.. High Value Target.” You say, “It’s like a bounty, Basically a rescue mission.” You explain, Deadshot nods, admitting you made it sound much less cool. “The only person that matters in the city, the one person you can't kill. Complete the mission, you get time off your prison sentence. Fail the mission, you die. Anything happens to Colonel Flag, I'll kill every single one of you. Remember, I'm watching. I see everything.” Waller ends the communication and Flag turns to Deadshot

There's your pep talk.”

“Compared to your shit, she killed it. So that's it? What, we some kind of Suicide Squad?” He asks, Flag ignores his question and leaves.

“I'll notify your next of kin. Alpha, Bravo team. Mount up!” He orders, you look around to the team you’ll be forced to work with. All of them, criminals in their own right, but for now they’re the thing between success, or all of you dying painful deaths. You put on your helmet and the detective mode still works, turning it off. You load your guns and walk to the helicopter.

Task Force X, has been activated.

#male reader #harley quinn #harley quinzel #harley x reader #harley quinn x reader #harley quinn x male reader #suicide squad #dc #dc comics #Ornii #angst #we simp

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ninibeingdelulu · 10 months ago

Text

"Nothing matters if you're not by my side"

plot- a snowball fight with Kaiser CLICK ME

The backyard was a pristine blanket of untouched white as far as the eye could see. Overnight, a thick layer of powdery snow had coated every surface in dreamy, muffled tranquility.

It was the kind of sparkling winter scene that just demanded to be disturbed and christened properly.

That's why Michael shouldn't have been surprised when you came bounding into the living room bright and early, eyes alight with childlike excitement as you tugged on his sleeve.

"Mikka Mikka, come look outside - isn't it perfect for a snowball fight? Please, let's go play!"

He couldn't fight the indulgent chuckle rumbling up from his chest at your enthusiasm.

Despite being one of the world's most renowned young soccer prodigies, Michael was still just a besotted boyfriend at heart when it came to you.

Denying you anything that brought that radiant smile to your face was simply impossible.

"You know I can never resist that pouty lip when you stick it out like that," he teased, leaning down to playfully nip at your protruding lower lip with his own.

Chuckling at your squeal of delight, Michael scooped you up into a snug embrace.

"Alright, alright - you win, troublemaker. But you'd better be prepared for the battle of your life once we're out there!"

You were already squealing with glee and wiggling free from his arms, scrambling to tug on heavy winter gear.

Michael just shook his head with a bemused grin and followed at a more laidback pace. He could pretend to be a fearsome opponent, but your sunny exuberance was more irresistible to him than any force in nature.

Soon enough, you'd both tumbled outside into the winter wonderland together.

Michael had barely stamped his snow boots down before the first salvo came whizzing by - a tightly packed sphere of snow pinging off his shoulder with impressive accuracy.

"Gotcha!" You were already dancing away on nimble feet, stooping to quickly gather more ammunition while cackling madly.

"En garde, Mr. Superstar! Prepare to face the ultimate cold wrath!"

Lips twitching in amusement, Michael acted quickly to hastily construct a defensive barrier while your barrage intensified.

You were relentless, cheeks already tinged rosy from the chill as you bobbed and weaved with impish zeal.

Lighthearted jeers and teasing taunts merged with the sounds of quickly sculpted projectiles thudding in every direction.

Before long, peals of unrestrained laughter and wheezing breaths mingled in the crisp air. Michael was astonished by how quickly the fearsome soccer machine had melted away - leaving behind just an utterly smitten young man gleefully scrambling through the snow with his best girl by his side.

More than anything, he cherished how naturally these carefree moments seemed to bloom anymore when he was with you.

He was so lost in thought that the next icy missile caught him completely off-guard, shattering in an icy explosion right across his face and chest.

You froze, immediately clapping hands over your mouth in dismay...right until Michael's shocked expression melted into a full-bodied bellow of mirth.

"Oh, you're gonna regret it!" he crowed, already forging another ammo stockpile while stomping towards you with booming guffaws.

You just squealed in delight and turned to flee, still abundantly giggling as well. But Michael's longer strides had him closing the distance rapidly.

The next thing you knew, his arms were banding around your waist from behind in an inescapable bear hug.

Your shrieks of helpless laughter intensified as he simply lifted you clean off your feet, swinging you up and over in a graceful arc.

Then, suddenly, there was nothing but soft and weightless suspension in midair - just long enough for your startled gaze to meet his adoring one.

Michael's eyes crinkled at the corners with pure contentment just drinking in the brilliance of your joy and startled expression...right before you both came crashing back down in a tangle of limbs cushioned by that forgiving pillowy expanse of snow.

There was a beat of stunned stillness where neither of you could do anything but gaze at each other in hazy wonder through the clinging powdery veil.

Slowly, Michael shifted to brace his weight on his elbows, caging your disheveled form beneath him as loose snow clumps tumbled from both your bodies.

Tenderly, he reached out to brush away more stray flakes clinging to your wind-tousled hair, his thumb tracing the arch of your flushed cheeks with unbridled affection.

You were all aglow, sparkling and effervescent and impossibly beautiful in that moment.

Michael's breath caught in his throat with the sudden realization of how lucky he truly was.

That out of everyone in the world, he alone got to have moments like this with you.

These priceless intimacies and flashes of unfiltered, untempered bliss brought into his life by the one person who'd disarmed his defenses so effortlessly.

A brilliant future and career in soccer awaited him, of that Michael was certain...but all the fame and glory in the world would be hollow without these tiny interludes of perfection with you alongside him.

His safe harbor in the storm. His beacon of radiant joy to look forward to amidst all the pressure and responsibilities threatening to overwhelm him at times.

Helpless adoration and gratitude swelled within Michael's chest like a tidal force as you simply gazed up at him - small crystalline snowflakes clinging to your ruddy cheeks and the dark fan of your lashes.

An ethereal winter sprite incarnate, created for the sole purpose of reminding him about everything else that truly mattered beyond the pitch.

"...Hey," he rumbled at last, voice slightly husky with profound emotion.

One calloused hand came up to cradle your face with infinite tenderness - no longer the touch of a soccer prodigy but simply a young man utterly besotted.

"I love you. So much. Thanks for always making me remember how to be human, snowflake."

And when that sunburst smile broke out across your radiant features again, Michael swore he'd just been handed the entire world and more.

Right there, bundled up together amongst the pristine snow drifts in your own private paradise, their sacred little pocket of bliss and belonging.

He dipped his head without hesitation to capture your lips in a searing, lingering kiss.

One gloved hand buried into the snowbank by your tangled tresses to anchor you flush against him, savoring the faint chill and woodsmoke taste of your mouth. A sensation he could quite happily spend the rest of eternity drowning within forever.

Because this - tangled up in your arms amid nature's most exquisite wintry grandeur, savoring the sublime beauty of your limitless spirit joining with his own - was what real life and living was all about at the end of the day.

Soccer, fame, glory...it all paled in comparison.

And with you as his eternal muse and ethereal inspiration, Michael knew this rapturous joy would only keep blossoming and growing more infinite for both of them with each year that followed. An endless snowdrift of perfect moments yet to come.

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darkenedroses-world · 3 months ago

Text

Cooking Chaos — Pezzy x Reader

🔹 f!reader 🔹 clooless group 🔹 Possessiveness 🔹 Light Degradation 🔹 cooling 🔹 flour fight 🔹GN!Reader 🔹 lighthearted romance🔹 funny moments🔹 chaos🔹 Request 🦋

The kitchen buzzed with chaotic energy as the stream rolled on. Laughter and chatter filled the air, accompanied by the clinking of pots and pans. The plan was simple—make dinner live on stream—but with you, Grizzy, Droid, and Puffer at the helm, “simple” had turned into “anarchy.” Flour was already dusting the countertops, stray droplets of batter clung to the stove, and somehow a random spoon ended up stuck to the ceiling. Chat, predictably, was eating it all up, with messages flooding the screen.

This is a cooking stream? More like a destruction derby

Somebody please save that kitchen

10/10 stream, would hire them as my chefs immediately

You couldn’t help but grin as Droid accidentally splattered pancake batter across Puffer’s shirt. “Bro, seriously?” Puffer groaned, staring at the sticky mess. Droid shrugged innocently. “Just seasoning it with some chaos, man.” Grizzy was doubled over laughing as you attempted to take control of the situation—or at least, pretend to. “Okay, okay, focus!” you called out, trying to suppress your own laughter. “We’re supposed to be making dinner, not turning the kitchen into a crime scene.” “Too late for that,” Droid quipped, licking some batter off his finger. Then came the moment of truth—Pezzy left the room. “I’ll be back in a sec,” he said, his tone casual as he disappeared toward the hallway. You immediately perked up, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Guys, I have an idea.” Grizzy looked up from the pile of dishes he was pretending to wash. “Oh no. That tone never means anything good.” You smirked, pointing to the bag of flour sitting on the counter. “Flour. His face. Let’s go.” Droid grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. “Oh, I am so in.” “Wait,” Puffer interjected, though his grin betrayed his interest. “What’s the game plan here?” “Simple,” you said, your excitement building. “When he comes back, we’re all chill. Then, bam—flour to the face. But act like nothing happened, okay?”

Grizzy raised a skeptical eyebrow but couldn’t hide his amusement. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.” “Worth it,” you replied, grabbing a handful of flour. “This is for the greater good of content.” The moment Pezzy stepped back into the room, the kitchen fell into a suspiciously serene silence. You focused on stirring the pot in front of you, Droid hummed an innocent tune, and Grizzy busied himself with meticulously folding a dish towel. Pezzy froze in the doorway, his eyes narrowing. “Why does this feel like a setup?” “What?” you said, feigning innocence. “We’re just cooking.” “Yeah, real domestic over here,” Droid added, though the smirk tugging at his lips was a dead giveaway. Puffer, barely holding it together, cleared his throat. “Max, can you check the stove? Something smells weird.” Pezzy sighed, muttering something about the group being “too chaotic to function,” and moved toward the stove. That’s when you struck. With the precision of a seasoned prankster, you hurled a handful of flour straight at his face. Except, your aim was a little too good. The entire handful exploded across his face in a perfect white cloud, coating his skin, hair, and even his shirt. For a split second, the room was dead silent. Then Grizzy let out a wheezing laugh, doubling over as he clutched his stomach.

Puffer practically fell to the floor, gasping for air, and Droid had to grip the counter to stay upright. Pezzy stood there, frozen, blinking through the flour that now covered every inch of him. “You—” “I didn’t mean—” you tried to say, but you were laughing too hard to form coherent words. “You’re dead,” he said, his tone calm but his eyes flashing with amusement. Before you could react, he grabbed the entire bag of flour and upended it over your head. “Pezzy!” you shrieked, your laughter mixing with a yelp as the bag emptied over you, turning your hair and clothes into a snowy mess. The chaos that followed was nothing short of legendary. Droid grabbed a handful of flour and flung it at Grizzy, who retaliated with a fistful of sugar. Puffer somehow found a bottle of chocolate syrup and squirted it across the counter, declaring, “It’s war!” The kitchen devolved into an all-out food fight, with ingredients flying through the air and everyone covered in a mix of flour, sugar, and who knows what else. Chat was going absolutely wild.

This is peak content

I haven’t laughed this hard in ages

Somebody clip the whole thing. ALL OF IT

When the flour had finally settled—literally—you and the guys surveyed the wreckage. The kitchen looked like a bakery had exploded, and you were pretty sure you’d be finding flour in random places for days. Pezzy, still dusted in white, shook his head with a laugh. “You’re a menace, you know that?” You grinned, brushing some flour from his hair. “And you’re just mad I got you good.” “Maybe,” he admitted, his smile softening as his eyes met yours. “But I gotta admit, you make chaos look pretty damn good.” From the other side of the room, Droid groaned loudly. “If you two start flirting right now, I’m leaving.” Grizzy threw an arm over Droid’s shoulder. “Nah, let’s stay. This is the content chat lives for.” As the laughter started up again, Pezzy leaned closer to you, his voice low so only you could hear. “Thanks for making this fun. Even if you did turn me into a human donut.” You smiled, brushing a bit of flour from his cheek. “Anytime, Max.”

#concept writing #youtube #request #pezzy #pezzy x reader #Spotify #pezzy fics

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month ago

Text

compos mentis 10

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You turn the dial and watch the wheel on the screen. The high-tech washer is a bit intimidating. It’s not like your mom didn’t insist on having everything with redundant features, but this is something else. You tap start on the touch screen and the machine shows a smiley face over the word ‘fill’.

You shut the door of the laundry room as you carry out the empty shopping bags. You enter the kitchen where you hear Andy. He has his back to you as he reads something.

“Got everything sorted. Colours first,” you say, then let out a strange wheeze. You’re not out of breath but you just feel like you should be. You’re still adjusting.

“That’s good,” he says as he puts down the canister and turns to you. “I was just about to start some dinner.”

“Dinner?” You repeat. “Could I... help?”

“You wanna?” He sounds surprised.

“Sure, I... before... I never got to do anything,” you take a deep breath.

He frowns, “are you okay?”

“Yes, I just... it’s weird not having the air,” you shrug and look down at the bags. “Where can I put these?”

“We can reuse them. Just in this cupboard.”

He crosses the kitchen and opens a lower cupboard. There’s a plastic crate with folded cloth bags and the like. You near and bend to tuck the other ones beneath. He doesn’t move back but you don’t think he realises he’s crowding you.

“So...” you stand straight and face him. He is very close. You didn’t notice the little silver strands in his beard before. “What are you making?”

“We’re...” he corrects you, “making some fried chicken. Or trying to. I still haven’t perfected it but I found a recipe online.”

“Oh. Fried chicken?” You say.

“You don’t like it?” His brow furrows.

“No, no, I... I can’t remember if I like it. Mom never let have any once I got sick. She said it was bad for me.” You look down. “She lied. Just like everything.”

“Oh, honey,” he puts his hands on your arms, startling you. Even so, you don’t pull away. He’s being kind, you don’t want to offend him. “I’m so sorry. I know it must be hard but... try not to think about her. She doesn’t deserve your energy.”

You nod and sniffle. “I’m trying. It’s just... hard.”

“I know,” his thumbs rub against your sleeves. “Do you want a hug?”

You flinch and look up at him. Your brows squiggle and your blink in a flutter. You don’t know how to answer that. You remember the few times you tried to hug your mom and she shooed you off, saying she didn’t want to get tangled in your tube.

“You seem like you need it,” he coaxes.

After all he’s done for you, you feel guilty refusing him. And you’re not quite sure either way. It might not be that bad. Not if he’s offering, right?

“Okay,” you answer.

He slides his hands around your arms and encloses you in an embrace that has your head against his chest. You turn your ear to him and hear his heartbeat. He rubs your back. His firm palm sends warmth through you, along with a strange chill. Something not quite cold, just tingly.

You stay like that. Rigid at first. Then, feeling awkward, you move your arms around him.

He holds you for a bit longer then slowly releases you. His hands trail up and down your arms as he looks down at you. Your cheeks are flush with heat.

“You give great hugs,” he says.

“I... do?”

“Sure,” he smiles.

“Um. You too.” You utter.

He runs his hands down to your hands, clinging to them for just a second, then lets you go completely. He clears his throat and looks away. “So, are you hungry or what?”

“Yeah, actually,” you shuffle over to the counter as his steps are more certain.

“Alright, to start... By the way, I use the air fryer. Deep drying is so bad for you.”

“I don’t mind,” you assure him. “Mom used to by these frozen dinners I just put in the microwave...”

“She didn’t cook for you?” He asks.

“Not really,” you shrug. “I was always too light-headed to stand that long...”

“Right.” He stiffens as he opens a cupboard and takes down a large bowl.

You squirm, “I didn’t mean to talk about her. Or upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me. She does,” he insists as he uncaps the canister of breadcrumbs. “I just—thinking what she did. How she tricked all of us, but you especially. She made you think--” He stops himself. “I won’t get into it. I’m sorry.”

“I feel bad she dragged you into this,” you hang your head.

“I don’t,” he intones as he shakes crumbs into the bowl. “If she didn’t, she’d still be hurting you. I wouldn’t have been able to help you.”

“Oh...”

“Do you want to grab the flour, sweetie? It’s just in that cupboard.” He points in front of you.

You open the door and find the sack of flower. You grab it and offer it to him.

“You go ahead. About half cup for now.” He directs.

“Oh, I...”

“Just guess. Doesn’t have to be exact,” he assures.

You nod and carefully unroll the top of the bag. You tip it over the brim and tap the side to get the powder out. You think you poured too much. You turn the bag upright. You fold it down again.

You put it away as Andy spins the spice rack. You watch him pick out several jars. You rub your fingertips, dry from the flour.

“Andy?” you eke out.

“Yes, sweetie,” he says as he seasons the crumbs and flour.

“You didn’t... didn’t just help me, you know?” You turn and twiddle your fingertips together. “I think you saved me.”

His cheeks dimple and his blue eyes flick over to meet yours. “I’d like to think so, but...”

“But?”

“But it took me so long,” he shakes his head.

“But you did! Andy. You really did.”

His lips slant and he shrugs, “I don’t know.”

“Andy, if you—if you never stood up to her, I wouldn’t have,” you frown. “I’m too weak for that.”

“You’re not weak,” he insists. “You just never got a chance. She took that from you.”

“Maybe...” you drone.

“She did,” he says, his eyes clinging to you. His expression softens and he narrows his eyes.

“What? What are you looking at?” You touch your face in panic.

“You,” he smiles, letting the tension slake away. “I said it before but you really do look so beautiful.”

“Beautiful? You didn’t say... that,” you blush.

“Didn’t I?” He wonders. You shake your head. “Well, I’m sorry because you do. You are really beautiful.” He blinks and pokes his tongue into his cheek, turning back to the bowl as he pushes the contents around with a wooden spoon. “I don’t wanna stop looking at you.”

“Andy,” you gasp. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I have a bad habit of telling the truth,” he chuckles. “Sweetie, you mind getting the chicken out of the fridge?”

“Yeah, I can do that,” you say.

You go to the fridge and open the left-door. You find the package of drumsticks and shut the door. As you glance at Andy, he’s staring. Again.

“I’m not trying to gawk,” he says as he takes the chicken from you. “Really. I just... can’t help myself.”

“Andy,” you squeak again.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me to cut it out if I keep staring,” he laughs. “But I can’t guarantee I’ll listen.”

You smile. You can’t think of another time when anyone called you beautiful or said anything nice. It was always bad news or reprimands. The doctors were annoyed and just wanted you gone. Your mom was the same. But Andy. Andy has no obligation to you and yet you don’t feel that. You feel... wanted.

You chest tightens and your eyes burn. The realisation is a bitter as his compliments are sweet. You turn away.

“Do you mind if I just... check the laundry?” You ask quietly.

There’s a lull before he answers. You can feel his gaze again. “Go ahead. You know if you need anything, you can just tell me.”

“I know, Andy,” you traipse away. “I’ll be right back.”

You flee into the hall and don’t stop until you’re in the laundry room. As much as you want to cry, you won’t. You wouldn’t be able to hide the evidence. No, you can do this. Just take a breath. Deep; in then out. Isn’t it wonderful how easy it is?

🩷

Sleep nips at your eyes but you can’t quite sink beneath the surface. You’re adjusting. This house is still strange to you. Just like everything else.

You turn onto your side, then roll the other way, back and forth as your insides stir. You can’t get them to stop. Or your brain.

When you’re not thinking about your mom, you’re thinking about the doctors, and when you’re not thinking about them, you’re thinking about the people and things you never knew. All those missed opportunities. You blame her but you blame yourself too. You let her do this to you.

When at last you can shove aside the memories that make you cringe and shudder, you think of Andy. He’s so nice but you think you know why. He feels bad for you. Just like those people who used to see with your tank and offer you their seat or hold the door for you.

You think of all he’s done and how you could pay it back. How you can’t. It’s a rotten feeling to owe someone. That’s how you always felt with your mom. She never failed to remind you about everything she did for you.

You sit up, your stomach brewing. You can’t settle down. You’re trying but the more you do, the worse it gets.

You linger on the edge of the bed and try to figure out what to do. You need a distraction. You stare at the peek of the moon visible between the curtains.

The house is quiet. You don’t want to wake Andy but if you stay upstairs, you’re certain you will. You get up and listen at the door. You hope he doesn’t mind...

You go out into the hall. The house is dark. You tiptoe to the stairs and slowly put your foot down the first step.

You’re sure you’ll get through one rerun of Law and Order and be ready to pass out. It always does the trick. As you come down to the first floor, you notice the haze from the front room. The flicker of colours along with the low buzz of voices draws you forward.

Andy beat you to it. He’s watching The Andy Griffith Show. You remember the actors from when your grandma used to let the episodes play in the background. The last time you saw her, you were six. She’s gone now.

You hide behind the door frame and look back at the staircase. You could try again.

“Can’t sleep?” Andy’s voice startles you. You yelp.

You sniff, “uh, yes. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I can’t either,” he says. “You wanna watch something? Doesn’t have to be this?”

You turn and peer through the door. You shrug, “if you don’t mind. You don’t have to change it.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

You cross the room and go around the couch. He's in a tee and a pair of shorts. They might even be boxers. You try not to stare.

You sit on the opposite corner. He offers you the remote.

“No, please, you pick,” you wave it away.

“Really, go ahead,” he wiggles it at you.

“I... okay.”

You take the remote. You look down at the buttons and reluctantly push the Guide button. You flick through, searching for something that isn’t too niche.

“I’m just happy to have someone around,” he says as he leans back. “It’s been a long time since I that’s been the case.” He shifts a little closer. “I didn’t realise how much I missed that.”

You keep your eyes on the screen and select Law and Order. You rest the remote on the armrest and chew your lip. You’ve always been alone but you’re starting to realise how miserable that was.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #defending jacob #compos mentis #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au

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sevasey51 · 4 months ago

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I have had this horrible cough for a week 😭😭 I have tried everything, tea, medicine humidifier nothing. Doctors think pneumonia😭

His wife is home sick, her wheezing and shortness of breath gets worse as the day goes on. Being this sick it causes her to have an episode. Connor gets her rushed to med where she needs to be intubated to let her body rest.

Though Thick and Thin

Summary: Connor rushes Y/N to Med after her worsening respiratory infection causes a POTS episode, leaving her intubated and critically ill, but with the support of her husband and brothers, she makes a full recovery surrounded by love.

Connor Rhodes could hear the faint sound of Y/N coughing before he even unlocked the door to their apartment. The sound had become a constant background noise over the last week, and it gnawed at his nerves. She had assured him that morning that she felt fine—better, even—but as a doctor, he knew better than to trust her stubbornness over her symptoms.

“Y/N?” Connor called as he stepped inside, setting down the bag of takeout he’d picked up on his way home.

“In here,” her voice croaked from the couch. He found her bundled under a blanket, looking pale and exhausted. The rasp in her breathing sent a chill down his spine.

“Sweetheart, this isn’t getting better,” he said softly, crouching in front of her. “I think it’s time we let Ethan take another look.”

She tried to protest, but Connor wouldn’t hear it. An hour later, Ethan Choi confirmed Connor’s suspicions. Y/N’s respiratory infection hadn’t improved, but it wasn’t critical yet. “Start her on these antibiotics,” Ethan advised, handing Connor a prescription. “Keep an eye on her wheezing and shortness of breath. If it gets worse, bring her back immediately. We don’t want this turning into pneumonia.”

Back home, Connor devoted himself to nursing her. He brewed her tea, rubbed her back and chest to help loosen the mucus, and propped her up on pillows to help her breathe easier. Despite his best efforts, Y/N’s condition deteriorated as the day wore on.

By evening, her wheezing had worsened, and she struggled to catch her breath. “Connor…” she whispered, her voice shaky.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Connor said, his heart racing as he noticed how pale she’d become. Then, suddenly, she slumped against him, her pulse racing erratically. A POTS episode.

Connor’s medical training kicked in as he gently laid her down, elevating her legs to try to stabilize her blood pressure. “Y/N, stay with me,” he pleaded, but she didn’t respond. Her breathing was shallow, her body limp. Without wasting another second, Connor scooped her into his arms and rushed to the car, speeding toward Med.

When they arrived, Will Halstead was the first to greet them in the ED. “Connor, what happened?” Will asked, alarmed at the sight of his tearful brother-in-law.

“She couldn’t breathe—her heart rate spiked—and then she just collapsed,” Connor choked out, his voice thick with emotion. “I tried everything, but she’s not responding. Will, please—”

“We’ve got her,” Will interrupted, placing a reassuring hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Let Ethan and me handle this. Go wait in the family room. I’ll come find you.”

Connor shook his head. “I’m not leaving her.”

But when Ethan made the call to intubate Y/N to stabilize her breathing, Connor had to step back, his heart breaking as they worked to save her. He collapsed into a chair in the hallway, burying his face in his hands.

“Connor,” Will said gently, sitting beside him a few minutes later. “She’s stable for now. Ethan’s going to run some more tests to figure out what’s going on, but we’ve got her.”

Connor shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “I should’ve brought her in sooner. This is my fault.”

“It’s not your fault,” Will said firmly. “You did everything you could. She’s strong, Connor. She’s going to pull through.”

Still, Connor couldn’t shake the guilt. He called Jay, his voice trembling as he explained what happened. “She’s intubated,” he said, his voice cracking. “I thought you’d want to be here when she wakes up.”

Jay arrived quickly, his face a mix of concern and determination. Together, he and Will sat with Connor as they waited for news.

Two days later, Y/N’s fever broke, and the infection began to clear. When she finally opened her eyes, she was groggy and disoriented, her throat sore from the breathing tube that had just been removed.

“Connor?” she rasped, tears welling in her eyes as panic flickered across her face.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” Connor said, immediately taking her hand.

Jay and Will appeared on either side of the bed, their presence grounding her as her emotions spilled over. “You’re okay, Y/N,” Jay said softly. “You scared the hell out of us, but you’re okay now.”

Connor leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ve got you, baby. You’re safe.”

Surrounded by the love and care of her husband and brothers, Y/N let herself relax, knowing she was in the best hands. Slowly but surely, she began to recover, her strength returning with each passing day. Connor never left her side, determined to make sure she knew just how much she was loved.

Hunni I hope you feel better soon and this gives you some sort of comfort 🫶🏻 sending love and hugs

#connor rhodes x halstead reader #connor rhodes x reader #connor rhodes imagine #connor rhodes #jay halstead x sister #jay halstead #will halstead x sister #will halstead

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channiehyungandhanniehyung · 1 month ago

Text

Stolen cookie

Lees:Hyunjin,Han

Lers: Chan, Hyunjin, Han

This is a tickle fic! If its not on your search history… then the door is open.

It started off innocent. Just another lazy Saturday at the dorm.

The sky was grey outside, a soft drizzle pattering against the windows, and the mood inside was chilled—socks, oversized hoodies, and a battle for the coziest blanket on the couch. Chan was on the floor, laptop open, messing with some new beats. Hyunjin was sprawled like a starfish over half the couch, scrolling mindlessly. Jisung? He was on a mission.

“AHA!” came the dramatic shout from the kitchen. “My baby, my sweet, sweet cookie. I’ve waited all day for you.”

Hyunjin barely looked up. “You talk to food more romantically than people.”

“That’s because food doesn’t break my heart,” Jisung shot back, cradling the cookie like it was made of diamonds.

He walked back toward the living room, holding it up for dramatic effect. “Last one. And it’s MINE.”

That was his first mistake.

Hyunjin’s eyes flicked up, and without warning, he lunged. It was a blur—Jisung yelping, the cookie flying, Hyunjin snatching it mid-air like a true thief, and then that fateful crunch as he bit into it with the smuggest smirk known to mankind.

Dead silence.

Jisung stared. Chan paused his music. The rain even seemed to stop for a second.

“…You did NOT just eat my last cookie.”

Hyunjin shrugged. “I mean, I did.”

“Do you know what this means?” Jisung said, stepping forward slowly, eyes wild. “You’ve declared war.”

Hyunjin laughed. “What are you gonna do, write an angry diss track—AH!”

Jisung tackled him like a gremlin possessed, and they both crashed onto the floor with a loud thud. Jisung immediately climbed on top, pinning Hyunjin’s arms.

“Where are your weak spots, you dramatic giraffe?” he hissed.

“No—WAIT—JISUNG—”

Fingers met ribs, and Hyunjin exploded.

“AAHAHAHAHAHA JISUNG YOU LITTLE—NOHOHO—NOT THE RIBS, I SWEAR I’LL DIE!”

Chan, still on the floor, raised an eyebrow. “Hm. I should stop them,” he said casually, not stopping the music production one bit. “But this is better than drama night.”

“CHAAANNN! HEEELP!” Hyunjin howled through laughter, writhing under Jisung’s relentless fingers.

Chan didn’t move. He simply took a sip from his mug and smiled, letting the chaos unfold like a proud dad watching his kids fight over LEGOs.

Jisung laughed maniacally. “This is what happens when you mess with destiny—and desserts!”

Hyunjin shrieked when Jisung scribbled under his arms, legs flailing everywhere like a kicked spider. “OKAYOKAYOKAY I’M SORRY—UNCLE—COOKIES ARE HOLY—PLEASE—CHANNNNNN!”

Chan sighed dramatically. “Alright. Enough chaos.” He stood up slowly and walked over.

“Finally,” Hyunjin gasped. “Save me—”

Chan reached out, patted Jisung on the shoulder.

Then flipped the betrayal switch.

Suddenly, Chan tackled Jisung, dragging him off Hyunjin in one smooth motion. Before Jisung could even protest, he was pinned, with Chan’s smug face inches from his.

“You think I’d really save someone who wastes their last cookie moment by starting a war?” Chan said coolly.

“WHAT?! YOU—NO NO NO—CHAN-HYUNG PLEASE—!”

And then it began.

Chan’s fingers were unfair. Ruthless. Trained in the ancient arts of tickle combat. He dug into Jisung’s sides and ribs, found every spot that made him squeal, and activated them with terrifying precision.

“GAHAHAHAHAH STOOOP—HYUNJIN HELP ME—YOU BACKSTABBING SINK GREMLIN—”

Hyunjin, now safely off the ground and still catching his breath, leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Now that’s justice.”

“I’M GOING TO—AHAHAHA—GET YOU BOTH FOR THIS!”

Chan grinned. “Doubt it. You’re too busy wheezing.”

Jisung was nearly crying from laughter now, twisting and writhing like a fish out of water. His hair was a mess, hoodie riding up, and his voice cracked with every squeal.

“STOP! STAHAHAP—CHAN—OHMYGOD—”

“Ticklish much?” Chan teased, giving his sides a quick squeeze that made Jisung shriek and curl up instantly.

“GET AWAAAY—YOU’RE A MONSTER—”

That’s when Hyunjin, ever the drama king, stood tall and declared, “I have risen from the ashes of betrayal, and now, I shall deliver justice!”

“Bro what—” Jisung gasped between laughs.

Hyunjin leapt in. Round two commenced.

This time, both of them were attacking—Chan and Hyunjin teamed up like a villain duo. One on his knees, the other at his ribs. Jisung was gone.

“AAAHAHAHAHAHA—NOT TWO OF YOU—THIS IS ILLEGAHAAHA—CHAN HYUNJIN I WILL GET MY REVENGE!”

“Sure you will,” Chan chuckled, not stopping.

And then—

click.

The front door creaked open.

Three heads whipped toward the sound.

Felix stood in the doorway, umbrella still dripping rain, eyebrows raised so high they were practically in his hairline.

“…Did I just walk into a horror movie or…?”

Jisung, a flushed mess under two giggling men, pointed at him like a dying soldier.

“LIX… RUHUN.”

Felix blinked. “Yeah, I’mma go back outside.”

He turned, shut the door behind him.

Silence.

Then—

“GET HIM!” Jisung roared.

Chan and Hyunjin turned in sync.

“Oh yeah,” Chan grinned. “Next victim..”

#stray kids #tickle fic #stray kids tickle

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dreaming-of-mossballs · 1 year ago

Text

Porridge for— you guessed it— A Bashful Captain (Gepard x florist!reader)

Summary: After hearing the shocking news that Gepard is sick, Serval entrusts you with the task of making sure he doesn’t burn himself out while no one is watching. Good luck with that.

▸ Genre(s): fluff

▸ Word Count: 5k

▸ Tags: Gepard x reader

▸ Warnings: food mentions

A/N: I’ve been struggling to get my posts to show in the tags, so let me know if you want to be taglisted! It’s really demotivating seeing my work get demolished by the algorithm.

MASTERLIST

How nice it was to have a moment of respite after a long and arduous campaign.

At least, that’s what the captain wished he could say.

Every muscle in his body seemed to be screaming at him to stay in bed after he woke up that morning. His throat felt like it had been scraped with steel wool and then some. Plus, his body felt chilled, even after piling far more than the usual number of blankets on his bed.

“Don’t overexert yourself,” Serval had said. Aeons, she was right.

Gepard vaguely registered the fact that this combination of symptoms spelled disaster, but nevertheless, he had to get up. He drew in a deep breath in an attempt to gather the strength to hoist himself out of bed, but the air seemed to have invisible barbed wire that scoured his already painful lungs. He broke into a hacking cough that echoed throughout the estate and immediately sat up to cover his mouth with his elbow.

A knock on the door drew him out of his misgivings.

“Young master Gepard?” A concerned voice— which belonged to one of the maids— called.

Although the captain felt like his stomach was churning like butter, he shifted the blankets aside and treaded towards the door. Even the estate felt dreary that morning as the sunlight reaching through the window was weak and scattered (Due to a thick cloud covering, indicating an impending snowstorm.) The expensive plush carpet on the floor of the room did little to ease his newfound dislike of standing upright.

How silly he felt, a man who trudged through waist-deep snow on the daily, was now reduced to a sniveling mess in his family home. Gepard, still rubbing his nose, opened the wooden door slightly.

The shock on the maid’s face was evident as she caught her first glimpse of him. He really did look worse for wear, his golden hair was unkempt, his complexion was pale, and he had to lean on the doorframe to keep the room from swaying and bending inwards and—

“Um— young master. I heard you coughing,” she blurted out, eyeing his drooping eyelids. “Would you like me to fetch you a glass of water?”

Gepard raised his voice to respond but instead let out a ghastly wheeze followed by coughing that sounded like thunder. He turned his head away so as not to catch her in the blast.

“Y-yes, please,” He resumed looking at her. “That would be much appreciated,”

His voice was uncomfortably hoarse. She glanced up at him. “Would you like it with lemon or without?”

The young man didn’t get a chance to respond. His calloused hand slid down the doorframe, his vision went fuzzy—

—and then everything went dark.

The maid’s shriek echoed off the walls, causing the sparrows that perched on the windowsills to take to the sky.

Her voice turned heads, both maids and butlers alike, all throughout the manor.

(It is said that they still speak about it to this day, much to her chagrin.)

❆ — ❆ — ❆

You were convinced that work was going to give you a heart attack.

With the Solwarm festival upcoming, flower sales practically exploded. Your job as a florist was a source of many joys, but even you had your limits. Your hands were permanently stained with a mix of red and orange from all the Solarflowers you’d been handling. It looked like brilliant flames adorned your arms, but it lost its novelty after you realized you couldn’t wash it off, even with industrial strength soap.

And you had a catch-up with Gepard in three days. Just great.

He’d sent the invitation through a surprise letter a week before he came home. He said he’d be busy for a bit with mission debriefings and yada yada, but he’d like to meet at Serval’s for lunch once he got the chance.

Couldn’t he have just texted me? You snorted when you opened it. Those nobles. (You betted that he’d never gone on a date that was anything other than a fancy matchmaking dinner.)

But then you realized that was dumber than dumb. He wasn’t allowed to have his cell phone on military expeditions. You nearly smacked yourself with the first edition copy of the Gardener’s Almanac in shame.

You cast a mournful, longing glance through the paned glass windows and out at Qlipoth fort. Of course Gepard had ten thousand meetings to attend to after getting home.

A pang of pity reverberated throughout your chest. Didn’t he at least deserve a short break? He was like a herding dog that never got a day off.

You looked up from where your head was resting on the counter, feeling the warmth of a Solarflower bouquet spread across your face almost like a blush. Handing the customer’s change across the counter whilst simultaneously stifling a heartbroken sigh wasn’t much, but it was one of the hardest things you’d done all day.

I am so. Friggin. Tired. You groaned. The overcast weather was really getting to your mood.

A clatter came from the back, which caused you to prick your ears.

“Hey, (Y/N)? The plumbing in the upstairs sink broke. We’re missing the right kind of wrench. Would you mind going out and grabbing it?” Meg spoke.

“Sure,” you perked your eyebrows, eager to escape your thoughts for a split second. “What kind is it?”

Your boss handed you a paper with the details, and you swung your florist’s bag over your shoulder with newfound gusto. A trip to Serval’s workshop was exactly what you needed.

The breeze outside the shop was stagnant. It made you shudder. You couldn’t control the weather, but you could sure as hell skip to the shop to spite the bad hand you’d been dealt recently.

The bronze shop bell dinged to announce your entry. And Serval, the owner of the Neverwinter Workshop, was fast asleep on a pile of papers.

That can’t be comfortable,

“Hey, Serv—,”

She shot up from her desk faster than you could blink.

“Welcome to Neverwinter Workshop! What can I— Oh! (Y/N)! Sorry about that, I just uh… dozed off for a bit,”

You chuckled. “Not a problem. I just came by for an 18x18mm wrench. Would you happen to have one of those?”

Molly, the assistant, peeked her head in from the back. “Only a few hundred of them,”

You stared back, flabbergasted. “Why so many?”

“Miss Serval put an extra zero on the order form,” she said with a shrug.

Serval looked at you sheepishly, her blue eyes filled to the brim with embarrassment. You shot her a glance loaded with concern.

“Have you been getting enough rest?” You inquired.

“Yeah, totally! Well… The band and I have been pretty busy with rehearsal lately. Y’know, with the Solwarm festival coming up and all—,” She waved a hand in the air dismissively. “—anyways, the person who’s case you should REALLY be on is Gepard’s,”

You lifted an eyebrow at her attempt to deflect the blame. “Yeah? And why is that?”

She paused, not paying you the slightest crumb of attention before she let out an planet-shaking yawn.

“Huh? Oh, he’s sick. Real nasty case. He got it from Pela,”

“Jeez. Seriously?” You exclaimed. “That sucks. I hope he gets better soon,”

She blinked slowly and tiredly. “Yeah, yeah. We do too. He actually passed out this morning,”

Your eyes went wide.

“He WHAT???”

“Ah, well, he passed—,”

“Nope, nope, nope. I got it,” you said, rubbing your temples while staring at the floor. “Holy crap. It must be really bad then. Did he have to go to the hospital?”

Serval shook her head. “Nope, thank Qlipoth. Lynx has had to crash here so she doesn’t catch it,”

You glanced around the workshop. “She has? Where is she?”

Your friend pointed at a stack of cardboard boxes stacked beside a shelf.

“Right there,”

And clear as day, you spotted the white tufts of fur from Lynx’s hat sticking out of her sleeping bag.

❆ — ❆ — ❆

“Okay… So, let me get this straight. Gepard returned home and promptly passed out,” You gripped the edge of the reception desk so hard you thought it might splinter. “Is anyone keeping him from going to the meetings or… anything?”

“Well, yeah. He knows well enough not to spread his sickness around. What I can’t say for sure though is that he’s not forcing himself to do paperwork… and stuff,” Serval hummed to herself, sorting through another stack of papers that had been rearranged from her catnap.

You let out a withering sigh. “Someone’s gotta stop him,”

Picking up your phone, you hurriedly dialed his number. After far too many seconds, you flopped helplessly onto the desk. No answer.

“Ugh. Can’t we like… call Dunn or the household or something?” You said weakly.

“I thiiink you may be blowing this one out of proportion,” she grinned, showing her pointy canines. “Why don’t you stop by if you miss him so much? You can knock some sense into him or whatever,”

She smirked as she saw embarrassment seep into your face.

Aha! So you DO miss him,

“Yeah, if warp trotters fly, maybe,” you tried to hide your expression by running a palm over your face. “I can’t just show up unannounced,”

“You sure can! I do it all the time,” she said cheerfully. “Usually when the man of the house isn’t there, though,” A look of distaste flashed in her eyes.

“The head butler has a good memory. He should remember you. Say I sent you—,” she perked up. “Oh! Here, I’ll write you a note,”

The blonde-haired woman yanked open a wooden drawer with an ear-piercing screech and lifted a notepad and pen out from its confines. She scrawled something out quickly.

“This should do,”

You squinted at the note skeptically.

I hereby authorize (Y/N), a friend of Gepard’s, to check up on him and make sure he isn’t working himself to death,

Signed,

Serval

[A strange doodle of a smiling face holding up a peace sign]

“Now go!” She shouted, practically pushing you out the door. “Go, go, go! You got this!”

“What—? Serval, I can’t—,”

“Yes you can! Call me if they don’t let you in. Rock on!”

She dropped you unceremoniously on the stone steps outside and slammed the door.

“Cheers!” Her muffled voice called.

I really should become a matchmaker, she snickered to herself.

You looked at the note once more and wilted.

❆ — ❆ — ❆

Gepard’s residence was… exactly the same all the other times you had gone, maids and all.

It was still plenty overwhelming though. You brushed the wrinkles out of your tunic as you waited for someone to answer the door. It wasted no time swinging open with a force that could’ve flattened someone, had they been standing behind it.

You nearly squawked in fear. Didn’t these people know how to open a door normally?

While gripping your messenger bag, filled with a few things you had brought from home, you requested entry from the broad-shouldered man that answered. You had no trouble keeping your voice steady but your chest felt like it was being crushed under a metal boot as you faced him.

“Ah, yes. Anything for a friend of the young master!” The butler smiled warmly at you. He didn’t show any sign that he had picked up on your nervousness. Hah, you didn’t think you’d ever get over all these pairs of eyes on you each time you came.

But wait— a friend? Hadn’t you told them each and every visit that you were a gardener he hired?

You bit the edge of your lip but kept your mouth shut.

He motioned you inside. “He’s been resting. Please, let us walk you up!”

You kept your eyes trained on the velvet carpet draped on the stairs as you followed him up. The floorboards squeaked softly under your soles.

When you got upstairs, the curly-haired man stopped in front of a particular door. “Just go on in,” he instructed.

You thanked him and rapped on the door lightly.

“Gepard?”

He looked up from his paperwork hurriedly from where it was bent over the desk to the source of your voice.

“It’s me. Serval sent me over to check if you were doing alright,” you said, leaning your head closer to the wood.

Gepard’s brows knitted together.

If she really wanted to, she could have busted my door down like last time.

He switched off the lamp and got out of his chair.

You heard a croak that sounded like “coming” and winced away from the door. Eek. He must be in really bad shape.

The door opened, causing a breeze to hit your face. After not seeing his face for a month, this wasn’t how you expected your first meeting to go.

By Qlipoth’s grace—, you clapped your hand over your mouth to prevent yourself from saying it out loud.

Gepard’s hair was messy and his cheeks were crimson. Locks of his golden hair covered his eyes, which were puffy and red. Better yet, he was wearing a matching set of blue and white striped pajamas. You nearly gawked. At least he wasn’t wearing his uniform if he wasn’t working.

He took in a quick breath to greet you but a harsh bout of coughing cut him off. Turning away from the door, he hacked into his elbow and tried to shut it.

Without a moment’s hesitation, you wedged your buckled boot into the space between the door and the frame. That swift action shocked him out of his coughing fit.

“A-apologies, I wasn’t expecting a visit. Please step away before I give you my illness,”

“Oh! That’s why you shut the door,” Your mouth went wide. “I thought you knew the real reason why I came!”

His eyes went wide as you used your forearm to force the door open wider, a vaguely threatening gesture.

What real reason?

“Forget what I just said,” you grinned while sauntering into the room. “Anyways, my immune system is great! I used to eat dirt when food was scarce in the Underworld. It’ll take a lot more than a cold to kill me,”

“Oh my. Is— is that so?” Gepard cleared his throat, forming a fist over his mouth. He followed a few steps behind you as you went about the room.

“Yessir. I came to say hi! Nothing more. Definitely not,” You chirped, looking around his quarters (not at all suspiciously, by the way.) “How are you feeling?”

Wait, didn’t you say Serval—?

He didn’t get to finish that thought.

“Well— all right, I suppose. A little lightheaded and feverish,” his eyes trailed your form moving about. “I took some medicine earlier, and my condition has improved some. Nothing a little rest won’t fix,”

You nodded, not sparing him a glance. “Yes. Rest. Glad to see we’re on the same page here, Gepard. Hey— you moved your bamboo plant in here!” You spotted a joyful little green plant in a pot on top of his desk.

He gave you a puzzled look. Your behavior was…strange, to say the least.

“Ah, yes. I moved it because—,”

—it reminded me of you, he narrowly stopped himself from saying.

“—I read that bamboo didn’t need as much light as I was giving it, so, I figured it would be fine if I transferred it,”

You bent your knees a little to take a closer look at it. “I see. The soil looks nice. Mind if I turn on the light to take a closer look?”

“Be my guest,”

You rotated the little key that controlled the lamplight. It flicked on, spreading a warm glow onto the books and papers on the desk. A glint reflected off a dollop of ink resting on a half-written paper.

You froze. That ink is fresh.

Bristling indignantly, you whisked your head towards him. He picked up the change in mood immediately and blanched.

“I thought you said you’d been resting,” you narrowed your eyes at him.

“I have,” He paused, confused. “Well—,”

“AHA!” You shouted. “I gotcha! This ink is fresh, Captain. Don’t think you can fool me,” You said triumphantly, placing your hands on your hips.

“Serval— she did send you, didn’t she?!” He sputtered. The usual stoic captain was nowhere to be seen as he rubbed the back of his neck in shame.

“Yes. She did. But also I would’ve come either way to make sure you weren’t wearing yourself out,” you snorted playfully. “She said it was highly likely you were doing paperwork. And paperwork IS. NOT. REST.” You shook a finger at him accusingly.

Gepard flinched slightly. “I’m not exerting myself physically, so there’s no need to worry, (Y/N). Really,”

The air around you seemed to grow dark. You cracked your knuckles, staring him straight in the face.

“Sit down. Now,”

He obliged, choosing to plunk down on his bed.

“I know it feels like you’re wasting time doing nothing, but your mind needs to recover too,” you shook your head disapprovingly while giving him an exaggerated sigh. “You should know that,”

You pulled up a chair in front of him and took a seat, facing the window so he was looking at your side profile.

“I don’t care if you’re the most capable man on Jarilo-VI—,”

—and it was pretty likely that he was,

“You need time to rest, just like everyone else,” you lectured, opening one eye to peer at him teasingly.

“Right,” Gepard replied, defeated. He had nothing against you.

“Did you even wear the scarf I gave you out there?”

“I did, but I didn’t want to dirty it,” he replied. You gave him a snort, which quickly turned into laughter.

“Aww. That’s thoughtful of you,” you flashed him a smile. “I made it knowing I might have to make you another one though. Or three. Just let me know if it gets too damaged to wear, okay?”

Gepard looked down at his striped pajama pants, a small smile crossing his features. “Thank you. I appreciate it,”

His chest almost hurt with all the things he wanted to say trying to fight their way out.

“No problem. If anything, you deserve it,” you sang. “On the other hand, have you eaten anything today?”

“I haven’t,” he rested his head on his chin. “I don’t seem to have an appetite, unfortunately,”

“I see. You should get something in ya though. Natasha told me your body could use the energy,” you stated knowledgeably.

He tried in vain to stamp down the feelings in his chest that sprouted from seeing your concerned expression.

For him. You cared about him.

Aeons, he didn’t deserve this.

“You can ask the cooks to make you some porridge or something,” you suggested. “I have some instant stuff, but it might not be to your liking,”

“I’m sure yours will be fine,” he rebutted quickly. “I’d be happy to eat it,”

You looked at him disbelievingly. I’ve never seen someone so determined to eat instant porridge,

His face stayed just how it was, his eyebrows weighing heavily on his eyes, just like twin anvils.

“Yeah, ok,” you let up. “Do you have a kettle or anything close by?”

“I believe there is one in the kitchen that they use for tea. You can ask the maids to retrieve it for you,” he motioned to the left.

You shook your head and got up. What use was it to call a maid for a trip that merely entailed going up and down the stairs? (Well, there were a stupid number of stairs, but that’s a whole other issue).

Kettle, bowl, spoon, and cloth napkin in hand, you bolted back upstairs to your patient. You plugged the kettle in and set it down on a towel so the heat didn’t damage the furniture.

Tapping your feet while you waited for the kettle to boil, you took a quick glance around the room. It told you a lot you needed to know about Gepard.

Firstly, he was relatively neat. Of course the areas of high traffic, like the bookshelves and the desk, were messier, but they hadn’t more than a few specks of dust on them. His uniform was hanging off of a dark oak armoire, and his military medals were pinned on a cork board attached to its door.

Secondly, there were quite a few pictures hanging on the walls. There were a few of him at awards ceremonies, at various ages. And one of him as a cadet— and wow— he was pretty short back then. He stood almost a whole head shorter than the other guards. You almost squealed with delight.

You turned back to him, noticing his eyes were glued to where you were staring. Oops.

You hurriedly apologized for staring so conspicuously at the photographs, but he shook his head at the statement. Photos were meant to be looked at, after all.

This quickly led to a slew of questions he wasn’t expecting, such as “How old were you when you joined the Guards?” And “Did Serval ever threaten to bench press you?”.

He almost laughed at that one. Probably. His nose wrinkled a little. Or whatever. You figured he’d finally laugh for real once the moons collided with Jarilo-VI.

The kettle began to whistle.

“Ah, water’s boiling,” you said, turning towards the outlet where it was plugged in.

Gepard had since settled down in bed, pulling the covers over his waist. You poured the piping hot water into the bowl carefully, the steam forming curls in the air, and covered it with a lid.

After a few minutes had passed, you set the bowl on a library book from your bag (Eek. Bad idea.) as a makeshift tray and stuck a spoon in it.

“Voilà. Enjoy!” You flung your arms in the air ostentatiously as he looked onward.

Gepard took a spoonful and blew on it gingerly. You watched him with an expectant look on your face. Although whether you were expecting something good or bad, you didn’t quite know.

He lifted it to his mouth and you zeroed in on him even harder.

“It’s delicious,” he said with conviction, meeting your eyes. You squinted at him.

“Um. Gepard, I think the fever is messing with your brain. Are you sure you can taste right now?”

“I’m sure,” he responded.

“No way!” You exclaimed, slapping your forehead. “Let me try— actually, wait. That’s a bad idea,” you sighed. “I’ll just have to believe you,”

The captain nodded affirmatively. He brought another spoonful up to his mouth and relished it, feeling the warmth spread across his tongue. You swore as you watched him savor it contentedly that you’d buy some on your way home to try for yourself.

While Gepard polished off the contents of his bowl, you yammered on about various events that had happened in Belobog while he was away. You had been saving them for when you got together for real, but you figured now was just as good a time as any.

Once he had finished, he rested the spoon on the side of the ceramic bowl.

“Thank you for coming to visit me, (Y/N),” he said gently.

“Someone had to,” you laughed while kicking your feet up. “When I heard you’d been bumbling about all day, I nearly had a heart attack!”

He ran a palm over his face, closing his blue eyes. “Yes— and I’m sorry for that,”

“I didn’t want to believe her, but you guys both have a tendency to push yourself way too hard, you know?”

“By her, you mean Serval?”

You pursed your lips at him.

“That’s how the Landaus are,” he exhaled heavily, letting out a small cough he quickly covered. “It’s… our duty to bring glory to our name, after all,”

You folded your arms. “Maybe by fighting valiantly or repairing automatons, but crawling through paperwork?? I don’t think so. Secretaries that want to help you are a dime a dozen. It’s a lot easier than risking your life in the Snow Plains,” you chortled.

“You’ve probably filled your glory quota for the next two centuries, Gepard,” you glowed. “Bronya and Pela know just how hard you work. You can always ask for help,”

Gepard sighed again. (He did that a lot.) You made a good point.

“I’m sure I’ll recover in no time, thanks to all of you,” he said sincerely. You imitated the sound of an explosion while opening your fist.

“Boom. Magic porridge,”

To your surprise, this elicited a short chuff from Gepard; This caused your breath to get lost somewhere in your throat.

It felt strange seeing him so unguarded in his bedroom with his hair unkempt, in contrast to the well-polished emblem of strength shown on the recruitment posters everywhere in the Administrative District.

You folded your hands over your lap contentedly, silently thanking Serval for clueing you in today. Out of the blue, Gepard spoke up.

“When I recover, would you like to go to the Belobog History and Culture Museum with me?”

That startled you. “Really? I have been wanting to go,” you gnawed on your thumbnail hesitantly. “But are you sure? With all the stuff you have on your plate?”

“Positively,” he replied, his blue eyes capturing all of your attention. You quickly averted your eyes before your circuits overheated. “Volunteers can bring in one guest for free. I… know we haven’t had too many chances to spend time together because we’re both busy, but I figured I’d make an offer anyhow,”

You didn’t catch the last half of that sentence over the sound of a train whistling in your ears.

This should be illegal.

Is he even hearing himself right now?? To— to spend time together?? If I wasn’t super-duper ultra perceptive, I’d think he—,

You clamped your hands on your cheeks (internally, of course) to still yourself, while the rest of you stared straight ahead.

Oh dear,

“Sure!” You blurted out, stiff as a statue.

Smooth, (Y/N).

Fortunately for you, an alert from your phone jostled you out of your internal minefield. You flipped it open while trying to expel far too many thoughts from your mind at once.

It was Serval. You popped into your messages app to see what she had sent— and in true Serval fashion— she had sent the most mind-boggling, disorienting message possible.

From: Serval at 13:44

S: how’s he doing? did u get there alright?

S: ahh you’re probably busy.

S: tuck him in for me, will u?

You nearly spit out your drink. Gepard blinked at you.

You— you can’t just SAY something like that, you cried internally. Not when my feelings are all messed up! I should get out of here before this gets any worse,

“Is something the matter?”

You sighed, long and heavy. “There’s always something, isn’t there?”

He made no move to make any inquiries.

“Anywho, I guess I should take my leave now,” you spoke, reaching down to pick up your messenger bag off the floor and rising from your seat. “before I keep you up any longer. Take it easy, okay?”

“Ah— yes,” he replied, not letting the disappointment leak into his voice. He wondered about the sudden change in mood, but he didn’t want to pry if it would cause you discomfort.

“I’ll… keep that in mind,”

You smiled warmly at him.

“Good,”

❆ — ❆ — ❆

Even though you had left with the reasoning that you didn’t want to keep him awake, Gepard was anything but tired.

His strict internal clock as a soldier was probably to blame. A sigh echoed throughout the room. It was way too quiet now. And the velvet curtains absorbed any sound too weak to escape them.

He had to do something to keep his mind active. Maybe reading, perhaps? But the only books he had on his bookshelf were on war strategy and history. Both of which were related to his job.

How about drawing?

Now, that didn’t sound too bad.

He got out of bed and picked up a pencil, a spare piece of paper, and the floriography manual you lent him, off of his desk to use as a hard surface. As he settled into his mattress, he peered out the window one last time. He spotted a familiar green beret against the tan limestone bouncing way faster than necessary down the steps leading to the plaza.

A chuckle escaped his lips.

Well, time to get started,

❆ — ❆ — ❆

You sat in the break room of the florist’s, reading the latest edition of Automatons Weekly while waiting patiently for the porridge you had bought from the grocers to finish absorbing the water.

Vaska sat across from you, drinking floral tea while flipping through Tales 2. You’d prepared a bowl of porridge for her as well, just a different flavor. Hers had flecks of green and black in it, and it smelled quite good. Rather savory, in your opinion. The one you had gotten Gepard was the plain kind.

They had a surprising amount of flavors of porridge specifically at the grocers, like cinnamon, coconut, banana, whatever. It was honestly overwhelming. The fact they spent so much time curating the porridge aisle was weird, considering they didn’t have anything worth buying from the Underworld. But nonetheless.

After lifting the lids and seeing that the grains were sufficiently cooked, you both dipped your spoons in and shoveled them in your mouth.

“Blech!” Vaska said, coughing her mouthful into a napkin. “It tastes like soap,” You looked at her wordlessly as you swallowed yours.

You pondered for a moment.

“You know… I think I’ve had dirt more flavorful,” you said, bursting into loud laughter. “And how exactly do you know what soap tastes like?”

Vaska gave you a look loaded with venom.

“Whatever. You up for some cookies?” You shrugged.

She snickered, cracking open the door to the sweets cabinet in response, and fished out a jar of Meg’s famous chocolate brownie cookies.

Well, so much for that plan.

2024 - Dreaming-of-Mossballs - Do not repost/translate without my permission - NO AI

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