#(please let it be more chill wheeze)

[squidthusiast]

I’m fashionably late with a new years post haha augh. Been recovering from going out for the past couple days, nice to finally wind down…

2024 was absolutely wild for me.

I graduated college, traveled, got promoted at my job, aaand I also got a taste of the post-grad life crisis, hooh!

I am thankful for both the amazing old friends that got through the year with me, and the new ones that lit up my life in a lovely myriad of ways.

Meeting and befriending @theashemarie , @katiemonz and @shibascrem was such a highlight! You guys brought so much joy to my life and i’m cherishing all the laughter, warmth and camaraderie that you’ve given me with my whole heart.

The future has always been somewhat uncertain and wild for me, but I strongly wish that everyone manages to still find those moments of safety, happiness and love, in whatever form they come this 2025.

Looking forward to brainrotting more about off the hook in the new year! Thank you for sticking around my little silly blog :)

Happy 2025✨

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

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!"

[on-the-clear-blue]

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.

[pedge-page]

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

[loveinhawkins]

“Why are you wearing cologne?” Dustin asks after barely one second in the van.

“I’m not,” Eddie says, and promptly wants to die at how unconvincing that was. It’s not even technically a lie…

He makes it out of the school parking lot with Dustin saying jackshit, so for a little while, he thinks he’s gotten away with it.

More fool him.

Dustin abruptly lunges to the side, all up in his face like the world’s most dedicated sniffer dog.

“Ew, gross! Get off, man, I’m gonna crash,” Eddie says, even though they’ve been at a stop light for the past minute.

“Okay, correction,” Dustin says, drawing back. “Why are you wearing Steve’s cologne?”

Eddie stares into the middle distance, prays for The Upside Down to come and swallow him up.

An agonising silence.

“Oh my god,” Dustin whisper-screams. “Oh my god.”

“Look, just—”

“Oh my god!”

And yup, ow, that’s definitely become a full blown scream now, and double ow, Dustin has just socked him one in the arm.

“Hey!”

“What the fuck, Eddie?! How could you not—”

“Jesus! Take a damn chill pill, Henderson, I swear to—”

“Since when you do you say shit like—oh my God, Steve says shit like that. You can’t let him get to you like this, Eddie, you’re too young to die.”

“What does that even mean?”

Dustin keeps jiggling Eddie by the arm as he pulls up to Dustin’s house. Even when his stomach is jangling with nerves, he can’t fight a smile at the kid’s antics.

“Holy shit, this is big,” Dustin says with wide eyes, and it bothers Eddie that he can’t get a hold of what sort of expression is on his face. “This is huge.”

And all of a sudden, it doesn’t seem all that funny anymore.

“It’s not,” Eddie says quietly. “It’s really not. It doesn’t have to be, like… look, Dustin, can we just—if it bothers you, just drop it, and we can pretend like—”

“Wait, what? No.” And now Eddie can read the remorse on his face. “Shit, sorry. Eddie, I didn’t mean, like… big in a bad way, I swear.”

And goddamn it, Eddie trusts him. Of course he does.

“Okay.” He lets out a long sigh, tipping his head back in his seat. “Okay.”

“I just meant… like, you know The Royal Family? In England.”

…What.

“Oh, please, run with this analogy,” Eddie says, a mixture of curious and hysterical, “I’m dying to see where it goes.”

“You know, when they have news, they put it outside the… Palace? Like, on a stand. So people know.”

“Are you fucking implying that you are the public to our… wow, I’m so sorry, Henderson.” Eddie can’t take it anymore; he wheezes with laughter, can’t hide how relieved he sounds. “Next time I’ll ruin your front lawn and put a huge fucking sign there, then you’ll know that—”

“I didn’t mean it literally, asshole. I just…” Dustin shrugs. “Just meant if you wanted to, like… mention it. It would be cool. It is cool.”

“Cool,” Eddie echoes faintly.

“Cool,” Dustin repeats, emphatic.

Jesus Christ, I love you so much.

“Aw, Henderson,” Eddie says, “were you gonna make us a card or something?”

“Do you want a card?” Dustin says dryly.

And yeah, he’s being a little shit about it, but there’s also a note of sincerity hiding in there that has Eddie fighting a lump in his throat. He chuckles through it, flicks Dustin’s forehead.

“C’mon, get out before your mom thinks I’ve kidnapped you.”

“She thinks you’re an angel now, and you know it. It’s horrifying.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a Saint.”

Eddie waits until Dustin’s at his front door before reversing, watches him with silent fondness as he greets his cat.

He says through the side window, “Hey, Dustin?”

Dustin turns back. “Yeah?”

“We’d have told you first anyway. We were gonna, I swear.” Eddie scoffs. Smiles. “Not our fault you’re Sherlock Holmes, man.”

Dustin smirks, but his eyes are soft. “It was pretty elementary.”

[captain-bubble-wrap]

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.

[ornii]

|| 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.

[ninibeingdelulu]

"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.

[signanothername]

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)

[thatfreshi]

OKAY OKAY LET ME COOK TAV HAS AN ABUSIVE EX LOVER AND ASTARION AND TAV RUN INTO THEM

We're all just trying to cook out here, let us cook!

TW - run-in with abusive ex, bf and ex get into a fight

Recommended Song: I Didn't Change My Number - Billie Eilish

Evening walks, humidity in the air from the day's rain, hands intertwined. You can't ask for much more. While you and Astarion enjoy a good party-filled night, it's nice to simply observe the bustle of dusk, lovers just now finding each other in alleyways, ridiculous drunken fights. It's fun, making little comments about the surrounding chaos, Astarion mostly just making fun of people's outfits.

"I mean really, I have never seen such a gaudy scarf in my life, and I've lived for almost three hundred years!"

"Yes, I remember."

"I'm just saying, truly a bad scarf."

You cling to him, as you usually do. The streets of Baldur's Gate make you nervous, so many uncertainties, especially one man. You never told Astarion about your past lover, not wanting to burden him with all of that. After all, you have no idea if he still lives in the city, but it still makes your skin crawl, knowing he's out there.

"Are you alright my sweet?"

He noticed you had slowed your steps, zoning out.

"Of course."

You smile, hiding the thoughts quite well. Eventually, the two of you make it to a quieter part of town, and you both lean against a stone building, taking in the sights of the stars. As people silently pass by, a figure makes their way towards you from the street.

"Well, if it isn't Tav? How are you old friend?"

Goosebumps, chills all across your skin. Your ex, a half-drow, eyes a burning purple. You stay silent, and Astarion simply watches the situation play out.

"Who's this?"

His gaze moves to Astarion. You wrap yourself around your lover's arm, squeezing him tight.

"Tav, would you like to go?"

Practically ignoring the drow, he turns to you, trying to deal with your fingers digging into his skin. You nod.

"Now hold on, I just wanted to say hi! Tav and I, we have a past together, and it just so happens I haven't seen them in a long time."

A grin grows across his face, disgustingly intrigued by your current circumstances.

"Yeah... hi."

You don't make eye contact, simply agreeing. Not liking the way things are progressing, Astarion goes to grab for the dagger under his coat, keeping his hand on the handle.

"Oh, so your new lover thinks he's so scary, huh? I'm sure you've told him all about me, right?"

"Aster, let's just go, please."

Your voice is practically a whisper at this point.

"Hold on darling, it's okay. I've got you."

He steps between you and the drow.

"Unless you want to be splayed all over the cobblestones, I'd suggest you move along now."

The drow steps to him.

"Splayed? Are you sure about that pretty boy?"

You didn't remember just how tall he was, making Astarion look tiny.

"Astarion!"

You plead, scared that he's bit off more than he can chew.

"Aw, scared for the pretty elf are you? Seems things haven't changed, you're still just a fearful mouse, prey."

He's said too much now, and the vampire pulls his dagger, meeting the drow's knife. While he's distracted trying to hold off Astarion's blade, the second dagger comes out, piercing right through the drow's stomach. He got him good, knowing right where to stab that would make him bleed profusely, but not kill him, not if he was quick. Your ex cries out in pain, he wasn't expecting the second blade. Astarion pulls him in by the collar.

"I never want to see you in this city again, understand?"

Still wheezing in shock, the drow nods, clutching at his stomach. Astarion smiles, content with his work.

"Good. Now, I would get someone to patch that up soon, lest you bleed out in the dark somewhere."

With that, he scurries off into the darkness, and you realize a few people were staring at the spectacle.

"Apologies, nothing to see here!"

Astarion waves off the strangers, and turns back to you.

"Are you alright my dear?"

You're still in shock, not expecting to see him here, now. You nod, wrapping yourself around his arm again.

"It's okay my love, it's over."

You mumble, lying against his arm.

"I know, I just-"

"Shhh, hush now. Let's go home, alright?"

You nod, weeping from the fear that still hasn't dissipated. He wipes away your tears, and you try to smile at him.

"Thank you."

"Of course my sweet, anything for you, always."

[cantgetworsethanthistbh]

Don’t know if you’re still taking prompts but if you are you should totally write about ford eating out fem!stan for the first time plz🙏

hey anon! sorry i took a really long ass while to respond to this since i couldnt think of any specific scenarios to write this prompt of that wasn't just, you know, the prompt— but it finally hit me like a truck today! and also cuz i was sick and doing this in between homework djdndhdsn

anyway, VERY explicit under this read more, since i got SO carried away, hope you dont mind its the geezers pre-weirdmageddon in this one AND that you dont mind a little sex pollen also ty ty ty so much for your fem!stan request i love it when people enable me dhdndhdbdu also sorry to everyone who exoected a "read more" but tumblr hides my stuff when i do that so heres the warning, please scroll if thats not your thing

~~

"Constance, get down!"

"Wha—"

It was too late. Cloud of pink glitter exploded in her face and sent her into a coughing fit so hard her lungs shook in her ribcage. She drops to the floor and hears Ford's "Constance!"

Then she hears him fire his space gun. Just out of her periphery was chunks of blue goo that would be a fucking bitch to clean out of the walls and carpet, but la di da, there it was. There isn't a second to groan about that or the way her breathing turned heavy when Ford runs to her side, grabbing at her arm and forcing her to her back.

"Constance, are you okay?"

"Stanford..." Stan wheezes, turning her head into a hafl glare. "What... the HELL was that...?"

Ford's eyes narrow, inspecting her face, before his thumb brushes against her cheek. Stan shivers, a full body quake and confusion over taking her while Ford inspects his thumb. From down here, Stan can only stare because what else can she do when she's down, dizzy with virtigo from whatever magical poison that got sprayed across her face.

From down here, Stan feels the heat from Ford's grip, the pads of his fingers and the large mass of his palm against the bare skin of her arm, tickling the nerves underneath into sending sparks that go through her body and meet at the coil of her stomach. Even Ford's knee, under all that cloth and was much father from her face than Stan seems to think it is, illicited some deep, twisted something in Stan again she hasn't felt in a while.

"Ford?"

Ford's eyes snap back to her, blown and widened with alarm. Suddenly, he grabs her arm again, slips it over his shoulders, the other encircling her back. Stan thinks, alright, he's going to help me up, before a squawk rips from her throat when his arm loops under the back of her knees and lifts her to the air.

"What are you—?!"

"No time to explain, let's go," Ford says with all the urgency of a man on a mission. Carrying her out of their fairy-thing-guts covered living room with way too much ease, he sprints into the giftshop, ignoring Stan's confusion and dragging her into the basement.

It doesn't take a too long to find herself sitting on Ford's desk, trying to pump the breaks on the now doubled speed of her heart and the vibrations that run through out her body, working its ways to adjust to the surrounding. When Ford plopped her down and breathed the same air she did for less than a second, she felt it— ignition to an burnt out furnace suddenly bursting to new life. there was so much heat simmering through her veins, her nerves, every god damn thing was way too much to handle.

She's hot. Ford's desk and the glass plane behind her was cold, cold to a chill, and her thighs clench and rub together, onto the desk, aching for that rub of friction because she needed something hot, hot now, just as hot as her. Her mouth was dry, all the spit went on her tongue to her lips. Things— way too many things jumble in Stan's head, ranging from what the fuck is happening to holy shit, when did Sixer get that strong.

What stood out the most through was her brother saying he messed around with fucking nymphs, and all morning he's been hunted down by them. The one dead by their living room? A fucking nymph-assassin.

"Sixer, what the hell?" She pants, and oh God, she's panting? When the hell did that happen? Stan sucks in a breath again when Ford turns from rummaging through his stuff again to finally throw her a glance. Red hot heat crawls up her neck and she bites down on her lip when his eyes zero in on her squirming, her thighs. Stan might've thought she saw his jaw flex but, fuck if she wasn't also just going delirious.

"Why the hell were you messing around with those things in the first place?"

"I needed something from them, Constance," Ford answers measuredly, and Stan hears another racket from him looking for some goddamn thing through out his mess. "I've made an ammicable deal with them in the past, and now they're pushing for more. That's out of my control."

"I bet you backed out of that deal," Stan accuses, because it was pretty clear to them that Ford wasn't a god damn master of trickery or whatever. "What, you tried to swindle them for more of this fuck-powder? You know they sell viagra at the store?"

"That wasn't what I dealed with them for," Ford mutters lowly and, damn, if it were any other time, Stan would make fun of him. Stan would tease him, laugh at the embarrassed pout on his face, the bright red flush over his cheeks and ears. But she can't, not when Ford's back was what she's staring at, the broad, plane of his back and wide slopes of his shoulders, hidden under that stupid trenchcoat and sweater combo.

Where they could be ripped off and Stan could see all the things she never would have imagined her cute, nerdy but unappreciatedly handsome brother growing into if not for the one perk of getting shoved into a portal to whole universes of things trying to kill him. When she couldn't imagine him getting any hotter than he already—

They're back, those stupid god damn fantasies. They came at night, they came in the morning. They came whenever she and Ford would pass each other in the hall in their mutual agreement of no-talking, and his shadow almost engulfs her completely nowadays, and all she thinks is how stupid this whole avoiding each other thing is and they could be siblings as thick as thieves again.

Or even better— Ford could shove her into the wall and kiss her until she can't breathe. He could let her push that coat of his shoulders and sweater off his back so Stan's hands could crawl up them again. He could bite her neck, unbutton her blouse and pants, put one of those big palms to use and grope and squeeze around her tits, put those extra fingers to use and slip them into her pants, underwear, her, while Stan barely holds herself together biting at the firm skin on his shoulder.

Put that smartass mouth to use and say "Thank you, Stan" or "You're so good for me, Stan."

Get on his knees and put that mouth to even better use if he'd just shove down her pants, place his hands on her hips, nose against her bush and his mouth on her—

It takes a second too long to realize, but it happened. one hand slid between her legs, pushed the fabric of her boxers away to brush at her wet and even more senstive pussy. A second too long to stop that haggard mewl that came out of her lips.

A second too long to see that Ford finally turned back with a jar in way too tightly gripping hand, staring slack jawed at Stan behind his glasses.

Fucking great.

"Constance," Ford breathes shakily, and no, this can't happen. Their relationship can't get any worse, and sure Stan is gross for thinking about her brother that way, but she can't help that they're coming at the worst time, when she can't hide in her room far, far away from the basement and ride on her fingers to quiet cries of Ford's name.

"G-God, don't be so dramatic about it!" She says, sweat prickling at her neck. "You-you've seen me change and get naked before! This isn't that different!" Because there wasn't totally a difference between getting used to changing infront of your brother when you could barely live in one small space together when you were kids to touching yourself to them, right infront of them.

Right?

Man, she's such a sucker.

Shame is mixing with her already sizzling skin, and she needs to go. Take that jar-of-something to her room and figure it out on her own because obviously, Ford already wanted nothing to do with her and would want it even less now. Goddamn it, this would be so much easier if Ford didn't have eyes that were identical to hers, but wore it with that cutting stare that tore through her. Since they were teens and she was in denial about getting off to her twin brother who stared a little too hard— or even since forever.

Or at least if she wasn't still so hot and bothered thinking about him where she thinks she might've already came to his god damn desk.

Stan starts pushing herself off of it, face sweaty and pink. "F-Fine, I'll go. Just gimme that antedote and I'll—"

Ford closes the gap quicker than a lightning bolt, the jar already rolling on the floor and Stanford's mouth already crushed against hers, all hungry and desperate like he couldn't physically hold himself down anymore and their glasses knocking askew. He's nudging himself between her knees, his hands onto the fat on her hips, and shit, did he just moan? From just kissing her? Oh damn.

"Nevermind that. I think I have a better antedote," Ford says against her lips. "I'd like to test it out."

"Just fuck me already, Sixer, oh my God."

Stanford lights up, smiles like he won the damn lottery or fifty research grants or whatever. He dives right back in, kissing Stan, and sinking twelve nails into her hips as he drags them together. Stan groans, feeling the already hard tent go even harder against her, and her skin is on fire again, but this time melting the frigid parts of nerves into a liquid heat that's flowing directly down into her stomach, warming her up inside. Ford's hands move quick, from pushing the straps of her tank top down until she feels breeze touch her nipples to taking no sensitive measures to tugging and eventually ripping her boxers off her. Ford pulls away, and drags is mouth onto her neck then chest and Stan finally gets to put her hands on his shoulders, how big and strong he's gotten. One goes through his half greyed hair, and even when he was a teen she loved the dark, curly mop she'd pull into a noogie, but now it just makes him look better.

It makes her so mad, specially with what a grade A dick he's been. But she can't be that mad when Ford reaches her boob and takes a nipple into his mouth, nipping then sucking hard. "Shit—" Stan hisses, and there's nothing more to say than that.

"Fuck, Stan," Ford mutters against her skin, his breath tickling with the wetness on her nipple. "You drive me crazy."

"You're the one who fucked– ah– with Nymphs," She points out, and yeah maybe she could be a little jealous about that, but it dissapates when his fingers make their way into the warm, wetness of her pussy, just as special as Stan imagined it'd be. "Were– hh– they g-good lays, at least?"

"Not what I dealed with them for," Ford repeats, like that answers anything, and sinks loudly onto his chair, right between Stan's knees. His eyes drag down slowly on Stan, from her definitely fucked up hair, to half down tank top and tits hanging out, to right between her legs, and if Stan wasn't full on blushing then, well she sure was now. For a second it looks like he considers taking off his glasses, before deciding against it. Nerd.

Hooking the back of her knees over his shoulders, he smirks up at her again with that tear-her-apart stare again. "I doubt they'd ever taste this good."

Before Stan could respond to that, Ford's face goes between her thighs and his mouth is on her. If Stan thought she almost came earlier, then she's holding on for dear life when Ford's tongue laps at the outside before sinking deeper into her, sending shockwaves through out Stan. Moaning against her like he's the one getting head, like he's getting off from the taste of her on him alone. The flat of his tongue pushes against tight muscle, the heat almost pulsing, and making the wetness there grow more and more

Fuck, just Holy shit, how did he get this—

"Oh!" Stan gasps, one hand finding her own breast and the other on his desk, barely feeling the cold anymore with the clashing heat taking up her whole body, and all she can really feel is Ford's nose bumping against her bush when he only lets up for his teeth to graze against the nub of her clit while his fingers take over below. Stretching her out with his big, thick fingers, just so he could watch her like some pervy, old—

Then he sucks gently on it, and Stan is seeing white.

"Shit– Ford, I'm–"

"Just let it out, Stan," He says, still mostly against her. "You've been so good this whole time.

Thick thighs closing around Ford's head, that's what does her in. Of course it is. Her mind completely blanks out, turning to the white static on TV for a few moments until she realizes she's riding the rest of her orgasm on Ford's mouth at the end of it, while he laps it up like he'd die if he doesn't, like he's the cursed one.

Stan could barely register the murmurred whispers of her name and the movements of his arm from under the desk she's on until he's letting out a shuddering breath, forehead against her belly. Stan couldn't help the grin lighting up her face then.

Great, at least she's not the only one.

Just like that, the heat... doesn't really leave. Just wrapped around her cozily like the trenchcoat Ford threw over her when he finally stands up, only to drag Stan back on his lap. She's not getting used to that thirty years long honed strength anytime soon.

"Suppose I have a new more effective measures now," Ford says, lips finding Stan's, and she could taste herself on there, passed like a secret.

She's not getting used with this affection either, but Stan wants to see Ford try.

They stay a couple of moments there basking in this glow, until Stan peers up again, scratching the back of her neck when realization hits her.

"Hey, Sixer... you're the one cleaning that carpet upstairs, right?"

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Forget-Me-Not 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki

Summary: You return to your childhood home to put the past to rest.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You sit in the cold room, shivering as your fingers pulse numbly, toes too. They’ve taken your shoes, your clothes, and your freedom. You won’t let them break you though. You won’t let those damned Odinsons win. This isn’t a victory. There are some things they can’t win. 

You shift, taking some of the weight off of your bound wrists. You lean against the wall, shoulders pressed to the plaster, ankles crossed as your keep your knees to your chest in an effort to stay warm. The dampness of the hotel basement adds to the deep chill in your bones as the noise of rumbling washers and dryers whirring from down the hall. You would scream if your could. 

The cloth is dry and gritty in your mouth, remnants of dirty caught in the fabric from your struggle. You fought as hard as you could. You always did and yet it always turned out like this. You were never strong enough. 

You hang your head. You always knew the Odinsons were scum. That there was something twisted about them. Their entitlement always reeked, but this, you couldn’t predict they’d go this far. And for what? A dead woman’s rotting old house. 

No, this isn’t about the house. This is about you. This is because you didn’t let their spoiled little son break you.

You snicker darkly. How it must burn him to know he couldn’t crush the town slut with his wormy dick. That the girl who was already cracked, didn’t just shatter against his inflated ego.  

He’s not as clever as he thinks. Look at you. This is not great trick. This is arrogance. This is desperation. It’s the Odinson way; if you don’t get what you ask for, you take it. 

Your laughter trickles off as you hear the footfalls approach. You hate that you know his gait. That you’re certain it’s him before he even appears. You don’t look up, you won’t suffer the sight of him. 

“I tried to play nice,” he taunts as he closes the door. “I even asked...” 

You lean your head to one side and close your eyes in a yawn. He huffs and his toes taps, the polished leather glinting in the corner of your eye. He steps nearer and looms over you. 

“It didn’t have to be like this.” 

“It does,” you say blithely, “do you really think you are the worst thing that ever happened to me?” You snort, “please.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t believe so. It must be hard to compare between so many,” he mocks, “do you even recall how many there were? Hm?” 

Your lips tauten and you clench your jaw. 

“You always were a pathetic little loser, Loki Odinson,” you sneer. 

“I’m certain you thought so when we met by the river, hm? When you cried to me--” 

“Oh, get on with it,” you snap. “I’m over this. I’m over you,” you lift your chin and glare up at him defiantly, “I haven’t thought of you in twenty years and if you weren’t standing here in front of me, I’d not even know what you look like or how your voice makes my skin crawl. I do not think of you. You are nothing. We both know if you left this forsaken village, you be just another snake in the grass and soon enough you’d be trampled under someone else’s boots--” 

He moves quickly. You can’t react, can’t defending yourself as he kicks to in the chest, putting his sole flat to it as he pins you to the wall. You wheeze and cackle. That’s it. You got him. 

“Let’s think about who is under who’s boot, dear,” he slithers. 

“I...” you rasp, “you know... people talk...” you take tight, tortured breaths under the crush of his boot, “so much and I never heard... of a wife... or children... nothing but... dejection...” 

“Shut up,” he barks. 

“You’re trapped here,” you croak, “by your own fucking... fear. Because you’re scared... that Loki Odinson... is no one--” 

He brings his toe up to your chin, kicking you so your jaw snaps shut and your teeth pinch your tongue painfully. You taste blood as you land on your side. You groan and try to blink away the silver stars in your vision. 

“Aw, baby...” your legs fold over limply, “did I hit a nerve--” 

He squats down and fists your hair, ripping your head up violently. Twisted on your side, your eyes roll with the lingering impact of his kick. You grin with blood coated teeth. 

“You never used to talk so much--” 

“Ptah!” You spit your mouthful into his face. He lets you go and you barely keep your head from hitting the floor. He wipes his cheek and grimaces. “You always talked too much.” 

He doesn’t say a word. You hear a metallic tink, the unmistakable sound of a belt buckle. How many times had you heard that? How many times did you close your eyes and just wish it was over? 

You brace yourself and use all your strength to move. You roll onto your back and plant your feet. You turn yourself as fast as you can, leaning your weight on your shoulders as you use your legs to maneuver. You fling your foot up and land your shot true.  

Your foot crunches into Loki’s crotch as he stands pompously over you. He gurgles and goes rigid as his legs lock. He grips tight the leather of his belt and trembles before he falls to his knees. You kick again, this time catching his stomach. He puffs out with a gasp and you go for a third. 

You miss his face as he shields himself with his forearm. He grunts as he cups his pants with one hand and grabs your ankle with his other. He yanks you, twisting your foot away from his face as you aim your heal at his jaw once more. He latches onto your other ankle and flips you over, swinging around to straddle you as you flail your legs. 

Your knees hit the floor painfully as he pins you. He turn himself around so he’s facing your head and he smacks the back of your skull. He growls and lifts himself slightly. The buckle clinks again and leather swishes against fabric. You snarl as he hooks the belt around your neck and pulls it tight, forcing your head back. 

“I know you remember this feeling,” he bends to hiss against your scalp, “I know you think about this every night. I want you to think about it every second of every day...” he yanks the belt until you can’t breathe, “you will never forget me. Never.” 

[lyavee44]

Saudade [LEON S. KENNEDY X LUIS S. NAVARRO]

oh man, i never posted a fanfic before. im SCARED.

english isn't my first language, so i apologise for any errors in advance. and PLEASE correct me so i know better in the future!<//3

ngl it's a teensy tiniest little bit out of character, i got too silly

ion even ship them but i thought this would be really fun to write

word count - 25k

cw - COVID-19 is actually a B.O.W. (😭), mentions of death, suicidal thoughts, kidnapping, vulgar language, umbrella sucks ass, bad worldbuilding, sort-of coming out on both parts, fluff, angst if you squint, i forgor that benford kicked the bucket in 2013 so pretend he didn't 🙀 i already resurrected luis + re6 storyline is trash let's ignore it for the sake of old man yaoi

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

This time, it can be different. It has to.

That is exactly what Leon told himself so many years ago before being sent off to rescue Ashley Graham. True, it sure was different. Nothing in his life could've prepared him for such an awakening, for having sunshine gently cascade over his face just for an eclipse to come moments later. Nothing could've prepared him for the harsh drop that left him chilled to the bone, blinded, and lost.

It's not as if he never loved before per se, he's had his fair share of flings - more or less serious. He's never been in so deep, though. He's never been one to believe in feelings to develop so quickly, either. Or rather, he didn't let himself get those feelings to bloom. Too risky to even think about it. Potentially harmful to himself and the other person. Forget it, Kennedy.

He knows there's more to life than just what he's grown to get accustomed to over the years. The stench of blood and gunpowder was practically undetectable to his nose at this point with how often he's caught onto it. It felt as if any firearm he got his hands on was molded perfectly for his callous palms, it felt natural. And yet, he knows this isn't it. This isn't what life is about, it's not about ending other beings for the sake of saving more. "Saving the world by destroying it, ain't that backwards?" is what he said to someone years ago as well. Goodness, it's been so many years and they're pouring through the cracks of his fingers. They're slipping away faster than his sobriety with every sip. Where did the time go...?

The agent sat there on his bed, right at the coffee table. His hand felt glued to the shot glass, the back of his throat beginning to burn more and more with the sting of pure vodka. He didn't even bother to buy his favourite booze, brandy, he didn't feel particularly deserving of a decent treat. If anything, he was miserable. All the years went by faster than the shots he's been downing for the past hour. While he isn't much of a lightweight, his head was fuzzy. All Leon wanted right now was to never leave his own eerily empty four walls anymore. He didn't want to bother, he just wanted the world to shut off.

And just when he was about to pour another round, his phone rang. The blonde groaned, his brows furrowing. He reached for the beat up device, checking the caller ID.

Hunnigan.

"Great," he rasped out, mumbling quiet expletives and then taking a few deep breaths. He knew better than to be impolite to his fellow support agent. She wasn't at fault for any of this madness anyway. She was just there to team up with him, and he had no business in having her deal with his low humour.

Clearing his throat, he finally picked up and hesistantly raised the phone to his ear, speaking in a groggy voice.

"Hey there, long time no speak." he tried to sneak in a chuckle, but all that came out was a short, wheeze-like scoff. The last mission he's been assigned to was maybe a month ago, and they hadn't spoken since.

"Really funny, Leon." the woman chided him in her low voice, although her retort held a hint of fond amusement. Despite everything, she cared for him like a friend would, professionalism aside. Speaking of which, she cleared her throat and forced herself to talk about what was at hand.

"Listen, there's something brewing. It isn't looking so good. It's-"

"No shit, Ingrid." he cut her off, his voice more impatient. He mentally cursed himself for snapping, although he already know what was at hand. Just another time he's gonna be getting his hands dirty for the sake of everyone else.

"Come on, Leon! What's up with you now?" Hunnigan exclaimed, already getting fed up with his attitude. "We've got something at hand that isn't looking like a regular B.O.W. It's not mutating phenotypes like the regular ones, it's more like... It's..."

"Sorry, I'm sorry." He cut her off once again, although it was uncertain if he was chiming in or apologising for his earlier behaviour. "No, it's just... Nevermind. Tell me about this."

"Thanks," The other agent huffed in response, shaking her head on the other line.

"It's as if they're coming up with someone to just straight up weaken or kill people." She finally explained as vaguely yet efficiently as she could, radio silence on the other side almost deafening her.

"Leon...?" She felt his hesistation, and it only served to frustrate her further.

"Yea, yea, m'still there," He mumbled, his voice holding a slight tremble to it. While he always kept a level head and quick wit in which he secretly prided himself in, he felt like he'll crumble any second now. He didn't know what was up with him this time, this dread...

"Leon!" Hunnigan yelled, her brows furrowed. "Turn on the video chat, I gotta see if you are in a decent state at all."

He flinched, hating the way it all got to him. He let out a grumble and clicked the video chat feature, his broken front camera displaying him in a slightly blurry picture. And yet, the redness to his nose and cheeks was obvious. Not only was he tipsy, but he seemed... shaken.

"There you are. Now, just listen. I don't know what the hell is up with you, but i wanna see you at the headquarters in half an hour. Not a minute later." The woman's brows were scrunched together, her red, round glasses gently slipping near the tip of her nose.

"Yes, ma'am." He gave her a weak smile, letting out a loud exhale when she nodded and ended the call. He hid his face in his hands, letting out yet another shaky breath.

***

"...And as you can see, it's not a regular bioweapon. All we know is that the Umbrella unit in Wuhan is probably responsible for this. We probably will have to send you and a few other agents to China for further investigation, and hopefully have you eliminate the risks." Hunnigan spoke in a levelled tone, holding a bunch of documents in her slender hands as she finished giving him an overview of the situation, although it was still too vague to take action properly. Leon stood there, really out of it. While he was showered and wearing clean clothes, he felt nasty. He was so tired, so guilty over snapping at everyone, even the kind young man at the lobby. 'God damn it Kennedy, what has he done to you?' he thought, only registering what she was saying. He spared a moment to think about the whole ordeal though, a spark of realisation dawning on him.

"Does that mean they want to... eliminate civilians in an unassuming way? With just a mutated flu, is that it?" He suggested, pointing at one of the reports on his colleague's desk.

Ingrid's eyes widened, she glanced at the document and back at him in bemusement.

"Now that's a... dark scenario. A scarily fitting one at that," She responded, her voice holding a hint of nervousness.

"Didn't we have scarier stuff out there, though? A deadly cold is still better than an ARG-esque rendition of The Walking Dead." He scoffed bitterly, shooting her a glance. Holding onto cynical humour was his only grip on sanity, the last desperate scratch at the border of being in his right mind. He was terrified deep inside, like that boy he used to be. The poor, shaken young man, covered in sewage and blood, forced to kill and hopefully not get killed. He's been running scared for so many years. It all got him want to just have it all flip backwards and let him aim the glock at his temple. He missed the cheery lad he used to be. The spring in his step, the spark in his navy eyes that restored hope in everyone's hearts is long gone.

And yet, his own heart pumped with this foolish, childish virtue.

"Leon," the woman spoke in a quieter tone, putting her hand on his shoulder. "You know you've got this. You've got it all this time. You have this resilience in you that inspires many." She tried reassuring him, patting his shoulder softly. While it was rare for her to drop her façade of stoic professionalism, she sensed it's not something worth being cold over. Like they say, a friend in need is a friend indeed.

"Yea, inspires Benford to make me a slave." He mumbled, although his expression softened at her touch.

"Thanks, Hunnigan. I... I appreciate it. We're in this together, ain't we?" He shot her a more determined look, the corners of his lips twitching up just a little bit further up. The woman nodded, a small smile making way to her face as well.

He really felt grateful for having solace in her, it seemed as they understood eachother without speaking a word. She truly was a friend to him, teaming up with him through the trenches of this rotting world.

Life couldn't be that way until the end. It has to be different someday. It has to.

***

It's been quite a bit since Hunnigan called him in, and there was no actual news. The president dialled him a few times and spoke about this as well, although he was just as confused and frantic as they all were. The ordeal sparked unsettlement in the HQ, and it soon was to spread like a sickening virus to the outside world.

Figuratively and literally.

"Agent Kennedy, I'm afraid it's going to be something we hadn't seen before, I-I need to inform you beforehand that it's a worldwide crisis..." President Benford spoke frantically, it was a bit unlike him. Leon was watching the news while on the phone with him, trying his best to focus on both.

"The countries of British Islands are currently in lockdown due to a pandemic spreading, the citizens are advised to not leave their houses without protective masks on," There it was, the thing everyone was whispering about at the DSO headquarters. It was a hush-hush topic, as no one knew for sure. Or rather, no one wanted to be sure of something like this.

"Well yes, I can definitely figure as much. The UK is already quarantined, ain't it? What about China, then? Wouldn't that make a potential mission harder to even initiate?" The man spoke up, fiddling with an empty glass in front of him. He surprisingly wasn't drinking this time around, though. He secretly hoped that the mission would've been handled differently, without his involvement. It was hard to imagine a different scenario, though. It's the sad truth - whenever there's real danger, he's gotta step in.

"No. If anything, it'll be a bit easier. Civilians will stay home, and your job will be limited to entering the Umbrella facility. You might be sent to Wuhan along a few agents that'll be chosen for the job. We won't make the team larger than maybe three units at best." The older man explained, all while Leon was rubbing his temples in annoyance.

"Sure, easier..." The blonde blurted out quietly, biting his lip. He didn't know what's been getting into him lately, something akin to a midlife crisis of some sort. While still strong and energetic, he was a wreck mentally. Like a reanimated corpse. He shuddered at the imagery, the picture hitting too close to what he's been dealing with during T-virus outbreaks.

"I will pretend i didn't hear that." The president replied in a stern voice, clearly displeased with the agent's demeanour. They were friends, but also on boss-employee terms. That came first, unfortunately.

In no time, languid days of downing whiskey and eating store bought lasagna were cut short before Leon knew it. The man was currently being transported to China with a few other agents. While they did technically form a team, he knew he'll probably have to do most of the dirty work including sneaking into the labs while they corner the scientists. His earlier apprehension and apathy was replaced with a newfound determination: he knew it's just a matter of time for a virus outbreak to come to fruition, and it's not even clear what kind of virus it really is. Nothing he's been dealing with before, yet nothing he couldn't handle. Right?

***

Wuhan, China - 01/23/2020

The blonde man's finger tapped against the barrel of his handgun nervously. It was rare for him to fidget, but something about the whole ordeal was off in general. Day of the Wacko, he thought to himself.

As him and the team were discussing details of breaking in while hiding between a field of some large containers, they came to a conclusion that the three younger agents should hide in strategic spots and eventually corner anyone who gets on Leon's tail, who's going to be responsible for investigating and essentially just sneaking around the enemy's lair. Exactly how he knew it'd go. While he was tired and annoyed, he didn't trust anyone else to do this quite like he did.

"Roost to Condor One." The slightly noisy sound of a leveled mezzo-soprano voice came from his COM, successfully cutting his pondering short.

"Condor One here, we're near the facility's rear gate. Obviously just trying to break in through the gate itself is not the way, we're trying to figure out if there's a way through the sewers, perhaps." Leon responded, keeping his voice hushed as he spoke to Hunnigan. However his attempts to stay discreet were cut short as one of the rookies shouted cheerfully that he found a sewer entrance that could directly lead to the facility. The older agent facepalmed discreetly and another young rookie chided her teammate, her tone also hushed despite the sternness.

"We've got to go there soon. Condor One out." Leon hang up, waving his hand at the rookies and trotting closer to the canalisation entrance in the ground. He wasted no time in asking the young woman for help with moving it aside, she seemed quite toned compared to the other two men they've been working with. Once they could enter, they immediately rushed inside the sewers, the last of the agents clumsily pulling the cover back on once he slipped in as well.

The way inside Umbrella's building wasn't exactly pleasant. The stench of rot and filth was unbearable, it was a real challenge to not slip on some of the disgusting, miscellaneous things on the concrete. Other agents whined under their noses, and Leon couldn't help rolling his eyes.

"When I was your age, I tumbled around worse smut." He quipped, trying to lift the mood. All he got in response were stifled chuckles, and he mentally cursed himself for his choice of words. His embarrassment was short lived once they found a ladder that could lead to the building's rear gate.

Everything else went pretty much according to plan, even Leon's silent vow to not scold the everliving shit out of his colleagues. They were clumsy, they seemed too careless. They're still kids, they've got to learn the ropes, you used to be just like them, he repeated in his mind.

While they managed to break into a cloakroom and get their hands on janitor attire, the older agent began to look for somewhere more private so he could dial Hunnigan. The whole ordeal was so vague, he didn't even know what the hell's he looking for.

"Condor One to Roost, we've successfully broke in. I'm currently trying to locate a lab, although I'm not exactly sure what I gotta look out for," He whispered while tucked away in a bathroom stall, constantly looking around for cameras. Chill out, it's illegal to monitor bathrooms... So is creating bioweapons, and yet here we are, he paled at the thought.

"From the info gathered from a spy, you should head to the third floor and look for room number 3048. That's the place suspected of having a potential new bioweapon hidden there." Hunnigan responded, catching onto his quiet voice and figuring she better be careful as well.

"Copy that. I'll go right away. Condor One out." He hang up, shoving his COM into his pocket and sighing. He carefully listened for a clue of his team's diversion starting so that he could leave and head straight to the point. The plan was to get the attention of scientists on something insignificant so that he could get to point B.

A creaky moan reverberated through the halls, and concerned voices echoed. He chuckled to himself, amused at his colleague's theatrical display. The blonde quickly snapped out of it though, double checking if he's got everything on him and beginning to head straight for the third floor.

It was surprisingly easy, all he had to do was evading a few oddly placed cameras making his way up some stairs. Looks like they're not exactly fit. Tch, the elevator's for pussies, he mused to himself. He was quiet as a mouse, reaching the third floor without even wheezing from extertion it must've taken. The hall was darker than the other ones, and just a few doors had light peeking through the cracks. The most dim, barely visible brightness was right at the spot he was just meant to find - lab 3048. Bingo.

The agent quietly sneaked closer, looking around for security cameras. To his surprise, there was only one, and it only recorded the other end of this hallway. As he walked, he stopped in his tracks right at the large, white door. Was he supposed to just barge in and get attention on himself or what? His hesistation and also his perfectly seamless approach was ruined by his COM ringing, making him hiss out a panicked curse as he quickly spoke to the device, his voice oddly high and quiet.

"Not now, Hunnigan! Not now!!" he pleaded, hearing someone behind the heavy door scrambling frantically. Before his informator even responded, the entrance was swung open by someone.

This encounter had this person fall back to his chair, slumping in it while breathing heavily as a few of the messy documents on his desk were sent flying to the floor.

"Leon, what are you doing here?!" the person shouted, his eyes blown wide.

The agent stood there, not even reaching for his gun with how shocked he was. However, his stunned expression quickly gave way to fury as he stormed to grab the man by his shoulder, pinning him harshly to the desk's corner as he grabbed his firearm and pointed it at his head. The man hissed, his brows furrowing, even though he only flailed a bit to try and squirm away.

"Luis, what the fuck?! Was that whole ordeal staged? Are you still working with that mad woman?! You bad fucking liar, how could you do this," he rasped, his ocean blue eyes piercing into the Spaniard's brown ones in utter rage. His grip on his shoulder never lessened, mercy barely holding onto him by a thread.

Luis Serra Navarro. There he was. Not blown up somewhere in the Valdelobos mine, being remember by Leon as a remarkable example of self fueled redemption and determination. There he was, putting utmost care to working for the very company that ruined many lives, ruined Leon's life, crawling back to eat from their hands like a pathetic bitch. Yes, that's what he is, a bastard mutt that betrayed him.

And yet, a twinge of something bright tugged at his heartstrings. He's alive and well. Right in his arms, just inches between them. This childish hope alongside a whirl of questions flied around his head like a bunch of wild bats, the more regretful and frustrated ones mixed with the more... exciting ones, in a way. Did he miss him? What was he up to? Has he thought about him? How did he stay so sweet?

"Amigo, let me explain-" Luis wheezed out the plea, his expression full of remorse. He yelped quietly, his eyes squeezed shut when Leon only snarled in response.

"I am NOT your amigo. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Is that some sick joke? Was the cash worth more than your honour?" he mocked him sternly, gripping his shoulders until his knuckles were white. Deep inside, he was terrified and basically screaming at himself to drop the gun. He didn't want to shoot, not at him. Betrayed or not, it's still Luis. Very real and very much still himself. His soft brown locks pulled into a tiny bun at the back, the perfectly sunkissed skin, his stubble grown just a little more than usual. Just like he remembered.

"Mi vida, please! I-" the scientist coughed, shaking. He looked like a wet dog, to put it lightly. His state was worrying. The eye bags he normally had were way deeper and darker in hue. His hair was messy and a bit oily. His normally syrupy lips were chapped. Did he really remember them as syrupy? God damn it, but they never kissed. Why was he even thinking like that?!

Sighing, he lowered the gun and slightly lessened the grip on Luis' arm. He nodded at him, although he was moments from snapping again.

"Back in the mines, it was a terrible deal with me. Ada-"

"Of course it's Ada. Is it all her bribery? Don't you have your own mind, your own view?" Leon cut him off with something akin to resentment and sadness in his voice, scowling as he shook the handgun menacingly.

"Sancho, Sancho... don't think about it like that. She paid good money for saving my life. They restored most bodily functions, although my nervous system is still quite, uh, jodido." The Spaniard offered a bashful grin at the last part, hoping to light up the mood. However his next admissions weren't so cheery.

"I'm gonna be straight with you. It was either getting back to working for those bastards, or death and no chance of ever starting over." Luis deadpanned, his head hanging low. He looked ashamed and miserable, his defeated expression making him almost unrecognisable.

Leon's hand trembled as he lowered his weapon down to his waist, then hooked it in its place and came up to engulf his long lost friend in an embrace, earning a loud squeak from him.

"Ay, ay! Careful...!" The brunette whined, a bit surprised, although in a pleasant way. He quickly melted into the clumsy hug, patting his back.

"I'll get you out of here. You'll see." Leon spoke in a hushed tone, repeating reassuring words to his long lost friend, lost love perhaps. He never believed in feelings developing so quickly, yet everything they did together only ensured him that they've got to stick together.

"But-"

"No buts, Luis. Listen, you're better than this. You know you are," Leon whispered against his neck, pressing his cheek against his. He hoped it wasn't too... obvious. It'd be weird if he swung that way. Or if himself did as well. Doesn't he sway there already?...

The Spaniard shuddered, his head spinning. He was truly touched, his hand slowly trailing down to hold the agent by the waist.

"Listen, we can cooperate. I will tell you everything about the project, as I'm sure you're there for our little... cold." He began speaking, his lip all bitten from unease. He was grateful to run into his old mate again, yet the circumstances only reminded him of the time when he was still a fishy creep to Leon.

Leon loosened, pulling away with a confused expression before realisation downed on him, his jaw agape.

"So you're responsible for the COVID-19 outbreak...?"

"No, well, yes, but not quite," The man fumbled, with the hem of his labcoat, looking away.

"I was forced into the project under the threat of my past being exposed to the general public. I wouldn't hired in any other lab. I would probably be turned in for cooperating with terrorists. I didn't want to rot in Alcatraz or some other hellhole, but being cowardly isn't so great either..." He rasped, his voice full of remorse.

The blonde man looked down to his friend's gloved hands, the sterile scent of the lab mingling with his spicy, tangy perfume made him dizzy. In an oddly pleasant way at that. He scoffed quietly, raising the man to his feet.

"Listen, I have a plan. I'll pretend to capture you and deliver you to the US. Then I will convince the president to make you work for the S.T.A.R.S. researcher team."

"So I'll technically be held hostage, is that it...?" Luis sneaked in an uncertain giggle, shooting Leon a worried smile.

"No, dumbass. It's not a bad fate, trust me. I can absolutely get you out of legal consequences. My connections better be useful for once," Leon huffed, giving him a pat on the shoulder. He was determined to save his friend, score in the eyes of Benford, and maybe even...

He bit his lip, turning his head aside stubbornly and grabbing handcuffs from his belt. Luis shot him an alarmed look, but Leon only gave a nod in return and gestured him to stay still.

"Just let me do this. And dramaturgy will be much appreciated," He quipped, coming closer to restrain the brunette man, his hands behind his back now. He let out an indignant huff, shooting him a playful glance.

"Now that's one way to shortcut a date, Sancho."

Leon spluttered, giving him a smack to the hip.

"What- nevermind, let's just go. Pretend you're resisting," he murmured, grabbing Luis' wrists and dragging him to the exit, he also had his pistol ready to open fire, his focused and stern expression back in its full glory.

"Ah-a, there he is. Leon The Professional." Luis chuckled, winking smugly. All he got was a scoff in return, his wrists getting yanked harder.

"Just shut up. I wanna kidnap you properly," he muttered, squeezing the scientist's hands together.

"So much for a compliment..." Luis complained, pouting like a child.

***

The next few hours were a whirlwind of shooting up the damn place, successfully taking out quite a few guards and securing the SARS-COV-2 sample for further information. The other units cheered, shooting mockery at Luis every now and then. The Spaniard clenched his teeth, sitting through the constant jabs to his ego. Leon wasn't exactly pleased either, wishing he could just hold him instead of keeping a hawk's eye on the cuffed man. Hold him? What the fuck? He shook his head, unaware of the fact that a certain brown-eyed Hispanic 'hostage' was returning his concerned, fond gaze.

***

"Kennedy, what were you thinking? Bringing an enemy to the White House, is this some kind of joke?" president Adam Benford lamented, constantly pacing his office as Leon stood there awkwardly, holding his friend by the cuffs firmly yet gently.

"He could be a valuable asset, look at it like that," he began to nervously defend his plea for hiring Luis as the US government's bioweapon researcher, although the words he uttered burned. He didn't like referring to him as an 'asset', not even one bit. It gnawed at him to refer to his be- his friend in such a condescending way.

"Sure, because he knows all about it firsthand." Benford pointed out bitterly, glaring at the sheepish Spaniard before him. His head was hanging low, deep breaths escaping him.

"I... Mister President, I truly want to help. I was blackmailed, and I wish to-"

"Death is a better fate than rotting away in Umbrella HQ!" Benford deadpanned, the following silence hanging so heavy it could fill a deaf person with dread. Luis flinched, his head turning to the side as if he's been slapped.

Leon's brows furrowed, his grip on Luis' hands lessening just a bit. No, he isn't having it.

"You're not wrong, yet you must understand that Doctor Serra isn't a bad man. He was a great comrade back in Valdelobos, and..." He retorted defiantly, not relenting. He was dead set on freeing his friend at all costs.

"He betrayed you, Agent Kennedy. It's not what a good person would be up to." the president spoke with a desperate tinge to his tone, doing his best to just lead his best unit away from such a reckless idea.

"There's something you don't know, though. I was there when COVID-19 was created. It's not as complicated to me, I... I could figure out a vaccine," Luis spoke up at last, his voice scratchy from the scarce use of it for the past ten hours or so.

"In the eyes of a global pandemic and so many casualties so far, you're just now thinking about taking action? Is it remorse, or just a bastardly calculation to save your skin?" the president was seething, his words coming out as a low growl through clenched teeth.

"Adam, come on!" Leon begged, resorting to a first name basis with the representative figure of the United States himself. They are on good terms, sure, yet he's still a higher-up. Not only to him, hell, to everyone.

Benford sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It wasn't going to be a quick chat, that's for sure.

***

After long debates, weeks of house arrest and special force surveillance on Luis, a decision has been made. He's been assigned to cooperate with doctor Rebecca Chambers, a skilled genius among the S.T.A.R.S. scientists. Beat up, neglected in terms of health, with his old stab wound still restricting his movement somewhat, Leon made it his mini mission to nurse the Spaniard back to health. Well, he had nowhere to go, and he was assigned to look over him, keeping it in his apartment was the wisest choice...

Luis Serra Navarro was a free man who started a new life. Proud of himself and yet still guilty of contributing to the worldwide crisis, he worked like a busy bee to create an optimal kind of vaccine. Doted on and looked after by his amigo, he couldn't help but feel warm inside at the mere though of him. The blonde man's hair was already darkening as he aged, his bushy brows were always furrowed, yet he looked somewhat boyish still. Angelic, if he was allowed to think that. His Italian heritage came as a great surprise to the Spaniard, resulting in light-hearted teasing and playful quips in broken Italian. Luis' jokes sometimes brushed against the thin line between banter and flirting, and while the subject of them was pretty clueless, he did get that weird flutter sometimes.

***

Sitting with his legs crossed by the large window, Luis stared down at the dusky sky, sun setting behind many buildings of Washington DC. He sipped tea, unwinding after a long 24 hour shift of relentless work over the coronavirus shot. Leon was in the middle of cooking up a decent carbonara. His hispanic roommate often scolded for not knowing his way around the kitchen, saying how it's disgraceful for an Italian to suck so bad he could burn water in a kettle. While not letting it show much, the agent's ego was deeply wounded. He was dead set on proving he could replicate the hearty meals from his childhood. Whew, his childhood... Rough and cold, being tossed around and shoved aside as he was born into the Kennedy mafia, confessing it all to Luis was quite the hard candy, to put it lightly.

After twenty minutes of quiet noises reverberating through the small apartment, Leon was slowly stepping closer to his friend's side. Shaking his head, he forced himself to sit on the floor as well. He hated being 'improper' or however he put it, but his beloved's habits felt like the law.

Speaking of which, his eyes lit up at the sight of toasty food and his... saviour, so to speak. He hummed in approval when he sat by his side, nodding and whispering softly.

"Muchas gracias, mi estrella. It smells scrumptious." He smiled fondly, grabbing a fork and taking a bite of fresh carbonara. His eyes widened, and he hummed while shoveling a few more forkfuls of food, much to Leon's amusement.

"Did I improve that much?" he asked in a teasing tone, eating his portion more slowly.

"It's delish, Sancho. You've come a long way, I'm proud of you." Luis sighed in contentment, practically inhaling the food.

His words made Leon's heart stir, a bit of hesistation giving way to a shoot of confidence. He didn't know what got into him all of a sudden. He set his plate on the floor next to them, earning a puzzled hum from the Spaniard. The small noise morphed into a soft yelp when Leon leaned in closer, his forehead pressing against Luis' with his eyes half lidded. They stared deeply into his hazel ones, a low purr escaping him.

"So did you, Don Quixote. I'm proud of you as well," he whispered, his nose brushing against his. The blonde's freshly shaved beard contrasted with the brunette's scruffy stubble, making for a nice completion. Like polar opposites, they gravitated towards eachother. Leon's cold navy eyes were full of this spark that everyone thought was dead and gone.

"Dios mio..." Luis whispered, enamoured and captivated with the sight before him. He took in every small scar, every mole and birthmark, everything about the Adonis' offspring before him.

Leon's hand cupped his face, and he planted a tiny peck on the tip of his nose. It was barely there, yet it held more than just a pleasant gesture. It meant closure. It meant tenderness. It meant something that they both didn't dare to say out loud.

***

Leon was never exactly up for forming a family. He's quite good with kids, also he adores and loves women, sure. Both him and Luis have a reputation of being cheeky and flirty all the time. And yet, this feline magnetism in both of them didn't clash, it merged. With Leon's tenderness that mixed with smugness and Luis' carnal and candid demeanour, they completed eachother. And that's what made it a match made in hell we call our planet.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

[darkenedroses-world]

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.”

[sevasey51]

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

[dreaming-of-mossballs]

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.

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