#Mild Hurt/Comfort

[fanged-fanfics]

OMGOMGOMG I HAVE A N IDEA BASED OFF OF THE DAD PV FICS

okay so lets say little yn was like scared and traumatized because they witnessed everything that happened to PV during beastyeast chapters 7-8 and when truthless recluse becomes awakened PV, they have a reuniting moment and he comforts them?

☆ Hush Now, Little One — Dad!Pure Vanilla and Reader Fic ☆

Genre: Fluff, Familial || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

You looked up at a shining figure, pale gold filling your vision. It had been what felt like far too long before you'd seen your dad looking like this. Like himself again. He stood smiling above you, looking down with eyes that finally had their gentleness back. "...Papa?" You asked hesitantly. When he was under Shadow Milk's control, he barely reacted to your voice, especially when you called out to him. But now, you saw him slowly reach down to sit on his knees, closer to your size.

"I'm here, little sunflower" Pure Vanilla said. His staff was set aside as he spoke, voice almost a gentle whisper "Your papa is right here". "You- know me, right?" You asked "you know who I am?". "Of course I do!" Pure Vanilla grinned "How could I forget you? You're the light of my souljam". You tried to act strong, but your facade crumbled at hearing him call you that again. Your bottom lip trembled as you messily ran forwards. Pure Vanilla kept his arms open wide, leaning forward a little to catch you as you collapsed into him. He wrapped you in his big sleeves, and you found yourself cradled into his chest.

"Papa.." You sniffled, looking up at him. His expression was one of affection with a hint of concern, and he leaned down to kiss the top of your head. "Oh, my little one, it's alright" he murmured into your hair "You see? Papa's all better now. I'll never be that scary papa again". You nuzzled into him, wiping your eyes on his shirt with a small whimper. You curled into him more, scooting as close as you could to his embrace. It felt like months since you'd last had him comfort you like this.

"My poor bluebird, I'm so sorry" Pure Vanilla hummed "I'll never harm you, I swear my own dough on it. You're safe, little one". You wiped the tears from your eyes, smiling up at him "I missed you". "I missed you more" Pure Vanilla said, "More than anything". You noticed something out the corner of your gaze, seeing a sheep slowly approaching. Pure Vanilla smiled, extending his hand for it to sniff. Once recognizing him, the sheep bleated happily while curling into his lap. You giggled while snuggling into the soft wool beside you.

Pure Vanilla let a bluebird land on his hand, showing it to you while it hopped on your head. You finally felt much better, seeing that even the animals knew your dad was back. "Papa," You began, and Pure Vanilla gave an acknowledging 'hm?'. "Can we have some tart jampie when we get home? You always make it the best" you asked. "Of course, we can have all the jampie you want" Pure Vanilla said, chuckling when seeing your eyes light up "Really?!". "I think it's the least I can do" Pure Vanilla nodded, scooping you into a standing position with you cradled in his arms "Come, my little one. We can finally go home".

[aventurineswife]

Hello Rin! (⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)

This request could be a sequel to my angel-themed Reader requests, or it could be separate from the timeline.

Basically, Reader had a child with (Aventurine, Sampo, Childe, and Kaeya), a little baby only 2 years old, who is identical to his parents except for having little wings behind his ears and on his lower back (similar to a Halovian), named Isis.

Then, one night, they were spending time as a family watching a movie that had become famous. Isis, slightly bored, looks at her Renny and then at her dad, noticing that unlike her Renny, her dad doesn't have wings below his ears like Renny does. Turning to see her dad, who was carrying him at the time, she does something completely unexpected: she grabs her father's locks and starts pulling them, while mumbling something. Reader notices the babbling and turns to look at the scene, seeing that her little Isis is pulling her father's hair. Sighing, she gently removes her fingers from her partner's hair and places Isis on her lap, watching as she babbles and reaches up to reach for her wings. Reader lets out a low murmur as she strokes Isis's hair.

"Hmph, don't you like not looking like both of us? You prefer that we both look alike in some way? So, you don't love your father the way he is?"

Isis remains silent and then stares at her father for a few long minutes until she begins to cry and ask to be held, hugging him when she does. "What question can you ask me? And I will answer it."

—–· ☀️🌻 ⟩ anon.

Love Is Not Always Mirror-Shaped

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Childe x Reader, Kaeya x Reader, Family Fluff, Soft Domestic Moments, Emotional Vulnerability, Comfort, Protective Fathers (?), Angelic/Divine Themes, Found Family, Angst with Comfort, Gentle Parenting, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Trauma Healing Themes.

Warnings: Mentions of Past Trauma (?), Emotional Themes (survivor’s guilt, fear of rejection, parenthood anxiety), Mild Child Distress (child crying or becoming upset—handled gently and resolved with comfort), Telepathic/emotional influence elements (from Halovian traits—used gently and consensually) (?).

The light bathed the room in gentle hues of gold, reflecting off Aventurine’s gilded accessories and the roulette pattern on his back. He lounged across the plush couch, legs crossed, arms relaxed as he cradled your two-year-old in his lap. The film—some overly-dramatic dramedy—flickered with exaggerated emotional scenes, which your child clearly found unimpressive.

Their little fingers, twitching with angelic curiosity, reached for his tousled blond locks, tugging with a strength that made Aventurine flinch.

“Hah—little gambler’s got a grip,” he chuckled, although the twitch in his eye suggested he wasn't amused.

You glanced over, setting aside your drink. “They’ve been staring at your ears for a while. I think they noticed something.”

Aventurine glanced down just as your child’s soft wings fluttered behind their ears, and a soft babble escaped them—telepathic energy laced with a whimper. You reached over, gently uncurling their fingers from his hair and setting them on your lap.

“Hmph,” you murmured, stroking their head. “Don’t you like not looking like both of us? You prefer that we both look alike in some way? So… you don’t love your father the way he is?”

The child didn’t answer. Instead, they stared at Aventurine—unblinking, searching. For once, his smile faltered. The facade slipped just enough to show a fracture beneath the surface.

Then, the child’s bottom lip wobbled, and tears welled in their eyes.

“Ah—hey now, no tears, love,” Aventurine murmured, startled. He scooped them up again, holding them to his chest, close enough that their tiny wings brushed the fur lining of his coat.

They clung to him, silent sobs muffled by his shirt.

“…What question can you ask me?” they whispered, in a barely audible hum. “And I will answer it.”

Aventurine froze. His eyes flicked to you for a heartbeat, and then softened.

“Only one?” he murmured. “Then tell me, little one—what does a man gamble when he already has everything?”

You looked at him, puzzled.

He answered his own question, voice quiet.

“His heart.”

Sampo had sprawled on the carpet, letting the two of you take the couch as he played the clown. The child had been giggling—until the movie dragged on into sappy territory. You saw their face twist in quiet boredom. Then their tiny eyes—locked onto him.

In a blink, your child toddled over and climbed onto Sampo’s back. He let out an exaggerated “Oof!” and laughed—until their small hands grabbed a fistful of his hair.

“Ow—whoa, whoa, mini-me, the goods are fragile!”

You snorted as he turned his head just enough to shoot you a mock-hurt look.

“I think they noticed you don’t have wings like me,” you said, gently tugging the child back. “Or them.”

The child’s babble echoed with a small emotional pulse—angelic telepathy, clumsy but clear in its meaning: something’s missing.

You rested them on your lap, smoothing the feathers behind their ears.

“Hmph. Don’t you like not looking like both of us? You prefer that we both look alike in some way? So… you don’t love your father the way he is?”

The child didn’t say anything. Then their lip trembled, and they turned to Sampo again, arms raised.

“Oh no, I’ve made the cherub cry,” he muttered, quickly picking them up. The moment he held them close, they clung to him, their face buried in his shoulder.

He gave you a sheepish look. “I think I’ve just been promoted… to emotionally essential.”

Then the child whispered, “What question can you ask me? And I will answer it.”

Sampo blinked, cradling them closer.

“Well then, sugarplum, tell me this—what’s the value of something you can't sell or trade?”

You tilted your head. “Hm?”

Sampo smiled, real for once.

“…That’s how I know it’s mine.”

The fire crackled low as Childe sat on the floor, your child curled up in his lap, their tiny fingers brushing the line of scars across his arm. He was telling some half-true story about a fight with a ruin beast when the child suddenly pulled at his hair.

“Hey!” he laughed, adjusting his grip. “Easy there, little warrior.”

You leaned over from the couch, taking the child gently. “They noticed something,” you murmured. “You don’t have wings behind your ears like us.”

Childe blinked, glancing between the two of you, his smile faltering.

You nestled the child against your chest and murmured, “Hmph. Don’t you like not looking like both of us? You prefer that we both look alike in some way? So… you don’t love your father the way he is?”

The child was quiet. And then they began to cry—soft, hiccuping sobs as they reached for him.

Childe scooped them up immediately, holding them close.

“Shh, no tears. Papa’s right here.”

They clung to him, and whispered, “What question can you ask me? And I will answer it.”

Childe, touched and confused, smiled softly.

“Then tell me, little one… would you still love me if I couldn’t protect you?”

There was no verbal answer, just a stronger grip and a pulse of warmth in the air—Halovian telepathy affirming the unshakable.

You smiled. “Guess that’s a yes.”

Moonlight filtered through the windows as the three of you lay tangled together in a nest of blankets. Kaeya cradled your child against his chest, his single visible eye half-lidded, the other hidden behind his hair. The movie flickered on, forgotten.

The child’s gaze flicked between your wings and Kaeya’s ear. Then came the inevitable tug.

“Ah,” Kaeya chuckled, “so cruelly betrayed by my own hair.”

You rolled over, gently taking the child and nestling them in your lap.

“They’ve noticed the difference,” you murmured. “They’re wondering why you don’t look like them.”

Kaeya tilted his head, watching you stroke the child’s feathers.

“Hmph,” you said, “Don’t you like not looking like both of us? You prefer that we both look alike in some way? So… you don’t love your father the way he is?”

The child stilled. Then their little body trembled, and they cried, reaching back to Kaeya.

He caught them with a soft “Hey now,” and pulled them close. His voice was low as he held them tight.

“You’re allowed to wonder, little dove,” he murmured, resting his cheek on their soft hair. “But I hope you’ll always remember—family isn’t made by matching feathers.”

Then the child whispered, “What question can you ask me? And I will answer it.”

Kaeya paused.

“…Then tell me, would you forgive me if I ever disappeared?”

Silence.

Then, a warm little hand pressed against his chest—and their voice in his mind, angelic and true:

“Only if you come back.”

[luwritesstuff]

Hi! An eddie diaz x reader request for you. Reader has painful periods and eddie is there to comfort and take care of her, being really attentive. Thanks!

hope this has all of the comfort you were hoping for 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

to love you on my worst days

Eddie Diaz x reader

wc: 943

notes: mentions of periods/period pain, afab!reader, mild hurt/lots of comfort, no use of y/n

Being in a relationship as a first responder was not an easy task, but a relationship with two first responders was a beast of its own. Add a kid into the mix and your time together was rare. But your relationship with Eddie was worth it. Eddie was worth the 15-minute lunch dates and middle of the night catch ups. And once every two weeks, you both had exactly one day off together that lined up.

It was becoming a ritual at that point, spending that day together. It was hard to adjust to, only having one day to really savor your time together. But you and Eddie made it work, you learned to savor the small moments too. When Eddie left you notes between your shifts and you left Eddie leftovers for when he got home.

Your aligning off day took forever to get there; an atrocious week seemed to make the time drag on. So by the time that Wednesday came around, you needed Eddie like you needed air. You needed to wrap yourself around him and never let go. And naturally, as your luck would have it, your period started that Tuesday.

You knew it wouldn't ruin your time together. Eddie wasn't a child and rationally, you knew that you'd still enjoy your time together. But you weren't thinking rationally. Your hormones were fucked and your body was aching. Between an intense work week and your uterus contracting, you couldn't think reasonably and you couldn't hide your discomfort. So when Eddie came home, kissed your cheek and asked you what you wanted for dinner, you broke down.

Eddie’s instincts kicked in and he immediately thought the worst, which you really couldn't blame him for with how hard your sobs were wracking your body. “Baby, hey. Shh, what happened? Who got hurt?” He asked and dropped his bag in favor of pulling you into a bone-crushing hug.

You silently thanked Eddie’s patience because you weren't in any rush to answer him, too busy shoving your face into his shirt and gripping it tightly in your hands. He rubbed your back dutifully, quietly shh’ing you every few moments. After probably too long, you were able to loosen your death grip on him and explain that no one was dead or dying, you were just being a baby about your period.

“Hey, you're not being a baby. You're in pain, honey,” he frowned and used his thumb to wipe up your remaining tears, “Why don't I run you a bath, hm? That usually helps a little bit, right?” He asked and you nodded pathetically. You didn't realize how much you needed him speaking reasonably until he was in front of you.

You were suddenly overwhelmed with relief and love that he was home and it brought another small wave of tears. “I just wanted to have a good day with you today and I'm so tired and I just,” you let out a defeated sigh and sagged against Eddie’s chest.

In the end, you didn't need to finish your sentence because there Eddie was, holding you together and bringing you to sit on the edge of the bath. “I'm sorry you're hurting, cariño. I know it's not what you planned, but we still have the whole day together,” he reminded you, carefully undressing you as he spoke. After pouring some of your bubble bath in and making sure it was hot enough, Eddie helped you into the bath and peppered you with kisses in the process.

You held on to his hand when he stood up to leave and he gave it a squeeze, “I'll be back, it's okay. I'm just gonna go change really quick and get you a drink, okay? Ten minutes, I promise.” Reluctantly, you agreed and settled until just your head was poking out of the bubbles.

Eight minutes later, Eddie was back with your pajamas ready on the counter and a warm drink that he slid into your hands along with painkillers. “Thank you,” you breathed out and reached out to hold his hand, “God, this week has just been insane and I thought I had another couple days before I started. How was your shift? Tell me about your day,” you requested, just wanting to hear Eddie’s voice and distract yourself from the pain. Eddie told you about his best and worst calls of the day and brushed his fingers through your hair as he spoke.

Once the water ran cold, Eddie was there to dress you in your pajamas and refill your hot chocolate. After taking you back to bed, he rubbed your back while you laid on a heating pad on your stomach. “A little better?” He asked, kissing your shoulder. You nodded and rolled over to bring him into a real kiss.

“I love you,” you whispered and tugged at him until he gave in and let his weight rest over you. With the heating pad now on your back and Eddie’s weight a comfortable pressure on you, you felt calmer than you had since two weeks ago since your last day off together.

“I love you too, amor. Take a nap, we can order takeout later and that movie you've been wanting to watch came out on Netflix,” Eddie spoke softly and waited until you dozed off to remove his weight and turn the heating pad off. You woke up pressed to his chest, feeling his light snores rumble through him. The two of you spent another half of the day in bed and the other half on the couch, with all of the love and affection you could ask for in between

[leighsartworks216]

The Sound of Being Loved

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Possibly OOC. I'm posting this at like 12am and I am so tired sleepy but I needed to finish this Or Else

Warnings: some hurt/comfort, talk about The Scar™️

Word Count: 737

Masterlist

AO3

Astarion let out a stiff breath as your fingers brushed over the scar. The poem. The sigil. Whatever it was Cazador'd carved into his back.

You'd asked him about it before. He'd answer curtly and bitterly - as he’d always done when his master was the subject of conversation. But that was so long ago now. At least, it felt quite long ago. He couldn't really be sure. All he knew was things were finally dying down and becoming normal. As normal as things could be, anyway. And you couldn't stop yourself from asking again.

That's how you ended up straddling his thighs as he laid chest-down on the bed.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," you reminded him softly. You kept repeating the phrase when he tensed beneath your fingers, or got that quiet, distant aura about him.

He hummed, turning his head to peek over his shoulder at you. He offered the most reassuring smile he could muster. "Go on," he encouraged. "He's dead - it doesn't matter anymore."

You tilted your head. Sharp eyes studied him, searching for any hint of a lie. He sighed quietly as your hand massaged the back of his neck. "But it still happened," you said, "you still hate it."

He smirked, but his quiet voice gave away the false confidence. "You know me too well, darling."

"Yes," you leaned down to kiss his cheek, "I do." He turned his head slightly more to catch your lips for a momentary kiss. Your lips hovered over his, eyes boring into his soul, searching. "I can stop."

"No. Please. I... I want you to know every part of me. I trust you."

You kissed him once more, languid and sweet, before sitting back up. He closed his eyes and tried to relax under your fingers. They danced across his back, tracing each line in their circular pattern. One hand slid to his waist to thumb circles into his side. He wondered why for a moment. Surely it would be easier to feel each infernal letter with both hands? Then he realized: it was a distraction. You were giving him something to focus on while you studied his back. His undead heart stuttered in his chest.

“I could translate it,” you whisper. It’s a gentle offer. “If you wanted to know what it says.”

Cazador is dead, he reminds himself. Whatever the bastard carved into his skin, it shouldn’t hold so much power over him anymore. But the thought of knowing exactly what was written there… His lips pursed.

You pressed a kiss to his spine, in between the circles of text. He lets out a breath. “No. Let it die with him.”

You’re quiet as you go back to tracing. He wonders if you’re translating it in your mind. He… doesn’t mind the thought - not as much as he thought he would. He trusts you, enough to know you would take the words to your grave. They would never be used against him, held over him as leverage. They’d just sit in a corner of your mind and collect dust, until their meaning is lost forever. He doesn’t mind that at all.

Once you’ve felt all of the letters, your hand traces the circles themselves. Starting right at the center, you go out ring by ring. Where scarred lines branch off, you ghost your touch up and down the ridges. There are several at the bottom of the scar. It almost looks like dripping wax, sealed into his skin forever. Imagining what it was like hurts too much.

He peeks over his shoulder again as he feels your hands, full, flat-palmed on his skin, sliding over his sides. You lay on top of him, sliding your arms around him, squished between his stomach and the bed. You’re so warm. Your head rests between his shoulder blades, breaths sliding across his back and shoulders like a warm summer breeze. His body fully relaxed into the affection. All tension faded away, and he allowed his eyes to close in the comfort.

“I love you,” you hum near his ear. “My beautiful star.”

Astarion smiles. “I love you, too. My dearest blood donor.” He relishes in the way you laugh against him, full and bright and free. And he hopes, when he’s lived for centuries more, and loses the spark of life in his eye, he remembers exactly how it sounds to be loved.

[steviewashere]

If Found, Return to Me

Rating: General CW: Implied Sex (Mild), Mild Panic Attacks Tags: Post Canon, Post Season 4, Established Relationship, Humor and Hijinks, Eddie Munson is a Little Shit, Steve Harrington is a Little Shit, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Panic Attacks, Dork Eddie Munson, Dork Steve Harrington, 3+1

Okay, the idea was going to be a 5+1, but I couldn't get past three ideas without feeling the crawl of burn-out, so I lowered it to three. But this is based on This Post from @apomaro-mellow

👕—————👕 1. He grips the hem of his shirt and tugs. Chin tucked into his neck so that he can read the text, which is bold and black and dark on the white background. ‘If found, return to Steve.’ Eddie groans. “Do we seriously have to wear these?” He whines.

Steve stands in front of him. Hands on his hips. One foot cocked. “Yes, Eddie,” he answers emphatically. Even a little annoyed. Which, sue Eddie for having to ask over and over, but it’s sort of embarrassing. Especially when his boyfriend is wearing a similar shirt that just reads: ‘I’m Steve’. Makes Eddie look sort of childish, if you were to ask him. “If I’m taking you out of town, to a place I’ve never been before for a convention—something I’d probably never even go to—you absolutely have to wear that shirt. Knowing you, you’ll see some action figure stand and I’ll be abandoned by the comic books.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Or, y’know, we can just link arms and walk around the convention center?” Steve only widens his eyes and raises an eyebrow. He groans again. “Okay, fine! We’ll wear these stupid t-shirts.” His head tilts back, eyes to the ceiling of their hotel. Huffs through his nose. “I don’t even know how you got these,” he grumbles, “I’d rather not know.”

Sure, Eddie’s prone to running off. He gets excited, okay? Especially when it’s something he knows a lot about, or something he’s been hunting down for literal years, or if it’s a thing he can surprise the people around him with. Thinking of the last time he wandered off and Steve had to practically scruff him, it’d been while he was purchasing a dice set for Dustin’s birthday. So maybe Steve has a point. And maybe it’s sort of a genius idea. Eddie just wants to be stubborn about this, it’d save him the humiliation.

Except, he’s still wearing the shirt (Steve in his matching one) when they finally get through the doors of the convention center. There’s people in costumes all around them: Spock and Kirk, Marty McFly, Indiana Jones, Predator, and a few kids with their dads all dressed like those ponies that Erica likes. Something in Eddie trills. And he’s already a few steps ahead of Steve before he knows it. Steve trails behind him, wonder and awe shining in his own eyes, trying to keep up with Eddie’s frantic nature.

But then they’re not even close to each other. They buy lunch a couple hours in. Steve gets a large lemonade and downs it like he’s never had something to drink before. And then Eddie’s being told, “Please wait here by the bathrooms. Don’t go do anything stupid.”

He’s leaning against the wall that reads: ‘Restrooms’. Arms intertwined over his chest. Legs crossed on one another. In the distance, his eyes lock onto a Dungeons & Dragons booth. There’s tall shelves stocked with every mini figure he could ever pray for. A few long tables that showcase various maps, dungeon master screens, and little trays for dice. However, there’s an odd rack in the booth. A hat stand. And on it, he spots the perfect thing for Steve. It’s probably expensive, Eddie debates with himself, but it’s Indiana Jones’ hat. His feet are moving before he registers the people walking past him.

And then he’s there. Holding a classic fedora hat between his hands. Turning it around in his hold. Thumbing at the material; marveling at how smooth and buttery soft the fabric is. He spots the price tag, ‘$8.00’. It’s not a terrible price. Isn’t damaged in any way. So he keeps it in his left hand, grabs a paladin mini figure in his right, and purchases both items. Bag in hand, he moves to leave the booth, but is stopped by a gentle hand tapping on his right shoulder.

He turns and is met with a girl. She’s level with his chest, eyes wide and calculating, hand retreating back to her side. “Hi—um—you don’t know me at all, but I found somebody named Steve looking for you,” she states, “I saw your shirt and figured you were the guy he was talking about.”

Eddie slumps. A part of him can’t believe the stupid shirt even worked. “Yeah, it’s probably me that he’s looking for,” he sighs. “Take me to him.”

She’s hard to follow in the crowd of people. Shorter than most and extremely quick. But she links his arm with hers and practically drags him back towards the bathrooms. And there he is, Steve Harrington with his hands on his hips, a furrow to his brow, mouth thin-lined. “Eddie,” Steve greets. He smiles, though it’s not all that sweet, but kind enough for this stranger that had to shepherd Eddie. The girl leaves them. And Steve steps closer to Eddie, crosses his arms over his chest, and then has the gall to snort. He raises a hand and plucks at Eddie’s t-shirt, directly on the word: ‘Found’. “Looks like my stupid t-shirt worked,” he snarks. The sass to this guy is unbelievable.

“Yeah, har har, laugh it up,” Eddie says dryly. “Maybe you don’t want the little gift I got for you.”

Steve perks up. Eyes glowing with curiosity. “What’d you get?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and smirks. Digs into his bag and flaunts the hat. “Saw it at a D&D booth, surprisingly. Probably would’ve been something we walked by, had I not…wandered.” He steps a little closer into Steve’s space, sets the hat on top of his head, and nods in approval. “Think that this purchase was a success. You look dashing, Mr. Jones.”

In a flurry of movement, Steve snatches the hat from off the top of his head. Gaping at it. “Eds,” he breathes, “this is so fucking cool.” He places it back where it was, pulling it tight to his hairline, and grins brightly. “Thank you, but also please don’t leave me alone here,” he says, “I got worried.”

“Sorry,” Eddie murmurs sheepishly. “Just thought about how excited you’d be about the hat and couldn’t resist. Won’t happen again, promise.”

Steve chuckles. “I know it will, but that’s what the stupid shirts are for. Anyway…Can we go look at the Lego set-up that we passed by in hall E? I think I saw a spaceship and—“

“Lead the way, Indy.” He might have to buy his own shirts with how Steve bounds away from him.

——— 2. “If…Lost?!” Eddie exclaims. “Steve, what the fuck? Why—How—Where the hell are you getting these t-shirts?” He asks. They’re at Steve’s house, getting ready for a day trip in Chicago. And, sure, Eddie’s never been in his life. Doesn’t know the streets of Chicago like the back of his hand. Maybe Steve does know more about where they’re going, but that doesn’t change just how ridiculous this shirt is. How it glares at him in the bathroom mirror.

Steve sidles up next to him. His t-shirt the same as the one from the convention. He wraps an arm around Eddie’s waist. Rests his head on his shoulder. “I have my ways,” he states ominously. “And, again, I know you. Your sense of direction is practically non-existent. You can’t deny that, baby. The only reason you found Skull Rock is because you stumbled upon it.”

“I was on the run, couldn’t exactly look at a map,” he grumbles. “But do we have to—“

“Yes,” Steve sighs. “Now, can you come out to the car with me? I’m ready to go.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but does as he’s asked. Sits in the passenger seat. Shuffles through the radio stations. Teases Steve for his taste in tapes. But then they’re parking, getting out, walking around the city.

He follows Steve…for a while. Into a record shop. In the back of a diner, playing footsie under the table. Then he goes down a side street. Following a guy in a white t-shirt, hair high on his head, Adidas sneakers on his feet. However, the guy turns slightly. And…that’s not Steve. Eddie’s not sure how long he’s been following this stranger, or when he started, or from where he started from. Tries to rake through his brain to the last time he heard Steve talk about the street they were originally on, but there’s nothing. The words and names escape him.

He’s stranded in a city he’s never been to. Down a street he should’ve never come across. Wearing the most humiliating t-shirt known to mankind. Somewhere, again he’s not sure, behind him Steve is probably standing by some shop entrance, hands on his hips and a scowl perfectly framed on his face. And Eddie can’t help but panic. Standing with his back against the nearest wall. Breathing through his mouth like he’s about to beef it on the sidewalk. Eyes darting over and under and left and right. Trying to find semblance of normal, any little speckle of Steve. Something.

It’s not until he’s nearly sick to his stomach, churning and flipping and knotting, that a different stranger makes their presence known. They gently invade his space. Voice soft as they notice his panic. “Hey man, are you Eddie?” They ask. He nods way too quick, but sidelines the blur to his vision because talking to this stranger seems hopeful. Especially since they know his name. “Okay, cool,” the stranger mutters, “I ran into your…friend. Steve was on the verge of a nervous breakdown when I spotted him, said he couldn’t find you, but didn’t know where to look. So I volunteered to find you. And—well—judging by your shirt, I can gladly and safely reunite you guys. If you…If you wanna follow me.”

“Please,” Eddie murmurs, “I don’t know where I am.”

The trip back to Steve is arduous. Through crowds of people and past noisy cars. Bustling shops and the waft of various seasonings from a number of restaurants. But sure enough, Steve is on some precipice. His hair a mess and face pinched nervously. Then, he spots Eddie. Eyes lighting, clearing and glistening. A look of ‘I want to touch, but know I can’t.’

When he sidles up next to Steve after the stranger leaves, he carefully joins their hands. “I followed a complete stranger for probably thirty minutes,” Eddie admits, whispering. “His hair looked similar. And he was also wearing a white t-shirt. I got so scared, Steve.”

“Well, at least our stupid shirts worked again, right?” Steve asks, breathless and still verging breakdown.

Eddie squeezes their hands. “Can we go home, please? This is gonna sound crazy, but I think I prefer middle of nowhere Hawkins. At least I know where everything is.”

Steve nods rapidly. “I need to touch you in ways I can’t right now. Let’s go.” And then he tugs their hands, pulling them along sidewalks and through groups of people, down a couple side streets. It’s partially worth it, in the end. Definitely with the way Eddie’s skin is now decorated with Steve’s love, sticky and warm with it, too.

——— 3. The shirts end up following them to the Indiana State Fair.

Steve stops them at the front entrance, right after the ticket booth, and makes Eddie face him. “Listen to me,” he murmurs, voice low and near demanding. “If I turn my back for a second and you are gone, I will lose my absolute shit. Got it? Do not make me have to keep a rope tied to your belt loop.”

Eddie groans. “I get it, Steve. Can we at least try and enjoy ourselves?”

And they do for the most part. Steve plays at a few game stalls. Eddie carries the prizes. Their legs interlock underneath a picnic table, sharing greasy funnel cake and way too sour lemonade freezes. They watch a few performers, pet some fair animals, judge prized pigs like they know what they’re doing.

But then the ferris wheel comes up and Eddie sees an opportunity already forming. Like dots connecting or the stars aligning. He wants to drag Steve through the line and sit with him in one of the seats, wait for the wheel to stop at just the right height, and kiss him as the lights dim low and the darkness of the sky envelops them. Though, because he always misses a few steps in his plans, he doesn’t tell Steve that they’re going to the ferris wheel. Just starts walking. Shoving past other couples and accidentally sidelining a couple kids. He sneaks around large families. Maybe bribes a few people to let up on the ride’s queue.

Then, Eddie turns to his left. Where Steve is.

Or…Where Steve should have been.

“Shit,” Eddie spits. “Steve?” He calls over his shoulder. Frantically, he whips around in line. Eyes wide over people’s heads. Shoving them out of the way, albeit a little rough. Spreads the line into two little rows. But he comes up unsuccessful.

Until, right on cue, a stranger is tapping on his shoulder. Instead of letting them go into their whole spiel, he just sighs defeated, “Take me to him.”

There are no words exchanged. Not when Eddie follows behind, head bowed to the ground, dragging his feet like a petulant child. And then he stops where he sees Steve’s shoes, the bright blue Adidas sneakers he’d recognize anywhere.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Thought you were with me.”

Steve just sighs. Something kind of disappointed that shrivels Eddie slightly. “Where’d you even go?” Steve calmly asks.

Eddie finally looks to him, his eyes pleading. “The ferris wheel, but…But! In my defense, I thought you were with me. And I was going to get us a seat on the ride. Was gonna wait until it got up to the highest point and do something cheesy like kiss you…or blow you, whatever. But I—“

“Why didn’t you just ask me, Eds?” Steve laughs with his full body, deep from within his stomach. “We can do that, babe. All you gotta do is ask, y’know?”

“I didn’t think—“

“I know you didn’t,” Steve teases. “Seems like my stupid t-shirt idea worked again. That’s three times, you dork.” Eddie can only groan. He knows that he has a bad habit of wandering, doesn’t mean that the idea is any less annoying or dumb. “Come on, Eds. Stop throwing a fit. Let’s do your thing.”

“You sure?”

“Eddie, if you don’t kiss or blow me on that ferris wheel, I’m banning D&D at my place for a month. Let’s go.”

When they get off and start walking back to the car, Steve tugs on the back of Eddie’s jeans. He yelps, startled, but quickly shuts his mouth when he’s faced with a stern look. “You know what I just remembered?” Steve asks him. There’s mirth in his eyes. Eddie doesn’t trust this at all. “Earlier, when I was telling you about wandering, I mentioned maybe tethering you to a rope. I might have to do that. Since you can’t behave.”

Eddie heats from the inside out. A coil tightens in his stomach. “You couldn’t even if you tried,” he bites back.

Later, he finds out, Steve is exceptional with rope. What a fucking boy scout.

——— +1 The Mall of America didn’t earn its title for nothing. The place was huge, that much Eddie could discern. Which made perfect sense when buying the new and improved: ‘If found, return to…’ shirts. However, this time, it was Steve with ‘If Found’ t-shirt.

At first, Steve didn’t know how to feel about the new shirts. Simply because he didn’t seem to see a reason for why he’d get lost or wander or be found in any capacity. But given the surprise Eddie had for him, the reason definitely fit the bill.

What Steve didn’t know, that Eddie one hundred percent knew, was that a Lego store was opening up at the mall. Or, has been opened at the mall. It was the perfect time for a little road trip. A little Fall of 1992 trip to Minnesota. Driving by trees and such. Parking in the Mall of America’s lot. Figuring out what stores to hit first, what food they wanted to eat, where the bathrooms were located. Typical day out sort of things.

However, one moment Steve was with him and the next…Eddie was scouring the food court for his fiancé. Trying not to throw up the meager lunch he just had. Swallowing down panic after panic after panic that rose in his chest like tsunami waves. This place was too big for either of them to wander or get lost or have a mind of their own. Not with the way they impulsively purchases things, an awful habit they both exuded—today is the worst day to do just that.

Which leads him to tapping on the shoulder of a guy around his age. Who’s carrying two large yellow Lego bags. Just sitting back in one of the food court chairs, minding his own business. Until, he whips around to find Eddie startled and red faced. “Uh…Can I help you, man?” The stranger greets.

“Sorry, hi,” Eddie says. “I just—You look like somebody who can maybe help me. I’m looking for my…friend, his name is Steve. Uh—White, around my height, dirty blonde hair. He’s wearing a pair of near skin tight Levi jeans, light wash and a white t-shirt that matches mine. Except, his says ‘If found, return to Eddie’. I’m Eddie, by the way. Anyway—Uh, you probably just came from the Lego store, yeah?”

“Sure,” the guy says, completely unsure of this interaction. “Why do you need to know—“

“So you can like lead me there? I’ve never been there. And like he’s really obsessed with those damn sets and like that’s really cool or whatever, but I need to know where he is because we’re from out of town and I have no fucking clue what I’m doing in this mall or where to—“

“Alright, dude, calm down,” guy placates. “We’ll find your friend. Just…That store is pretty fucking busy. Really popular, you know? I’ll take you there, but with how panicked you are, it would be best if you waited by the entrance of the store. Is that…”

“That’s perfectly fine to me!” Eddie nearly shouts. 

He follows on this person’s heels. Bobbing and weaving through crowds of other over-consumers. Maybe shoving a few of them out of the way just so he can stay with that guy. But eventually, they make it to the outside of the rather precarious Lego store. Its yellow storefront nauseating to Eddie. Almost—Genuinely frustrating him beyond belief. And he sees Steve. Standing near the back of the store. Staring up at one of the shelves, but he lets the stranger he found grab Steve for him. Because no way in hell is Eddie going to survive being swallowed up by the awfully large crowd swamping the store.

Steve emerges from the crowd, a bit offended and a lot upended. But then has the gall to appear sheepish when he’s led directly to Eddie. With a nod and a tight smile, Eddie waves the stranger off. Almost wants to run back and get his name, send him a thank you card from the Hallmark store he saw on their way there.

He turns to face Steve, though. Leans them into the wall. “Jesus, Steve,” Eddie groans. “Is this what you put up with?”

“Is what—“

“The fucking panic? The—The whirling around and checking in the weird obscure places? Tapping on stranger’s shoulders only to see if they have a single goddamn idea where anything is…ever? Like—“ He sighs. “I thought that I’d never find you, Steve! You could’a at least told me you were going to go somewhere on your own. Maybe give me an idea of where you’re going?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh, so now that’s important to you?” He petulantly mutters. “Can’t go off and have fun without being pestered—“

“I’m not pestering, Steve!” Eddie grits. “I’m being concerned! I’m—You scared me,” he admits quietly. “And you ruined my surprise.”

“Ruined?” Steve echoes, confused. “What do you…oh. Oh. I—“ Then, Steve looks down to the floor. Eyes ashamed and arms tight to his body. “I didn’t…I was just excited, I’m sorry. The store was on the directory when we first came in and I like—“ He chuckles a little bit, loosening up. “—I fucking memorized where to go. What path to take. Because I just really wanted to look in there. They’ve got—Eddie, they have this one set in there, it’s a freaking spaceship and it’s called the…The Galactic Meditator or something? I can’t—That doesn’t matter,” he rambles. Takes a deep breath and pushes himself tighter into Eddie’s space. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Eddie gives a single nod. Closes his eyes and staves off the rest of his panic and anger. He’d be a hypocrite if he lashed out right now. He knows that. And, honestly, seeing Steve geek out about toys…of all things…is kind of endearing. Maybe even doing something for Eddie.

He puts on his best smile, something genuine and pulled from within him. “It’s alright,” he whispers. “I—I should’ve known that you were going to come over here.”

“I mean, you did a little bit, right? Had to find somebody that led you here?”

“You got me,” Eddie breathes. “Y’know all my tricks.”

Steve hums beside him. “I’m actually sorry, though, that I ruined the surprise you had in mind. This is a pretty cool thing.”

Eddie smirks. “Steve Harrington admitting to a geek thing being cool…When did the tables turn?” He teases. “Seems like God has heard my prayers,” he jests. With a quick sneaky look around, he grabs Steve’s hand. Squeezes firmly and exhales the last bit of his panicked nerves. “Does my fiancé want to…Oh, I don’t know…Get a Lego set?”

The hand in his tightens with a harsh, unbelieving amount of strength. He almost winces. “Really?” Steve asks, perking up. If he had a tail, it would most definitely be wagging. “Can we actually? I really want that one that I found in there, the uh…Galactic whatever it was called. I’m bad at the names, which is weird because I’ve been building these sets for a while, but I always seem to get the names wrong and I—“ Eddie interrupts with a squeeze to his hand again, a smile bright and plastered to his face. “Sorry,” Steve sheepishly says, “Let’s go in there. I can show you and maybe…you can get one of your own?”

“Lead the way, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs against Steve’s cheek, leaving a very chaste but all the same kiss there.

The panic was worth it in the end. Because watching Steve in his element, nerd-ing over toys and how to best put them together, really makes Eddie’s chest warm. In a way that tells him he’d put up with wandering all his life, if only to get Steve to smile the way he does when proudly displaying his new spaceship.

👕—————👕

[lady-of-moths]

A Penny for Your Thoughts (Ace x Reader)

A/N: While I love cocky, confident Ace, I felt like the softer, more damaged side of him deserved some love too <3

Summary: Ace has been feeling a bit low lately, and has been isolating from Reader, and the crew. Reader goes to talk to him, and a rather emotional interaction ensues. Please see warnings.

Warnings: Ace is having an emotional, and vulnerable moment. Ace struggling with his self-worth. Mentions of alcohol usage.

Writing prompt:

"Did you just kiss me?"

"Was I not supposed to?"

"I don't know... But can you do it again?"

Tags: Ace x Reader, angst & comfort, Ace dealing with self-worth issues

Word count: 2900

Dividers by @cafekitsune

You and Ace had been close friends for quite some time now. Very close, actually. Not quite as close as you’d have liked to be, but that did not matter much, as long as you had his friendship. Yes, if nothing else, his friendship was enough. 

Lately though, your friendship seemed to have been somewhat shaken. For some reason, Ace had been distancing from you, and all others lately. Sure, he’d still act fine when people talked to him. But that was not quite the way it used to be… The Ace you’d known so far was a bit of a chatter box - that is, when he was not fast asleep on the deck, or with his face in a plate of food. He loved to socialise with the crew, and was always offering to help wherever he felt he could be of any use. He’d often be engaged in some conversation or another, swapping tips and tops, cracking jokes, or regaling his men with tales. Now, however, he’d rather lean over the railing, gazing at the sea, lost in thought, or sit alone, isolated, than engage with others. He’d slip out during group conversations, or spend hours shut in the study, haunched over maps, and documents, working his way through endless stacks of paperwork - a task he’d always dreaded more than any other. It was not quite the same, no. 

It would be a lie to say it did not worry you. Ace was your best friend, and, if you were being honest with yourself, he was a bit more than that. It was only natural for you to notice, to miss him, and to worry. You couldn’t bring this up around others - it was clear it was not something he’d want broadcast in front of a crowd. So, you decided to speak to him as soon as you’d catch him alone. It shouldn’t be too hard. Afterall, he tended to seclude himself every chance he got those days. So, you waited. Ace had spent most of the day in the study. At lunch, there was not enough privacy to speak to him, so you let it slide. Afterwards, he disappeared, and you had no idea where. 

Eventually, night had fallen, and the Whitebeards were having a party on the main deck. It seemed like your plan would have to wait another day. The crowd grew and grew, as the music played, and the booze flowed. It was not unusual for pirates to party, and the parties on the Moby Dick never disappointed. Or at least, they never had, until this point. For, as expected, you could not find Ace anywhere in the crowd, and a party without him simply felt incomplete. 

You spent some of the night gliding through the crowds, slipping from clique to clique, from conversation to conversation, eventually setting camp up by yourself by the refreshments table. You sighed as you scanned the swaying masses, as they sang, and danced, and chatted… as if they hadn’t even noticed. 

“Hey,” came a voice from behind you, as a hand gently grasped your shoulder. You turned around to find Marco, and Thatch. Thatch had a compassionate smile on his face, and, while Marco didn’t show it on his lips, the same compassion, and understanding could be read in his eyes as he looked down at you, secluded as you were, camping alone by the booze. 

“We know,” Marco says softly. You tilt your head sideways, questioning him with a silent look. 

“You must be thinking we hadn’t noticed how Ace has been drawing himself back lately,” he starts, as he takes his hand off your shoulder, and turns to look at the merry-makers. “How can the crew party as if they don’t even notice? But we do notice. We all do.” Now that he mentioned it, it dawned on you that Ace’s presence was not the only absence here tonight - a certain carefreeness seemed to escape many that night, and certainly those close to Ace - you, the commanders, Pops, and the men of his division. Now that you were aware of it, you saw it nearly everywhere - in their eyes, as they, too, scanned the crowd; on their lips, curled in half-smiles; on the very countenance of their bodies. They could all tell something - or rather, someone - was missing that night. 

“We were hoping a party might draw him out,” joined Thatch. “The plan was to get some booze in him, and hope it’ll loosen him up enough to tell us what’s wrong - how we can help. But, as you can see…” 

“He didn’t show,” finished Marco. 

“He never showed up,” you said simultaneously. 

“Yup…But!” he added with excitement, and you saw a smile creep on Marco’s face as he turned to look at you once more. 

“We got one more thing we’d like to try.” 

“Ah, and that is where I come in, I presume?” You turned to look at them, swirling your drink, as you waited for them to continue. 

“Yep,” they confirmed in unison, before Marco proceeded to explain. “See, we found him sulking alone on the quarterdeck. Seems he came out for the booze, but didn’t stick around for the company.” 

“Ouch! Well, that’s flattering,” you remarked jokingly, knowing full well it was nothing personal. 

“Yeah, well, he won’t talk to us,” explained Thatch. 

“Yep, we’re clearly part of the ‘company’ he seems to be avoiding… Which brings us to your part.” 

“Ah, I get it. You want me to go up there, and see if I fare any better than you two.” 

Thatch was smiling, while Marco chuckled at your deduction, giving you a small smirk. 

“No,” he answered, “we know you’ll fare better than us.” The small, lopsided grin on Marco’s face made you cock an eyebrow for an instant, but you quickly brushed it off, as Thatch joined in once more.

“Yeah, we know you two are close. Hell, no one’s closer to him than you, except maybe his brothers,” added Thatch, matter-of-factly. 

“So, what we want from you is to go up there and bring him back to Earth.” 

You looked at them - they clearly cared about him, and were now resting their hopes on you, giving you a chance to help. They were giving you a chance to speak to him alone about whatever it is that’s been bothering him, just the way you’d told yourself you’d do. You glanced at your drink, swirling it around some more. Thatch’s words about how close you and Ace were made you feel warm inside. Maybe there was hope for you yet… But now was not the time for that. Snapping out of your thoughts, you looked up at your fellow conspirators. 

“Leave it to me!” you declared, shooting them a grin. 

“I knew we could count on you,” cheered Thatch, with a big smile, while Marco kept on his usual lazy smirk, giving you a small nod. They refilled your drink, and shoved a beer for Ace in your hands, before ushering you to the quarterdeck. 

You took a deep breath trying to calm your nerves, before you strutted off, shouting over your shoulder “Wish me luck!” 

“Good luck!” the guys responded, as you disappeared behind a corner. 

It was a warm night, and the skies were clear, revealing a veritable sea of stars above your head, complete with a bright full moon, and with nary a  cloud in sight. The music from the party was fading as you walked further and further away, towards the quarterdeck; its spritely rhythms now barely enough to muffle the clicking sound of your footsteps on the wooden planks. 

Indeed, way in the back, hidden out of sight, was Ace. Slumped on the deck, with his back resting against a wall, a couple of empty beers around him, and one bottle hanging by the neck in his hand. His head tilted upwards, his eyes fixed on the stars above him. He seemed so calm, so quiet, and yet, not serene in the slightest. It was as if the silent sorrow in his soul crept its way towards you, and took you by the hand, when his eyes suddenly turned to you. A smile made its way onto his lips, but failed to reach his tired eyes. ‘Had he been crying?’ 

“Hey, Y/N! What are you doing here?” Ace tried to act cheerful, and play pretend; he tried to hide his expression by finishing his drink, but you knew him far too well for that, and saw right through his act. 

“I heard you were out here,” you confessed as you went to sit down by his side, handing him the beer. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” you continued, as Ace took the bottle from your hand, “and I missed you. We’ve all been missing you.” You spoke softly, your voice barely above the sounds surrounding you - the music, the clamour from the main deck, with the clanging of beer-filled mugs, and the familiar sounds of waves splashing rhythmically against the sides of the ship. Ace averted his gaze from you, lest you saw the truth in his eyes. But you already knew. You’ve seen it the moment he looked your way. 

Shuffling around a bit, you shifted position, and made yourself more comfortable against the wall, by his side. You allowed a moment to pass in silence, not intending to come off too forcefully, as you both watched the stars twinkling above your heads. You took a sip of your drink. The sloshing of liquid punctuated the silence before you spoke. 

“Care you tell me what’s got you so down? Hm?” you questioned, as gently as you could. Slowly, you turned your head towards him, giving him a side-look, and a soft, half-hearted smile as you waited for his response. 

Ace pulled his knees up to his chest, and wrapped his arms around them; the bottle you’d given him still hanging in his hand. He thought he hid it better than that, even from you. But he should have known you’d see right through, and if he were being honest with himself, deep down, he was glad you did. He needed you to pull him out of the spiralling nightmares that had become his thoughts. But that didn’t make it any easier to get the words out. 

Ace rested his chin on his arms, staring straight ahead, at nothing in particular, as his mind scampered to string words together. Though his mouth was hidden behind one of his arms, you could see he was working on an answer by the frown that weighed on his brow. A few moments passed in silence before you placed your hand on his shoulder blade, gently rubbing his back. His eyes darted up to yours, his mouth hanging ever so slightly open, before closing it again, and averting his gaze once more. The warmth of your hand on his skin was comforting, safe, inviting; inviting him to tell you of his woes. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, barely audible over the commotion of the party on the main deck. 

“What for?” 

“For making you worry… You, and Marco, and Thatch, and Izou, and Pops, and all the others…I’m sorry for shutting you all out these past few days… weeks. I’m just…” Ace paused for a moment, as he turned his head away from you again, and fixed his eyes on the swaying waves before him. “I… haven’t been myself lately, is all.” 

“Ace, it’s alright. We’ve all got our darker days. It’s - “ 

Ace draws a shaky breath, before cutting you off. “I know it’s not fit for a commander - t’ give in like that, and shut you all out. I should have done better… You all deserve better…” 

The hand that was rubbing his back froze in place, as you stared at him in shock - eyes wide, and slack jawed - struggling to believe the words you were hearing. Seeing Ace crumbling down like this certainly struck a chord. You and Ace were close, but this was a side of him you’d never seen before. Was this the same daredevil you’d grown so used to over time? Sure, you were aware that he wasn’t always that same cocky bastard. You knew he had a softer side too, and you knew he was damaged too. You knew that he struggled with his past - his ancestry, especially - wondering if he really deserved to be where he was, and be loved as he was. Sometimes he’d wondered if maybe he could have done more for Luffy - if he was a good older brother. Other times he wondered if he was doing right by Pops, and the other Whitebeards. You knew all of this, and then some. But you’d never seen him so broken before. How long had he been carrying this stone around his neck? At a loss of words, all you could do was stare at him - lips trembling as you tried to form words; throat tightening, as you tried to hold back tears. 

“I’m sorry you’re missing out on the party to sit here with me,” he continued, “but I also wanna say thank you. Thank you for your time, and thank you for your company.” He adjusted his sitting position, stretching out the leg nearest to you and allowing it to bend to the side, as his arm hung over his bent knee. “I hope you know how much I value your friendship… despite the past couple of weeks… And thanks for the drink too,” he chuckles, a bittersweet smile on his face as he takes a swig, before quickly resuming his monologue. “And thank Marco and Thatch too for trying to cheer me up. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you guys. Y'all deserve better than someone like me,” he trailed off. His head briefly dipped down against his arm, before he quickly lifted it up, and tilted it back against the wall. It was as if he were afraid that if he allowed his head to hang like that he might break down, and cry. His lips curled, and trembled with a bittersweet smile. You watched as his brows furrowed, and the corners of his mouth twitched, before he covered his eyes with his hand. From his shaking lips came a sound hard to pinpoint. Was it a sob? A scoff? A chortle? Whatever it was, it clearly captured his inner turmoil. 

Seeing him like this disarmed you completely. You gawked at him for a moment longer, unaware that large, warm tears had started spilling from your eyes, down your cheeks, and down your neck. You watched him shake his head, as if in disbelief of the situation too - in disbelief of the things he’s said, in disbelief of having allowed someone to see him like that. 

The shock still prevented you from forming proper sentences, but you could no longer sit by silently. “Ace…” 

Hearing his name carried on a breathy whisper snaps him out of his spiral, and pulls his attention towards you. Ace hardly had time to register the pained look on your tear-stained face, before you cupped his cheeks in your hands, and pressed your lips against him. You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing out the tears past your lashes. The kiss felt hot, with a thick blend of love, and pain; with all the laden words that have spilt, and all those that would not come; with all emotions that you both had been trying to hide. It wasn’t long before you slowly pulled away from him, keeping his face between your palms. The kiss may not have lasted long, but it was enough to get him to shut up, and cease his self-deprecatory verbiage, if only for a moment. You took a moment to scan the shocked, flustered expression on his freckled face before speaking. 

“I’ll decide what I deserve,” you stated, finally letting go of his face. 

You watched as Ace, who seemed perfectly stupefied by your little stunt, attempted - and failed - to pull his wits about him. 

“Did… Did you just kiss me?” He looked cute as a button as he pointed at himself, confused, as if trying to comprehend his own question. You chuckled at his reaction. 

“Was I not supposed to?” You may have chuckled at his reaction, but the truth is that you did it on an impulse, and now the reality of it all was setting in for you too. You’d had a crush on him for ages now, and never in a million years would you have imagined things going this way. But what’s done is done, and this was the moment of truth. Every moment it took for him to answer felt like an eternity, as you kept wondering - What was he going to do? What was he going to say? You couldn’t help but avert your eyes from his, as you felt a blush creep onto your face. You cursed the full moon for its glow so bright, for you were nearly sure Ace could see the deep pink darkening your cheeks. 

“I don’t know, but… Can you do it again?” 

Looking up, you found Ace watching you, expectantly, with a soft, albeit nervous, smile, and a blush to rival your own.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’d say you deserve some more.”

[kookicat]

Against Protocol

There's another knock on my cubicle door. I pause my show - episode 151 of the Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon. It's not my favourite, but there’s a lot of talking and it’s good company while I wait for the cubicle to rebuild my organic parts- and stare at the door, hoping whoever it is will assume I'm in stasis and just go away. I hurt too much to talk to humans.

But the knock had been soft, not demanding, and something in my organic parts responded to that. It's a request, not a demand, and that doesn't happen much when you're a Murderbot.

“Ugh, yes?” I said, and wince when I realize I'd accidentally repeated my earlier comment.

“Can I come in?” Dr. Mensah asks, and slides the door open, staying on the threshold until I nod.

She looks - well, uncomfortable, head ducked, shoulders a little hunched- and is carrying a neat bundle in both hands. It's fluffy, and looks soft, even while rolled up. Her fingers sink into the plush fabric in a way I've only seen happen with quality cold weather clothing. Something the Company doesn't provide SecUnits, them being so cheap and SecUnits so disposable.

“I brought you this,” she says, and holds the bundle out. It's bigger than it looked at first, about the size of my torso. When it's whole, not after a hostile has bitten a chunk of it off. My torso, not the blanket. Though I'm sure Hostile One would eat the blanket too.

I stare at her, but don't move. I have no idea what’s going on or what she wants me to do with it, and I know the confusion is showing on my face because she frowns.

There's something working it's way out of my back, just above one rib, and it's distracting, like a deep itch I can't scratch. The shivers don't help; even with my pain sensors turned down, I hurt enough to not want to move. The nerves are regrowing, slowly, and the sensation is maddening.

Two points five seconds have passed and she's starting to look a little exasperated, like she's expecting a response from me. I have no idea what that should be, and a scan of my archives doesn't turn up many options.

“Ugh, thank you?” I try, and she sighs.

“You looked cold,” she explains, and shakes the bundle out. It turns into a large fluffy blanket that looks soft and plush and warm. “And I thought this might help.”

I'm not sure how to respond; usually if humans are passing me things, it's because they want me to take them somewhere or do something with them. It's never “oh Murderbot, you look cold, here's a blanket.” The idea of being given something for me to use is startling. So startling my performance reliability drops another full percent. It's a lot, when I'm already at 58% and I really don't want it to drop any lower.

“I’m still leaking,” I say, and tug the survival blanket higher, because it has started to slip down and I really don't want her to see the horrible mess Hostile One made of my chest. And other places, though those are more securely covered by the thin survival blanket.

“It can be cleaned,” she says, dryly, and steps closer, holding the blanket out. It's pale pink, and patterned with swirls and looks that kinda reminds me of Hostile One's mouth. That may just be my recent near being eaten and or swallowed alive experience talking though.

“It's against Company protocol,” I say, then clamp my teeth together to stop them chattering. My temperature control really is borked and even though the habitat and by default my cubicle are climate controlled at a comfortable for the humans level I won’t be able to get warm until the cubicle does its job and puts me back together.

“I won't tell them if you don't,” she says, and shifts, shoulders slumping just a little before she lifts one hand and adds “and yes, I'm aware that they record everything we do.” She shakes her head, hair moving. “Kindness should never be against protocol.” She's frowning, shoulders slumped even further, and it suddenly hits me just how tired she looks. Maybe tired, or maybe sad. It's hard to tell with humans sometimes. I think it's more sad than tired, honestly.

I don't know how to say yes to the blanket - but I know I don't want her keep looking at me like she is because it's making me feel even worse. I don't want to disappoint her, I realize suddenly, and my good arm lifts towards her.

She deftly tugs the survival blanket away and replaced it with the fluffy one. The difference is huge - her blanket covers me from shoulders to ankles, and it's warm. So warm my organic parts start to relax and my performance reliability rises by half a percent.

“Oh,” I say, dumbly, and then because I don't know what else to say- “thank you for your assistance.” It's in my buffer and slips out, mostly because I'm so startled by the difference the damn blanket has made.

She grins, face lighting up. “It gets better,” she says and reaches carefully towards the corner of the blanket, clicking a hidden button. A wave of warmth envelopes me and I can't stop the surprised sound that leaves me.

“Thank you,” she says, “for saving them,” and steps back, towards the cubicle door.

“It's my job,” I say, and she nods, lips pressing into a thin line, before she sighs again and ducks out of the door, sliding it closed behind her.

I shift into a slightly more comfortable position, tug the blanket around me a little tighter, appreciating the warmth and softness against my organic parts. It's… nice, a tiny comfort. It also makes me a little uncomfortable, in a way I hurt too much to define.

Just enjoy it, murderbot, I tell myself and start my show again. I can enjoy it more now that I'm not freezing, and shift again, rubbing my fingers against the fluffy material.

Something else pops out of my side, followed by a gush of blood and other gross liquids.

PERFORMANCE RELIABILITY AT 39% STASIS INITIATED FOR EMERGENCY REPAIR SEQUENCE

[kiwisandpearls]

a peach for a cold

Acheron x Gn! Sick! Reader

Summary: You’re feeling sick and Acheron is helping you through it. Can be interpreted as either platonic or romantic.

Warnings: Reader is gender-neutral and used they/them pronouns, mentions and descriptions of sickness (just a fever), potential spoilers for the Honkai Star Rail Penacony story, but probably not as im not really following hsr canon, Acheron probably being extremely OOC

The moment you woke up in the morning, you felt horrible. Your body was aching, it felt both freezing and ungodly humid at the same time, your throat felt so sore, your head hurt, and your nose was stuffy. With a groan you curled up deeper in your blankets. You didn't even need a thermometer to know what was happening. Without a matter of a doubt, you knew that you were sick.

You didn’t have any sort of idea how you got sick. You just knew you were sick. You decided the best course of action was to probably just try to sleep it off, so even when feeling so horrifically terrible, you closed your eyes once more and went back into a restless sleep.

The sound of your phone ringing woke you up. And, not surprisingly but disappointingly, you still felt very sick. You sighed and lazily reached out for your phone to see who was trying to contact you. You grimaced as you saw a few missed calls and texts from Acheron’s number. You pressed on her number to call her back, and not even a second later she answered.

“(Y/n)?” Acheron asked, her voice laced with worry.

“Yeah, I’m here,” you internally cringed at how horrible your voice sounded, “sorry for not answering you, Acheron…I’m just sick and trying to sleep it off…” you continued. As if to punctuate your reply, you let out a few nasty coughs, as if a way to punctuate your sentence. You heard Acheron let out a worried hum on her end.

“I see. Please, do hang on for me, I’m heading to your house,” Acheron responded, a sense of determination and slight urgency in her voice. Your eyes widened at her response.

“Acheron, it’s fine! It’s probably just a small fever, I can just sleep it off…” You tried to assure her. But it was too late. Acheron had already hung up on you. You stared blankly at your phone for a few seconds before letting out another groan and crashing your face back into your pillow, falling back asleep soon afterwards.

Before you even totally woke up, the first thing you felt was your head being gently moved as a hand was pressed onto your forehead. Your eyes fluttered open and you saw Acheron standing over you.

“…you didn’t have to come,” you exhaled out, a small smile appearing on your face. Acheron’s eyes softened at how hoarse your voice sounded. You must’ve sounded so much worse in person than when on the phone…

“I see no reason why I wouldn’t come to see you.” Acheron straightforwardly responded. Acheron removed her hand from your forehead, “you are sick. I was not going to let you suffer alone.”

Acheron then bent down, and you leaned forward to see her digging through a plastic bag. She pulled out a lidded bowl and a thermostat from the plastic bag, setting them both down on your bedside counter.

“I brought you some tea and soup. I hope it’ll be enough to at least quell your fever by at least some amount,” Acheron explained, sitting on your bedside as you slowly sat up. You gave Acheron a thankful smile.

“Thanks, Acheron,” you breathed out as Acheron took the lid off the bowl of chicken soup and gently handed it to you, spoon in hand.

“Do you need me to feed you, or are you able to feed yourself?” Acheron genuinely asked. You stifled a chuckle at Acheron’s question, “Acheron, it’s just a mild fever, I can feed myself,” you assured her.

Acheron dutifully watched as you slowly ate the soup, making sure to rub your back every time you let out a nasty cough. Once you finished the bowl of the soup, you handed said bowl back to Acheron, who put it back on your counter. She then reached for and grabbed the thermostat, gently placing it into your slightly clammy hands.

“I’m sure you want to try and sleep this fever off,” Acheron began, “but please, at least have a sip of this before you do.” You stared at the thermostat for a second, letting out a small sniffle, before raising the thermostat to your lips. You caught a whiff of the tea; it smelled like peaches. Fitting, you thought to yourself.

You sipped on the peach tea, feeling it sooth your hurting throat. After drinking enough of the tea you took a breath, let out a sniffle once more. You then handed the thermostat back to Acheron before lying back down in your bed, closing your eyes.

You heard Acheron place the thermostat back onto your counter before you felt your blankets being tugged higher over your body, up to your chin. As your consciousness slowly faded into a dreamless sleep, you felt a pair of lips being lightly pressed onto your forehead before being retracted a moment after. You then felt a hand slowly combing through your head.

“That’s it,” Acheron whispered, “rest now. I will be here when you need me.” With that reassurance, you fell into a deep rest, with Acheron by your side.

i made this when I was sick lol

sorry if this reads weirdly, im getting back to writing fully fledged fanfics and not just headcanons after not writing fanfiction for about a month or so…so, yeah, more newer fics might read weird.

anyways that’s all I have to say bye

[thlayli-ra]

For Auld Lang Syne

(For @kayla-faber-writes )

Characters - Drew McIntyre, CM Punk

Pairing - Drew McIntyre/CM Punk

AU - Stray Au

Rating - Teen and up

Warnings - Fluff, mild hurt/comfort

Words - ~ 5.6k words

Summary - Drew takes Punk to his first Scottish wedding

Need a warm, fluffy pick-me-up after WM41? Here you go, my gift to you!

[iwaoiness]

After the VNL final, in San Juan, Oikawa Tooru, captain of the Argentine national team and setter for CA Boca Juniors, officially retires from volleyball.

Oikawa's retirement here

[thestargayzingetherian]

Melog's Goodbye

Melog’s Goodbye (2830 words) by TheStarGayzingEtherianCollection Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Catra & Melog (She-Ra) Characters: Adora (She-Ra), Catra (She-Ra), Melog (She-Ra), Glimmer (She-Ra), Bow (She-Ra), Original Alien Character(s) Additional Tags: Canon, Post-Canon, Future Fic, Alternate Universe - Future, Post-She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) Season 5, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Therapy Cat Melog (She-Ra), Kittens, Shapeshifters - Freeform, Talking Animals, Outer Space, Alien Planet, Alien Flora & Fauna, Married Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Telepathy, Melog Speaks (She-Ra) Series: Part 31 of Catradora: A Beautiful Wish Summary: After Melog decides to go live with the rest of its kind on a sanctuary planet, she decides to leave one final gift for the woman who touched her heart. (Catradora, Canon, Fluff)

[my-moony-and-padfoot]

To be with you

Word count: 2 500

Just a good old sick fic <3, hopefully you like it

“Moons?” Remus jumped slightly as he heard the voice. He wasn't expecting Sirius to be back yet, but hummed anyway, smiling at him though it faded as he took in the glassy eyes, slightly reddened nose and even paler skin than usually.

“What's up, love?” He asked, closing his book and setting it down onto the side table, Sirius sniffled, reaching for Remus' hand who gladly gave it to him, all the more worried at the lack of response from Sirius. “C'mere.” Remus whispered, pulling him to sit on his lap, the boy complied, curling up to Remus the best he could in the small space of the armchair. “What's wrong, baby?” He whispered into his hair, wrapping a protective arm around him, holding him close.

“Don' feel well.” He whispered quietly as he shivered.

“Aww, that's no good.” He held his hand up to his forehead for a moment, feeling how warm he already was. “You feel quite warm. What's bothering you?”

“My head hurts, throats all scratchy. I'm cold.” He mumbled, pressing himself closer to Remus, head tucked underneath his chin, as if seeking warmth off of his boyfriend. “Dizzy.”

Remus nodded, kissing his head. “Did James tell you not to go to practice?”

“Said I'd fall off my broom.” He yawned, closing his eyes for a moment. “Won't. I never do.”

“First time for everything, hmm? But, I'm siding with him on this one, you look like you'll pass out any minute.” Sirius shook his head.

“You're my boyfriend, you're supposed to be on my side.” He mumbled, and Remus laughed quietly, running his hand through Sirius' hair.

“Whatever you say.”

“M’right.”

“Of course you are. You're always.” He grinned, getting an annoyed, weak smack on his chest from Sirius. “I have some tea, wanna sip? Might help the sore throat.”

Sirius nodded, coughing slightly, as he sat up, Remus handed him the cup, and he held on with both hands, trying to be careful. “Thank you.” He whispered, taking a sip, the warmth soothing the growing pain nicely. Remus just smiled, kissing his temple and holding him by his waist.

“Should we go upstairs, have a little nap?”

“No.”

“No? Why not, baby? You're tired, and sleep always helps when you're poorly.” Sirius nodded, handing the mug back to Remus. “You can have it.” He said, knowing the boy had taken his offer of a sip a little too literally. Sirius smiled, taking another sip of the tea. “Why don't you wanna sleep?”

“Wanna be with you.”

“Who said I wouldn't be with you?” Sirius shrugged, not looking at Remus. “We can cuddle up better in bed, love. Get you a blanket to get you all warm, sound good?”

“You're warm rem.”

“Mm, maybe, but a blanket would be warmer.”

“We have to go to dinner soon.” He argued tiredly, glancing at Remus, who nodded, rubbing at his side.

“Are you incapable of walking back down from our dorm in a few hours?” Sirius nodded, reaching to set down the much emptier mug on the table, looking at Remus. “Why're you arguing with me on this, love?”

Sirius shrugged. “Wanna stay here.” He mumbled, leaning back against him, sniffling and wiping his nose into his sleeve.

“Okay.” He said, rubbing Sirius' side and kissing his head. “Lets move to the sofa at least, so you can-”

“No.”

He didn't even bother to ask why not because Sirius didn't often make sense when he was feeling sick. He often got emotional, and he'd argue against things that weren't exactly reasonable like moving to a much comfortable place.

“Okay baby.” He whispered. “Whatever you want. Can I at least grab you a blanket? You're shivering.” Sirius nodded, and Remus reached for the Gryffindor coloured blanket that was laying on the sofa next to them, draping it over Sirius and tucking it around him the best he could.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, curling up to Remus even more, head tucked into his neck. He wiped his nose into his sleeve before he pulled the blanket even better on him covering most of his face.

“Try to sleep, love. I'll wake you up in a bit, okay?” Sirius nodded, listening to Remus' calm breathing and the soft rustling of pages as he continued to read, it was comforting in a way.

It was difficult to fall asleep with the growing headache, the annoying pressure in his sinuses, and when he was so cold. But eventually, he managed to fall asleep, only to be woken up into a coughing fit an hour later. He sat up, coughing into his arm as Remus rubbed his back gently. When he stopped coughing Remus handed him the tea that was still warm, probably because of a spell, but Sirius wasn't sure.

“Better?” He nodded, sniffling as he handed the cup back to Remus before he leaned back against him. “I think you'd be better off in bed, love. Prop yourself up and get all comfortable, yeah?”

“Okay.” He whispered, rubbing his nose into his sleeve, to try to get rid of an itch. “But um- with you?”

“I'm going to go down to the kitchens first, then I'll be with you.” Sirius nodded. “Is there something you'd like to eat?” he shook his head this time. “You gotta eat something, baby.”

“No.”

“You do. Your idiot ass skips breakfast every morning, and you didn't eat well at lunch either, can I please get you something?”

Sirius nodded. “But cuddles?”

“Sirius, it'll take me less than half an hour, you'll survive.” He shook his head, sniffling. “What's the matter? Why don't you want to be alone even for a moment?”

“Don' feel well.”

“I know.” He whispered. “I’m sorry about that, but it's not like you're gonna die if I'm away for a moment.” Sirius nodded, though reached up to wipe his eyes. “What's upsetting you, baby?”

“M’not sure.” He said, shaking his head. “My head's all- I can't think.”

“Okay. Hey Sirius, look at me?” Sirius lifted his head, looking at Remus, who brought his hand up to his forehead, then cupped his cheek. “You feel really warm, love.”

“My brain is melting.”

“Like you have one.” Remus smiled, leaning to kiss his forehead. “Let’s get you into bed, okay? I'm gonna go down to see Poppy, get something for that fever and-”

“Alone?”

“For a moment, pads.” He said. “It won't take me long, nothing bad will happen in half an hour, plus James and Pete are going to come up soon, practice is over. I can ask them to spend time with you if you really don't want to be alone.”

“I don't wanna get them sick.”

“We share a dorm, they're probably gonna get it anyway.” Sirius looked horrified at that, eyes widening as he looked at Remus.

“I'm gonna get you sick.” He whispered, his voice wavering with unshed tears. “Rem- why didn't-” He tried to get up in his panic, but Remus just pulled him back to sit back down.

“It's okay.” He soothed, slowly running his hand up and down his back to calm him down. “I don't mind. It's not like I'd leave you to tend to yourself when you're so sick just to avoid getting sick myself. And we share the same dorm, we sleep in the same bed, Sirius—I'd get it anyway.”

“Don't want to get you sick.”

“Always hits you and your poor immune system the worst, doesn't it? It's gonna be fine, even if I do get sick.” He said. “Not the end of the world, baby.”

“O-okay.”

“Besides, if we both get sick, we can force Jamie to take care of us.” Sirius gave him a small smile, feeling slightly better though he'd still rather keep his germs to himself. “Let's go to bed, yeah?” Sirius hummed, slowly getting up, almost doubling over as he sneezed into his arm. “Bless you, love. Here.” He smiled, handing him a tissue.

“Thank you.” He whispered, tucking the used tissue into his pocket, glancing at Remus as he got up, grabbing his things before taking his hand and leading him up to their dorm.

“You get comfy in bed, and I'm going to go see Poppy okay baby?” Sirius nodded slightly, looking up at him as he sat down onto the bed. “Gonna get you something to eat too.”

Sirius nodded again. “Promise to be back soon?”

“I'll be as quick as I can.” He smiled, kissing his forehead, knowing he was still nervous. “Don't worry so much, nothing's going to happen when you're alone.”

“You can't know that.”

“Just trust me baby, it's only the fever talking, yeah?” Remus said, brushing his hair back, as he nodded. “I can wait until James and Pete come back if you'd like.”

“ ‘s fine.” He sniffled, wiping his nose into his sleeve before looking back at Remus who looked really worried. “Be back soon.”

“I will.” He smiled, kissing his head before he left their dorm. Sirius quickly changed out of his clothes into something more comfortable and warm, then he crawled under the covers, trying to get himself warmed up. He couldn't find himself to fall asleep though, he was tired and really wanted to, but he couldn't, not without Remus being there. Besides, if he'd go to sleep now, he would be woken up soon anyway when Remus would come back so it was quite pointless.

He smiled slightly when the door opened, though it quickly faltered when it was only James, not that he was unhappy to see his best friend; just wasn't who he was waiting for right now. “Hi pads.” He said, smiling sadly before he walked over to his bed, stuffing his quidditch gear underneath. “Saw moony downstairs, he said you're not feeling well. See, I was right for once.”

“Shut up.” he whispered, turning to look at James, who grinned, looking at him from where his head peeked behind his bed. “Where was he?”

“About to go see Poppy I think, or maybe he was coming from there — didn't really catch it” He said, ducking back underneath his bed searching for something. “Me and Pete were going to play chess, have you seen my board? I thought I left it here.”

“On your nightstand.”

“Oh- ouch. Thanks, mate.” He said, rubbing the top of his head as he sat up. “I can stay with you if you don't wanna be alone. Or me and Peter could come up here, keep you company.”

“It's fine Jamie.” He whispered, stifling a cough into the blanket, before looking back up at James.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, gonna sleep anyway. It's fine.” He whispered, giving James a small smile, who nodded, grabbing his chessboard and turning to go back to the common room. He closed his eyes as the brightness from the lights James had turned on made his headache grow even more painful.

After a while, he heard the door opening, and he turned around in bed, looking up at Remus as he walked over to the bed. “Hi, baby.” He smiled, setting a plate and a cup onto the nightstand before sitting down on the bed. “I take it you're not feeling better?” Sirius shook his head, coughing into his arm. “Poppy gave me some medicine to give to you, got you some plain toast and more tea.”

“Thank you.” He whispered, slowly sitting up and grabbing the plate Remus had set down. “Moony? Could you um- braid my hair? It gets in the way an-”

“If you'd like.” He smiled. “I'll be right back, eat up.” Sirius nodded, watching as Remus got up and went to the bathroom, coming back a moment later with a glass of water, and a few hair ties. Sirius moved to sit near the edge of the bed, so Remus could braid his hair. He ate the rest of his toast while Remus' braided his hair, leaning against him when he felt him tie one of them off. “What baby?”

“Nothing.” Remus smiled, brushing his hair behind his ear from the side he had yet to braid. “Jus’ wanna be with you.”

“That's very sweet, love. But I do have to braid the other half of the hair before cuddling with you. Unless you want half of it to be tangled and all up in your face.” Sirius nodded, but didn't move, just kept staring up at him, sniffling after a moment and wiping his nose into his sleeve. Remus leaned to kiss his head, nudging him gently to get him to sit back up. “C’mon sit up, darling.”

Sirius did so, grabbing the teacup from the bedside table before Remus could start to braid his hair. He smiled when he felt Remus kiss the top of his head when the braids were done. He got back under the covers as Remus changed into more comfortable clothes before coming to sit down next to him, and Sirius could cuddle up to him.

“Medicine.” Sirius shook his head, hiding his face into Remus' stomach. “Yes. Poppy said you gotta take it. It'll make you feel better.”

“Won't.”

“Yes it will,” He said, running his hand over the braids he had just made. “Please love?” Sirius shook his head, mumbling something Remus couldn't really make out. “I won't give you cuddles if you don't take your medicine.”

“That's not fair.” He mumbled, but sat up, glaring at Remus as he handed him the small vial, but took a sip of it anyway. It tasted awful, so he was glad when Remus handed him a glass of water to wash off the taste. “You can't bully me when I'm ill.”

“I can always bully you.” He smiled, pulling Sirius into a hug and kissing his head. “How else would I get you to do things, hmm?”

“Ask nicely, dumbass.”

“Asking nicely doesn't work with you, darling now does it?” Sirius huffed, but leaned closer to him, curling up to Remus. “Aww, c'mon y'know I'm right.”

“You're not.”

“Sure,” He said, rubbing his back. “But look at you, I told you no cuddles, and you immediately take your medicine.”

“Shut up.” He mumbled, coughing into his arm and closing his eyes. “ ‘m all fevered it's not fair.”

“Okay. I'll try to be nice to you.” He smiled, kissing his head as Sirius gave him a weak smack on the chest, he just laughed, holding him a bit closer. Remus slowly moved them so they could lay down, Sirius just curled up more to him, letting out a content hum when the blanket was pulled better over him. “You all comfy, baby?”

“Mm,” He mumbled sleepily, sniffling and rubbing his nose into Remus' shirt to get rid of an itch. “I love you, moons.”

“I love you more, angel.” He whispered, rubbing his side gently from under his jumper. “Try to sleep, yeah? You'll feel better after a bit of sleep.” Sirius nodded, hiding his face more, letting the quiet humming and a hand running over the braids lull him to sleep. “Sleep well.” Remus said, kissing his head before continuing to hum, knowing how noise helped Sirius sleep.

A/N:

Hellooo,

Hopefully you liked this, I did.

For once I have managed to write something without angst, quite weird isn't it? Maybe I'm finally evolving as a writer, or as a personal idk

Have a nice day/night/something, remember to take care of yourself<3

See you around, maybe.

<3

[patchwork-crow-writes]

Where Our Shadows Cross

Chapter 1 - The Wavering Shadow Cast By Your Light

Words: 2449 Genre: Romance Relationships: Kris/Susie/Ralsei

Read on AO3 and leave some kudos :3 ______________________________

Something gnawed at Ralsei as he watched his friends approach from across the castle courtyard. They were still his friends, weren’t they? It was still so strange to think of them as more than that, even though they’d all promised…

It would have been difficult to see, if you weren’t intimately aware of their mannerisms – both Kris and Susie were walking side-by-side, a small distance apart, as good friends might. But he could see it – the way that Kris’s body leaned slightly towards her, with no trace of their usual caginess, and their soft smile as they listened to her talk; the way that Susie’s eyes shone like gemstones when she looked at them, the comfort and contentment in her jubilant expression; the way that happiness and adoration radiated off of them both like the soft glow of a warm candle.

They just seemed so… alive. Alive to the universe and all of its myriad joys, in ways that he…

It had been this way since they'd first got together. That had only been a few days prior, but the memory of it felt almost timeless, eternal; there hadn't been any real discussion about it, and none of them had individually asked for it to happen. It was just something that the three of them had merely... fallen into, together. Some strange gravity had affected them, pulling them deeper into each other's orbit even as it had dragged them down.

And oh, the bliss of that very first night! The wonder, the discovery! He had not known that love could flow so abundantly, could grip his body so delicately and yet with such force that could not be resisted or denied. They had, each of them, surrendered to it completely, as surely as if it were part of destiny's grand plan for them.

So then, why did the knot in his stomach tighten when he saw them like this? The lightners were happy, and that was supposed to make him happy too, wasn't it?

His partners – yes, yes, that was correct – came closer to him, and Ralsei wrung his hands together, attempting to force down the heavy lump that had formed in his throat. It was not a darkner’s place to complain, nor to seek redress. This was a privilege that not all of his kind could be afforded, to consort with such wondrous beings, to be allowed to share in their divine and beautiful love for each other…

As if by the grace of that love, he too might know what it was to be alive.

'Hey, Toothpaste Boy!' said Susie as they approached. Kris waved to Ralsei with a small smile, and he waved back, a blush blooming upon his cheeks.

'It's so wonderful to see you both again,' he said, aching to reach out for them but feeling too wretched to deserve such grace. 'I've r-really missed you, Kris... Susie...'

The dragoness didn't miss a beat, her grin widening as she knocked on his shoulder with a playful fist. 'Yeah, we missed you too ya sap! Ain't that right Kris?'

The human nodded, offering a tentative hand for the prince to take with his own. It was slight, almost unnoticeable, but it seemed that there was some hesitance in that gesture.

He took Kris's hand, smiling at them and rubbing their knuckles with his thumb in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. Their skin was so soft, heavenly upon his pawpads, and with their touch the snarling beast in his chest shrunk back a little. What was he worrying about, really? They were here, right in front of him.

They came back for him. They came back.

Heart swelling to burst with love, he reached out with his free hand to Susie, and was a little saddened to see her draw back from the gesture, as if he had threatened to stab her.

Of course… how could he have forgotten so quickly?

‘H-how have you two been?’ he asked, willing himself not to cry. ‘Did you, um, get up to anything… fun, together? Haha.’

‘Pssh, nah,’ Susie responded at once. ‘It’s just been school-project-this and school-project-that - nerd shit, y’know? …uh, no offence.’

‘None taken! I’m happy to hear your time together has been productive, at least!’ the prince managed a chuckle. ‘We’ll make a model student of you yet, Susie!’

Her expression soured. ‘Eugh, pass. Oh, Kris and I took it in turns to push each other down a hill yesterday! That was kinda cool.’

Ralsei looked over at Kris, who confirmed with a small nod and thumbs-up.

‘Um. How… sweet?’ he offered.

‘Hell yeah it was! You shoulda seen how far this freak flew when I launched ‘em!’

She gave them a gentle bump with her shoulder… gentle for Susie, anyhow, which nonetheless almost knocked Kris to their feet. Huffing slightly, they threw their much-smaller frame back at her, succeeding only in making her grunt in amusement.

‘…oh, you wanna try it, huh runt?’ she spoke through a fearsome grin, throwing a burly arm around their neck without any trouble. Her free hand formed a fist, knuckles hovering just above the human’s head. ‘They’ll only find a smoking crater after I’m done with you!’

Kris cried out in protest as she ground her fist into their moplike hair, struggling futilely to get free from their tormentor. And yet, Ralsei noted the joyous grin on their face as well. It was still so strange to see the two of them act out this way, and yet still clearly enjoying each other’s company…

Love sure is a strange thing, he thought to himself, feeling the pangs of jealousy dig once more into his soul, even as he laughed aloud at their antics.

‘Ahahaha, they’re almost as wimpy as YOU are, Dr. Fluff!’ Susie chortled, letting Kris go – was he imagining the disappointed frown on their face?

‘W-well, I don’t see how that’s a bad thing, exactly…’ said Ralsei, beckoning Kris to him so that he could restraighten their hair.

Oh, those silken locks intertwining with his fingers as he gently scritched their scalp… what divine sensations! They leaned into the contact slightly, almost headbutting him in the snout – the prince suppressed a surprised giggle and planted a small kiss upon their forehead. When he heard the contented hum rise from their lips, his fur near-well stood up on end.

‘It’s okay Kris,’ he whispered gently into their hair, drinking in the scent of their apple shampoo. ‘I love you just the way you are, ok…?’

Susie turned away, making a show of gagging. ‘Oh GREAT, the sap brigade’s in town. Any estimate on when you freaks’ll be done?’

‘Oh?’ said Ralsei, looking at her with half-lidded eyes and a wry smile. ‘Did you want me to work on your hair as well, Susie?’

Kris giggled slightly at the thought.

‘A-as if…!’ she snapped back at the two of them, running a claw through her hair as if to protect it from any sudden braiding attacks. ‘I just… got better things to be doing with my time, that’s all…’

His expression fell flat. ‘Better than spending time with us, you mean…?’

The dragoness turned her blushing face away from them, growling into her mane. ‘Y-you’re both such idiots… Ugh! I’ll be at the dojo ‘till you’re done being all kissy-kissy with each other…’

‘W-w-wait, Susie…!’

Ralsei’s eyes went wide, and he disengaged from Kris in a panic. Everything in his being screamed to reach out to her, to take hold of her hand and stop her from leaving with just the barest of loving restraint. But he already knew, even before he attempted it, that would just make her flee faster.

‘Please d-don’t…!’

A heavy sigh shuddered from between her teeth. ‘…you know that shit ain’t what I’m about, Ralsei.’

He choked back a sob. ‘B-but I… I thought we were going to…’

‘…heh. Well, too bad. Guess that’s just one more thing I ruined for ya, ain’t it?’

‘S-Susie, that’s not…!’

Ralsei sensed Kris step forward, felt their arm across his shoulder, propping him up. Susie cast an eye over towards them, then looked away again, as if what she saw threatened to strike her blind.

He saw it then, that furtive glimmer in her expression that he recognised so quickly in himself – the fear that he was just a stepping-stone, a colourful accessory to something wonderful and terrifying in equal measure. The fear that he could only ever be loved as a lesser component of a grander unity, and not as his own indivisible self.

Heart pounding faster than ever, heat rising to his cheeks, Ralsei stepped out from Kris’s embrace.

‘Then… then take me with you!’ he blurted out.

This was enough to make Susie turn her head. ‘Wha…?’

No going back now. ‘I get that you don’t want to do all the, um… “kissy-kissy” stuff. A-and that’s fine, really! No-one’s going to make you do anything you don’t want to, ok?’

He smiled at her in a way that he hoped didn’t come off as condescending.

‘…y-yeah, but that’s… that’s what you’re… into, right? All that mushy-gushy crap. An’ I know Kris likes it too, so like… ahh, man…’

She trailed off, and the amber jewels of her eyes glanced at the floor. Ralsei was surprised to see her look so… hurt. Not for the first time, he found himself at something of a loss in this new dynamic, and at the delicate business of trying to placate two egos at once.

‘…just… don’t wanna get in the way of either of you. Th-that’s all.’

‘What? No, no! You’re never… don’t talk like that, Susie…! You’re not in the way of anything! Right, Kris?’

By way of an answer, they strode towards the dragoness, and without once meeting her incredulous gaze, raised a clenched fist and knocked it into her shoulder.

‘Wha…? Kris, what’re you...?!’

Kris drew their arm back for another blow. This time Susie was ready for it, and caught their fist in her expansive claw. However, instead of moving to retaliate, she gave a strange, rueful little chuckle.

‘…no, yeah… I get it, man. We talked about this arready, didn’t we? On the way over here.’

‘…talked about what?’ said Ralsei, tilting his head at both of them.

‘…don’t worry about it, Ralsei,’ she said with a bashful smile. ‘Fact is, we’re here to see you, right? Cause you’re part of… well, all this. Same as us, yeah?’

She waved her hands in the air in front of her, indicating the three of them. The prince giggled at her coyness… though could he really say he was any different here?

She scratched the back of her head. ‘So like… it’s your call or whatever. Just say what you wanna do… and that’s what we’ll do.’

Ralsei looked from Kris to Susie, heart bursting with adoration for both of them. Such benevolence brought him again to the precipice of tears.

‘…well then!’ he chirped. ‘I, um…, I’d like to come with you, Susie… to the dojo, I mean. Would, um, that be okay, Kris…?’

Susie reeled, barely able to mask her panic beneath a veneer of annoyance. ‘D-dude, I’m serious! Don’t make jokes like that…!’

He blinked. ‘I’m… sorry?’

‘Sheesh… arright, LOOK. I asked. What YOU wanted to do. Not what you think ME or KRIS wants –what YOU want. Y-O-U, you! D’ya need me to spell it out, nerd?’

‘B-but you already did spell it out, haha…’

‘…oh, you think you’re cute, do ya?’

Susie smirked, leaning in close. Her breath was hot on his face, dusty and smoky like burnt chalk. She was close enough to kiss… oh, he felt weak… and was that jealousy on he could see on Kris’s face?

‘Heh… Careful, pipsqueak,’ she purred loudly, ‘You keep teasin’ a dragon… and you might just get what you wish for.’

Ralsei gulped. ‘I-is that r-right? W-well, if it means I get to, um, spend some time with you, then…’

This wasn’t the answer she was expecting, and it stopped her short. ‘W-wait… you mean that?’

‘…yes, of course I do,’ he said. ‘Why wouldn’t I want to spend time with one of my wonderful partners?’

Susie flinched a little at that word, and he worried that he might have overdone it. But then a weak smile spread across her face.

‘…I, uh. Thought you didn’t like fightin’, though.’

‘You like it,’ he responded firmly, smiling from the bottom of his heart, ‘and that’s good enough for me.’

‘Pfft, yeah right.’ But as she said it, her smile grew a little brighter. ‘Hey Kris, you mind if Rals and I roughhouse for a little bit?’

Kris’s broad smile was all the answer they needed.

‘You can have him back afterward… if there’s anything left after I’ve thrashed him, anyway.’

A mischievous look entered the prince’s eyes. ‘Well Susie, who’s to say that I won’t be the one thrashing you, hmm?’

Susie blinked, her face reddening again, and from somewhere off to the side Kris cackled like a banshee.

‘D-dude, you can’t just… jeez, Ralsei!’

The prince seemed bemused at this. ‘I… umm, did I… say something wrong? A-and Kris, what’s so f-funny…?’

‘Nothing now can we— KRIS STOP LAUGHING IT’S NOT FUNNY!’

The human put a hand over their mouth, all the while giving her a pointed look that seemed to say that actually it was very funny and they’d definitely be bringing it up later.

‘…okay then!’ said Ralsei, feeling a little more secure in his world. ‘Then, Susie and I will spend some time at the dojo, and then Kris and I can have a date afterwards! How does that sound, everyone?’

Kris nodded in agreement.

‘So why’s THEIR thing a date, huh?’ said Susie, flashing her teeth at Ralsei in a way that sent a small shiver through his nerves. ‘What, I’m not good enough for ya?’

‘Ah, well… dates don’t typically involve quite so much… err… violence?’

‘Well MINE do, pipsqueak, so there! Try not to crumple in the first five minutes, would ya?’

‘Oh rest assured Susie – I’m quite capable of giving as good as I get!’

Susie’s menacing grin flipped into a mortified scowl as Kris began howling with laughter yet again. ‘That one was on purpose wasn’t it.’

‘I’m not sure what you mean, Susie,’ he responded cryptically. ‘I’m just say-yyyyyyyiiinnng…!!!’

‘OKAY WE’RE LEAVING NOW LATER KRIS!’

A violet claw caught Ralsei’s upper arm in a death-grip and yanked him towards the dojo at speed, leaving a breathless Kris wiping their eyes in the town square.

‘See you later Krisss…!’ he called out to them as they receded from view.

[deepcreekvultures-writing]

"Tequila and Palmistry"

Spencer Reid x Drunk!Reader

Words: 4,754

Tags: Drunken Flirting, Spencer Reid Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Spencer Reid takes care of drunk reader, Spencer Reid Ranting, Mentions of Violence, Spencer Reid's hands, I Love Spencer Reid, Feelings, Idiots in Love, Drunk Reader, Early Seasons Spencer (S1/Early S2)

After a tough case where you were almost killed by the unsub, the team decides to go to the bar and unwind. While there, Spencer ends up having to keep you from going off the deep end.

==========

Watching you drink was like watching an Olympic sprinter in their prime. You were slamming shots back like they were nothing as soon as the team got to the bar. 

The last case was particularly intense for you, considering you fit the unsubs target perfectly. No one batted an eye at you nursing yourself with alcohol.

Except Spencer.

He had attempted to say something after your fourth shot, but Morgan placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered a soft “Let her have this, kid.” 

After your sixth shot of tequila, you moved on to tequila sunrises, which you went through like water. Gideon finally put his foot down after your third sunrise, instructing you to make the fourth last because you were being cut off.

Luckily for Gideon, you weren’t a mean drunk.

Spencer was surprised at how peppy you were under the influence. During cases, you kept your guard up, letting loose just a little when you were alone with Spencer, but you always kept it at arm's length.

At some point, you slid your glass into Spencer’s hand, grabbing Elle and Penelope by the wrists and pulling them to the center of the bar to dance. He glances down at the glass in confusion before looking up at Hotch and Morgan. Hotch smiles to himself, sipping on his beer, while Morgan whistles playfully.

“She trusts you with her drink, Pretty Boy. That’s an accomplishment.” 

“Actually, this bar invests in straws that are able to detect whether or not Rohypnol or any other drugs are in the drink.” Spencer responds, still keeping the glass in his grasp.

“I’m sure she’s too slammed to notice, Reid.” Derek chuckles in response.

“This is a one-time deal; next time we go out together, we have to make sure she doesn’t go off the rails like this again.” Hotch sighs, glancing over at you, dancing with Elle and Penelope, who are more focused on making sure you don’t fall. Gideon grabs his jacket, sliding it on.

“It was a hard case for her; she needs to let off some steam. Why aren’t you drinking anyway?” Morgan asks, leaning over to Spencer.

“I don’t really drink.” Spencer shrugs, flicking his finger against the smooth of the glass. His eyes trained on the straw in your cup. As much as he wanted to convince himself that you gave him your drink on purpose, it was just too unlikely for him to really dwell on it. 

Except he did dwell on it. 

His eyes slid over to you. Your hair fell over your face as you danced around, your features illuminated by the dim lighting, and your soft eyes shone as you smiled. Spencer isn’t sure how to feel about you being so drunk. 

On one hand, you were pretty much catatonic after your interaction with the unsub. You sat next to him in the jet, staring down at your dirt-covered hands, completely still for the almost 3-hour flight.

On the other hand, he knew you were only drinking to try and get the awful taste out of your mouth. The terrible twisting of your stomach that caused you to dry-heave in the jet’s lavatory for half an hour before takeoff. 

Gideon stands from his place at the end of the booth; he rounds the table and leans down to speak with Spencer. “You’re in charge of her.” 

All Spencer can do is nod, as Gideon leaves quickly after with not much more than a wave. But as you made your way back to the table, somehow finding your way between Reid and Morgan in the booth, he couldn’t help but feel relief.

He handed you the drink, and you took a small sip before turning your whole body towards him and looking him directly in the eyes. 

“Did you try it?” You asked seriously.

“No- No, I didn’t.” Spencer shakes his head, embarrassment tinting his cheeks.

“Whaat??” You pulled back, your face contorting into stern confusion. “You have to try it, now—here, here.” 

You held it out to him, your fingers delicately holding the straw for him.

Ignoring the snickers from the others, Spencer leans in and takes a small sip. The tequila burns, but it’s rounded out nicely by the sweetness of the grenadine and the soft tart flavor of the orange juice.

Clearing his throat, Spencer speaks, “Originally, tequila sunrises contained tequila, lime juice, soda water, and créme de cassis when it was initially invented at the Arizona Biltmore Hotel in the 30s or 40s.”

You stared at him as he spoke, wide-eyed with your lips slightly parted. You blinked a few times, eyebrows furrowing as you tried to follow what he was saying.

“The modern tequila sunrise was popularized in the 70s by the Rolling Stones when they were kicking off their tour at a bar in Sausalito, California.” You nodded slowly at his explanation, your lips pulling into a bright smile as you set your cup down on the table. 

He didn’t really think you understood that. But your face shone like the first burst of light at dawn, waking the morning flowers from the chill of night.

His face warms, looking away from you to glance around the bar. Morgan taps your shoulder, grabbing your attention. Using his hands to shield your ear, he whispers something to you, causing you to break out into a fit of loud giggles. Derek shushes you, laughing along.

Your hands find your face as you slump back into the booth, muffling your laughter into your palms. After laughing for a good five minutes, you drop your hands into your lap. Your face was flushed, your eyes moist with laughter-filled tears. Your lips are pulled into a bright, sloppy smile, your teeth shining against the dull light of the bar. A few strands of hair fell into your face.

Derek looked proud of himself, shooting Spencer with a knowing look. Gesturing to you, mouthing ‘go for it’.

Spencer ignores him, looking around the bar in an attempt to ignore the flushed beauty beside him. But you turn, grabbing his arm. 

“Spencer,” You shake him a bit, trying to get his attention. He was already looking at you, but you shook him anyway. “Spencer, Spencer, where’s Gideon?”

“Uhm, he left a few minutes ago.” 

“Oh, boo, how lame." You pout, your hand still firmly holding Spencer’s bicep. You turn your head, eyeing your drink. A grin creeps slowly onto your face.

“Don’t get any ideas. You’re still cut off.” Hotch interjects, noticing the way you were eyeing your glass. 

You deflate immediately, slumping into the seat, your hands falling into your lap as you pout. Spencer watches you, a little amused but ultimately concerned with your shift in mood.

After letting you stew for a minute, Spencer turns to you, clearing his throat before opening his mouth to speak. He falters, however, when he sees your face. 

Your bottom lip juts out, glistening under the light and drawing his eyes. Downcast eyes steal his attention from your lips, leading him to your upturned palms. Your pout melts into a deep frown, your inebriated brain feeding the memories of what happened just 5 hours ago.

“Uhm,” Spencer starts, leaning over to point at your hands, “have you heard of palm reading?” His voice is unsure, wavering a little as you look up at him.

You both nod and shake your head, your eyes widening a little as he pulls you out of your thoughts. Putting your hands down on the seat, you push yourself up, giving Spencer your full attention. You stare at him for a second before scrambling to show him your hands again.

“It’s also called palmistry or chiromancy, and it’s unknown where it originated exactly.” Spencer bites his lip, glancing down at your palms. “But it has ties to a lot of eastern cultures.” 

“Like where?” You ask, your voice insistent.

“Indian, Tibetan, Chinese, Nepali, Persian, Babylonian, Canaan, Sumer, and Arabian cultures have history with palm reading.” He lists, watching as you slowly tilt your head down, trying to follow his words. Your eyes never leave his face, squinting slightly as his words slip in one ear and out the other.

Deciding to just keep talking rather than waiting for you to speak, Spencer continues, “Palm reading uses the natural creases in the flesh of your palms to predict things about your life and personality.” 

Spencer hesitates before placing his left hand underneath yours, settling his palm against the back of your hands. Chewing on his bottom lip, he uses his right hand to map out your palms. His index finger hovers, making sure not to touch the lightly calloused skin.

“Are my palms-” You lean a little closer, your eyes wide as your gaze flicks between his face and your hands. “Are my palms whispering to you?”

You were whispering to him—well, more like mumbling. Spencer furrows his eyebrows, leaning back a bit.

“Are your- are they what?” He stammers, a smile threatening to pull at the corners of his lips. You giggle, letting your head fall forward and rest in your open hands. You stay like that for a second to let it out before lifting your head again.

“You’re so cute, Dr. Reid.” A heavy sigh follows that statement, along with a sloppy grin. Before Spencer has the opportunity to flounder in response, you continue, “What were we talking about?”

“Um... Palm Reading?” His slender fingers tap against the back of your hands mindlessly.

You purse your lips, squinting your eyes just a smidge before smiling again. 

“Okay, okay, keep telling me about it." You scoot a little closer, folding one of your legs under you, your knee knocking against his thigh. “Please?”

Your face was still flushed, though Spencer wasn’t sure if it was from the tequila that still lingered on your breath or from the fact that you were sitting so close to him.

“Oh, yeah- yeah, sure…” He bites at his bottom lip, looking back down at your palms. “So... the main lines used for palmistry are the life line, the heart line, the fate line, and the head line…” 

Spencer continues talking, making sure to keep his gaze cast down to your hands as he explains what people look for when reading palms. You stayed quiet, and he was almost positive that you weren’t listening; honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if you had fallen asleep. 

He maps out each line for you after thoroughly explaining what each of them meant. Spencer didn’t really believe in palmistry or astrology, but he had to admit that so far it was pretty accurate.

Especially when your life line described you as enthusiastic and courageous. 

That was one of the many things Spencer admired about you. You had no qualms about being who you wanted to be, and it gave him the confidence to do the same.

Though sometimes you had a hard time remembering that about yourself.

“…and your heart line tells us about your cardiac health, possible depression, emotional stability, and, um… and romantic perspectives.” Spencer swallows, his shoulders slightly hunched as he looks intently at your palms. You straighten up, drawing his eyes to your face. 

Your lips parted, your eyes holding excitement as you looked down at your own palms. Glancing up at him and meeting his eyes, you smile, the tip of your tongue fitting between your teeth. 

“Keep going.” You whisper, nodding at him incessantly. Spencer pauses, unable to tear away from the light shine in your eyes, illuminated by the warm lighting hanging from the rafters of the bar.

“…your- your heart line, um,” he stumbles over his words, snapping his head back down to look at the crease in the fleshy part of your palm. “Your heart line begins in between your middle and index fingers, and it’s straight and parallel to your head line.”

Spencer finally presses the pad of his finger into your palm, dragging it along the crease as he talks. He still cradles your hand lightly with his other, his thumb absentmindedly sliding against your knuckles.

“Mm, what does it mean?” You ask sloppily, your articulation faltering.

“It means that you are... caring and understanding.” He slides his finger back to where the line begins, noticing how your fingers twitch. “And that you have a good handle on your emotions.” At that, you laugh, gently bumping your head against his as you do.

“Doesn’t feel like it.” You mumble, your head partially sliding against his as you slump into him. Spencer stiffens at the contact.

“Sorry, ‘m tired,” You wiggle your fingers, attempting to draw his attention back to your hands. 

“So, like- does it say anything about who I’m gonna… marry?” 

“No- uhm, no, not who.” Spencer swallows; the weight of your head dropping onto his shoulder scrambles his thoughts. “But the marriage line is here.” He slides his finger to the small line underneath your pinky.

“It’s pretty straight, which means that you’ll have a long, happy marriage.” 

You hum in acknowledgment, looking down briefly at your palms before turning your hands over and wrapping your hands around his. Spencer looks up, making eye contact with Elle, who mouths a ‘wow’ before sipping her drink. 

His attention is drawn back to you as you drag yourself off of him haphazardly. You turn his hands, exposing his own palms as you lean down, hunching over them to get a closer look. 

There is almost no way you could even see the lines in his palms very well, considering that your head was blocking the lights. 

Lifting your head suddenly, Spencer has to pull back to avoid getting smacked in the face. 

“This line probably means that you’re suuper smart and stuff,” you say, tapping his head line with your pinky. “And this line probably says that you’re really cute, and this line probably says that you’re like… I dunno, a little silly." You alternate tapping at his different lines. You were trying—kind of. 

Spencer’s face grows hot, swallowing hard and trying to remind himself that this was just you, completely inebriated and not thinking straight.

“Silly?” He raises his eyebrows, watching your face with concern.

“Uhuh, silly. Like… like… I don’t know; you’re just silly. And gorgeous.” You look down at his hands and say, “And you have really pretty hands.”

Spencer stares at you, his mouth gaping like a fish as his eyes slide around your features. 

You blinked slowly, your hands sliding against his as you fidget with his slender fingers. 

“Oh!” You exclaimed way too loudly for the small bar. You pull yourself away from him, the force with which you do so causes you to tilt back and fall into Morgan. 

Spencer scrambles to grab your forearms, pulling you off of Morgan. “Are- are you okay?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“You don’t like it when people touch you!” You attempt to wiggle yourself out of his grip, failing despite how loose his hold was.

A deep pout rests on your lips, and you look up at him guiltily.

“No, it’s fine.” He tries to still you, embarrassed by your antics. “It’s okay; you’re fine, I don’t mind. Let's get you home, okay?”

“Huh?? No, no, I’m having so much funn” You flounder, slumping yourself into the seat in protest. You start to slide off the booth seat, your lower body disappearing under the table. 

Spencer stammers, hooking his arms around yours and attempting to keep you from slipping to the floor.

“Woah, no, come on, I’ll take you home and I can teach you how to read my palms?” He pulls on your arms, looking over at Morgan, who lends a hand by wrapping an arm around your torso and pulling you back onto the seat. Morgan snickers, but leaves Spencer to handle your state of unrest.

“I already know enough about you, gorgeous-genius-doctor-boy, but can’t you dance with me?” You whine, Spencer’s arms are still hooked around you to keep you from slipping away again.

“I- well… No- no, not here, we can dance at your apartment?” he suggests, gently pulling you out of the booth.

You let him pull you, offering little help until he forces you to stand. Staring up at him with a pouty glare, you huff, the gears turning in your head.

“Promise?” You hold out your pinky, wiggling it at him. 

He relents, hooking his pinky around yours. You smile, latching your finger around his in a tight grip.

“Okay! Bye losers!” You shout at the rest of the table, unceremoniously dragging Spencer away. He attempts to grab his bag from the booth, but your grip is too tight. 

Elle manages to toss it to him, his hands fumbling to get a good grip on it as he’s wrenched through the exit of the bar.

“Wait, slow down!” He yelps, shoulder-checking the door as you tug him down the stairs.

“Come on, pretty boy, relax!” You laugh

“Do you even know where you’re going?”

“Northbound.” You say, deepening your voice and pointing to your right.

“That’s east.” Using his free hand, Spencer spins you to face him. “We’re calling a cab.”

You scoff, letting go of his pinky finally as you flail your arms at your sides.

“No, what, no- no, no, no, I’m not getting buried again, Spencer." You whine, the weight of your words slipping off your shoulders, numbed by the tequila in your system.

Spencer frowns, his eyebrows raising slightly as he looks at you. Your loosened, drunken state could only mask your worries to some extent.

“You won’t be buried; I’m with you,” he says, placing his hands on your biceps.

“But you could get hurt... and I don’t wanna see your gorgeous face and body all... like... dead." Your articulation slips, words blending together. Tapping the tip of his nose with the side of your finger, you pout, shuffling your weight from foot to foot.

“I won’t die; I’m gonna get you home, and then you’re going to bed-“ A hand slaps over his mouth, a little harder than necessary.

“We’re dancing.” You say sternly, rubbing his mouth with your palm, when you realize that you hit him harder than intended. 

“Okay- okay, stop-stop doing that,” He grabs your wrist, pulling your hand to the side. “I’m gonna get you home, and then we’ll dance.” 

Pleased, you hum lightly, closing your eyes. “Let’s do it, honey bee.” 

Spencer ignores the churning in his stomach as he leads you along the sidewalk. Your hand slides around his body as you circle around him. Up and down his chest, around his waist, and up his spine. It was dizzying how well you were circling him despite the alcohol coursing through your system. You only stumbled once or twice, grabbing onto him each time to steady yourself.

Spencer was having a hard time keeping it together; it was already hard enough keeping his feelings to himself day to day when you acted like a normal person. Drunk you was making everything way harder. He wondered if he told you exactly how he felt if you would remember.

You weren’t acting completely blacked out drunk, and Spencer had never seen you like this before. He was just glad you were a nice drunk. And mildly manageable.

He was very glad that your apartment was on the ground floor; he didn’t have to worry about getting you up stairs. You stood next to Spencer, your right hand against the white door, as you fumbled with your keys in your left. Pouting down at the object, you let out an annoyed huff, tilting your head to the side and squinting at the ring of keys.

“Who needs this many keys?” You grumbled, letting your fingers go slack as Spencer takes the keys from you. 

“You, apparently.” Spencer smiles, finding your door key and unlocking the door. He ushers you inside, his hand finding its way to rest on your back, pretty much pushing you through the doorway.

Kicking your shoes off, you turn to Spencer “Shoes off, Cowboy, we can’t have my carpeting get all grody.” 

Spencer nods, smiling at the nickname but ultimately ignoring it. He takes off his shoes, setting his bag next to them, before straightening up and beelining to your kitchen. Opening each cabinet, he finally finds your cups. You stumble your way to lean on the counter next to him, pursing your lips at him.

“What’re you doing?” You ask, glaring at the cup in his hand as he fills it with water.

“Drink this,” Spencer holds it out to you. You just stare at it, pressing your lips into a thin line. “Please?” He sighs, pouting just a little. Your face lights up at his plea, your mouth falling open and your face flushing red.

"Spencer, you can’t do that, not fair.” You snatch the cup from him, chugging the water out of spite. Spencer watches you, his eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed together in confusion. 

Slamming the cup onto the counter, you hold up your arms, “Okay! Dance time, come here!”

Spencer is dragged back into the living room, your hands firmly grasping his wrists as you walk backwards. He watches your path for you, maneuvering you gently to avoid your coffee table. 

Dropping his arms, you bow sloppily with a giggle, “May I have this dance?”

He chuckles, offering an awkward bow in response as he fumbles over his words, “Yeah- sure… okay.” 

You laugh, sliding your hands down his forearms, your fingers brushing against the center of his palms. Curling your fingers around his, you lift his hands, tugging him closer.

He swallows the lump in his throat as his chest presses into yours. Spencer chews on his bottom lip as you settle his hands on your waist. You smelled like tequila, but the scent of your shampoo still lingered in close proximity. You smelled good—drunk, but good.

“No music?” He asks, clearing his throat as your arms wrap around his shoulders. 

“Nah, my head hurts." You shake your head, guiding him in a small sway. Spencer was a little worried that you were going to have him actually dance, but he was happy to sway along with you. 

Your apartment was dark, only lit by the weirdly bright fluorescent light from your kitchen. You giggled quietly to yourself as you swayed, finding it a little difficult to get him to move with you. His heart rate calms slowly as you both sway in silence. You had closed your eyes, threading your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, tracing small circles into his skin. It was nice.

The heat of your body against his fills him with warmth, and he can’t help but look away. His eyes training on the light switch a few feet away as he wills his face to not get any redder. Your touch simmered against him, the low burning embers of his feelings threatening to ignite in the dark space of your living room. 

But you were drunk, and there was very little he could do to rationalize your actions beyond that. If you weren’t completely inebriated, Spencer might consider the fact that you might like him too. 

“Spencer,” you call out to him softly, goading him into meeting your eyes again. He couldn’t help but notice the gravity added to your previously weightless tone.

“Yeah?” He whispers his reply, his eyes returning to your face. The swaying continues, offering a loosely followed rhythm to the conversation.

“How did you feel?” You mumble back, letting your head fall back slightly. You keep your eyes on his face, scanning his expression.

“How did... what feel?” 

“Watching me crawl out.” You let out a small huff, as if he were supposed to read your mind, “Like, how did it feel for you?” Spencer freezes, his hands tightening their grip on your waist.

It felt awful.

Watching you, his headstrong, kind, confident, and loving friend, crawl your way out of a freshly packed grave. Hands bound, tears soaking mud to your cheeks, clothing torn, a hateful fire in your eyes.

It felt awful.

Watching you grapple with the unsub, using your bindings as leverage to choke the man out before crumbling to the ground in tears.

It felt awful.

Watching you bottle it up, riding to the hospital in silence, only letting the team touch you despite the insistence of the doctors. 

It felt awful.

Washing off your dirt-covered hands in the jet with a small rag he had found, soaked in the cold water from the lavatory sink. 

It felt awful.

But Spencer couldn’t claim that awful feeling, knowing that you must feel so much worse. You fought and fought for those two days you were held captive, feeding into the unsubs delusion to keep yourself alive.

You were the one who was thrown into a six-foot-deep hole and buried alive.

He’s not sure how to answer your question, but you watch him patiently, your fingers gently sliding down his neck. 

“I… I don’t know, I was- I was scared, worried..." He whispers, his stomach churning with the thought that he shouldn’t burden you with the way he was feeling. 

“You were scared…” Mumbling, you tilt your head to the side, your lips pursing and twisting to the side. “Is it bad… that you being scared for me, makes it hurt less?” Your articulation is off, and your words are almost lost to him. Inhaling sharply, Spencer leans forward a bit, his arms circling around your back and flattening against your shirt. 

“No, no, it’s not bad... How did it feel for you?” He asks carefully, watching your face as it contorts in ten different ways. You sigh heavily, your arms loosely resting on his shoulders.

“It’s the worst thing... you fight and you fight, you do what you can to survive... and then you get thrown in a hole and smothered in the earth.” You pout, tilting your head to the side, fiddling with your fingers behind his head.

Spencer bites his lower lip, his eyebrows raising in concern. He watches your face, your eyes glossing over, staring into the pattern on his tie. 

“Spencer… I dunno what to do with myself…” You murmur, pulling yourself closer and resting your forehead on his shoulder.

Tilting his head, his cheek presses into your hair. His hands press into your shoulder blades, giving you an awkward squeeze. 

“…you don’t have to know; we can just take it one step at a time.” He speaks gently, letting his hand circle over your shoulder blade.

“Ugh… your mouth words are so gorgeous…” You mumble.

Spencer isn’t really sure what you mean, but he decides to take it at face value. “Thanks?” 

You lift your head, a frown etched on your lips. As you look up at Spencer, the frown dissolves into a small smile. The bright lighting coming from your kitchen illuminates the side of your face in stark contrast to the rest of the dark room. 

“You’re so gorgeous in your face too.” You slide your hands around to bracket his face, squishing it a little between your palms. Spencer’s face grows hot under the feeling of your hands, his eyes widening a bit.

“If you ever, like- I dunno, do you ever think- like, think about kissing me? Cause… if you do, you should kiss me.” Spencer goes to respond, but you slap your hand over his mouth again, rubbing his mouth soothingly afterwards.

“When I’m sober! When I’m sober so I can remember and stuff…” You take your hand off his mouth, sliding the tip of your finger down the bridge of his nose. 

“Oh- uhm… yeah okay." He nods, biting his lip anxiously. His eyes flutter close at your touch, the heat of his emotions burning at the apex of his cheekbones.

You smiled sloppily up at him, content with the plan you set in place, guiding him into swaying with you again. Your finger traces his features loosely, your muscles relaxing into his touch as you start to come down from your drunken high. Tiredness crawls its way up your spine, settling into your eyelids, and you find yourself having a hard time holding them open. 

“When I wake up...” You start, letting your eyes fall closed, “…when I wake up, don’t- don’t let me push you away.” 

Spencer smiles at that, laughing affectionately at your words.

“Okay.”

[seven-n-wolf]

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Relationship: Nanami Kento / Gojo Satoru

AU: canon divergence, omegaverse

Summary:

Satoru was on his way to Kento's room, humming and holding a couple of travel mugs with coffee (black as sin for Kento, sugary and creamy for himself) when he decided to peek into the bond and see if Kento was already awake. He was, but something wasn't right.

Kento wasn't in bed and he heard some groaning coming from the bathroom, so he left the coffees on the desk and went that way. The door was ajar so he gently pushed it open all the way, and his heart sank. Kento was kneeling in front of the toilet, arms around the rim and his head resting against them. His breathing sounded labored, hair a mess and really dark circles under his eyes, made all the more noticeable by the stark pallor of his flushed skin.

"You're sick," was all Satoru could say at first.

Kento managed a small scoff and closed his eyes again, murmuring, "Glad to see the Six Eyes are working well, senpai."

Or: Small confessions take place while Nanami is riding out the effects of a new suppressant.

[hermitsdump]

Suguru Geto x reader

mild hurt/comfort, established relationship, nightmare, implied ptsd

the end got this song stuck in my head

your body tries to throw itself up from the mattress, clawing desperately at what weighs it down until breaking free. Your eyes haven't adjusted, but you know where you are, you know the layout of your apartment.

The pain shooting through your knees and brow says that you didn't know what direction you were facing. Trying to orient yourself, squinting through the sharp throb and splayed fingers.

A familiar voice and gentle glow of his bedside lamp bring you back.

“...okay? That sounded like it hurt.”

“Yeah,” you breathe deep and shaky, rubbing between your eyes. “I'm just going to check the do-”

“Close this eye,” he gently touches your face, stepping past you through the open doorway.

“What?” You do it, waiting for your heart to stop pounding, realize you aren't in the nightmare.

“You're bleeding,” he murmurs, pressing a damp cloth to it. “So what happened?”

“thought I was somewhere else,” you mutter, holding the cloth in place while he offers a hand to help you up.

Geto follows, turning lights on while you check the front door, the balcony, pacing through each room and looking in closets and behind the furniture. “Satisfied?”

You nod slightly, sighing and returning to his side.

“Come here, then.”

You slide up onto the bathroom counter, head hanging while Geto reaches for the first aid stuff. In the clear light, his forearms are mutilated with bright red scratches. And you feel his skin packed under your nails.

“Let me see it.”

You grip the counter with white knuckles, stomach gnawing itself over the damage. At least your eyes are shut while he cleans and covers the injury. Chewing the inside of your lip as if that will find it something to say.

“I guess you were lucky enough to hit the latch on the edge of your brow bone,” Geto comments. You keep quiet as he presses the sticky material to your skin. “do you want some ice for it?”

You shake your head, feeling the bandage and blinking in the light. “I'm sorry for hurting you,” the words slur out before your eyes can focus.

He laughs lightly, and it almost sounds like he's proud. “I'm glad you're having fight and flight responses.”

You take his forearms one by one, turning them over to see what you've done. There is no blood among the hundreds of red dots, but still, you realize he woke up from the scratching and moved away, not from the loud collisions of your body with the doorframe and the floor.

“you hurt yourself worse,” he laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“you're allowed to be mad at me,” you pout, but he won't give you the satisfaction.

For having nightmares? Grow up, Geto thinks, noting that he's spent too much time with Satoru if his internal voice sounds like that.

“Look here.” Geto forces you into eye contact, but something is off, not quite like he's looking through you. The slight shift in his gaze clues you in that he's checking your pupils.

“Do I pass the test?” You huff, giving into his little health check. You wouldn't be allowed to sleep if it looks like a concussion.

“Hmm, I suppose,” he muses with hands on your knees that already feel soft and swollen, weak beneath the skin, asking if you're sure you don't want any ice for them.

“I don't care about that,” you breathe, spreading your not-yet-blue knees apart to drag him closer. I just want to be equals.

“we are equals. What is this about?” did you mutter that last part out loud?

“nothing,” you sigh into his chest. “You're being demoted to little spoon.”

This should eventually fit into frozen snow (ao3), a future au of my fic drifting snow (ao3), which is a future au of falling snow (tumblr and ao3) (Geto's ending) by @indiewritesxoxo (formerly indieotterxoxo)