#and fretful I won’t sleep well again

[whentherewerebicycles]

the moon looked bigger in real life

[sunniskyies]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 || 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 || 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: - 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Domestic fluff as you both settle back into life together <3 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Ford Pines x fem!reader 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: - 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Literally just fluff, a bit of being a guardian figure to the kids 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.2k 𝐀/𝐍: You guys are SO SWEET about the last one, so here's more fluff for you beautiful old man addicts <3

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 > 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 > 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑 > 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒

The kids are in bed— well, mostly. You can hear the chirp of excited conversation through the ceiling. It was late, Stan and Ford’s explanation taking a long, long time. It didn’t help that the retelling got as thick and awkward as wet cement when it came to talk of Ford’s portal, and the events leading up to his departure.

Exhaustion tugs at every battered bone in your body, but you’re so content you might as well be purring like a kitten in front of a roaring fire.

You're curled up bridal-style across Ford’s lap, his arms enveloping you; warm, cradling, completing. He’s donned an old red knit jumper he fished out of his old chest of drawers. It smells like it belongs in a museum, sort of dusty and woodsy. Your face is pressed to his chest, and you feel much younger than your age. It feels like your first day in this house, the two of you huddled on a sagging mattress giggling and talking of futures and other such nonsense; youthful, hopeful, infatuated.

Now the two of you are more than thirty years on, enfolded together like the pages of a book left on an old yellow reading chair. You don’t speak, saving that long conversation for a lick of sunlight and mugs of coffee cupped in hand. No, right now you just sit in silence, Ford’s large hands stroking dust from your hair, a thumb gently soothing the bruise forming on your temple where you struck the wall.

Still unaware of the time except for the inky night hanging in the air, you feel Ford shift. His arms move, body ready to stand up with you. He stops when he notices two large pupils staring up at him curiously.

“You’re still awake, dear,” he smiles, voice quiet. “Let me take you to bed, I must lock up downstairs, make sure nothing vile is seeping through that blasted portal.”

“Ford, no, let’s go to sleep. You can do that in the morning,” you say, trying to ward off the edge of desperation edging into your tone. You can’t help but remember the miserable months of nights in a cold bed while your lover hid away in the basement, sleeping on his desk rather than with you. It has to be different— he’s better now.

Ford doesn’t share your fretting. “No, it’s not stable. Reopening the portal… it’s not safe to leave these things.” He continues to stand up, your body delicately draped over his arms. He seems to notice your expression. “I’ll join you soon, love.”

You doubt that. He’ll probably be there ‘till morning, his simple task snowballing as his keen eyes notice the slightest things amiss. “No, that won’t happen. No, no, I’ll join you. I’m rather accustomed to the portal myself after all this time with it.” You dismiss, stretching a leg to try and stand on the floor.

Ford bundles you up closer, “Absolutely not! You need rest, I swear I will join you.” He begins carrying you to the hall. Your fingers clutch the red fabric of his sweater. 

“Please don’t leave me,” you murmur plaintively, the corners of your mouth downturned. You miss the way Ford’s heart stutters, your eyes all hopelessly syrupy and mournful through your lashes.

He hesitates.

“Please? You can stay down there any other night I promise, just stay this time.”

His jaw tightens. “I don’t want that. Not again,” he says firmly. “Okay… I’ll… I’ll come with you.”

You immediately relax again, at ease in the rhythm of Ford’s steps as he carries you to your room. A stupid grin hijacks your face as he ever-so-gently places you under the sheets (he remembered what side of the bed). You watch from your nest of sheets as he gets ready for bed in the soft lamplight, lifting up the duvet for him to slide in next to you.

His arm around you, frothy sheets up to your neck— you think you might die here and now for how perfect everything feels. You feel his nose bump the top of your head as he presses a kiss to your hair.

“If you’d have told me this morning that… that today would be the day I would’ve never believed…” you say, heavy eyelids closing as you're interrupted by a yawn. You feel his chuckle reverberate where you lean into his chest. 

“Go to sleep, sweetness.” He murmurs, tone laced with a smile. There are his hands again, rubbing soft circles on your arm, your hair. He might as well be rubbing in anaesthesia, his touch lulling you to sleep. Darn you Pines.

Before sleep pulls you under, “I’m so glad your back, Stanford,” slips quietly from your lips. Ford’s heart skips again. Arms tighten around you as if you’re a precious photo about to float away on the wind; skin softly creased from a lifetime of loving, hair matte and grey like faded ink from thirty years of waiting.

“I’m more grateful than you could ever know, my dear,”

A stretch trembles through your warm limbs, the aches from last night dulled by a deep slumber and the warm morning sunlight soaking through the window. A thrill passes through you, your arm sliding through the sheets to Stanford’s side and—

A cry pours from you as your hand meets cold, empty space. Your body is jolted upright, perspiration glistening on your forehead. Your heart is hammering, lungs gulping in buckets of air. Where is he? Where is Ford? Did he come through the portal? Did it really happen? You don’t register the wail emanating from you, nor do you register the pound of heavy boots down the hallway.

“____ are you okay?!” Ford exclaims, almost slamming into the door as he hurries in. His hand is tense, hovering above the gun strapped to his belt.

The sight of him— the feeling you get is so overpowering it’s nauseating. Your paralysed limbs untense, body slumping in relief.

“Goddammit Stanford Pines, you just gave me the fright of a lifetime,” you bemoan, uninvited tears swimming beneath the sieve of your hands. You don’t see as his face goes from confused to slack with realisation.

“Oh,” He groans. “Oh sweetness I’m so sorry.” Feeling horrible, he leans on the bed to pull you into him, rubbing your back. “I should’ve waited for you to wake up, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m sorry, I probably scared you half to death.” You mumble, slightly embarrassed. As much as you are connected to Ford, thirty years has changed both of you, and you find yourself —embarrassingly— feeling like you need to impress him, like a teenager with a crush. God forbid he thinks ill of you!

You relish his rumble of a laugh. “I thought a monster slipped by me or something! I’m grateful you're okay.”

“Yeah, well, I think you might’ve just taken a year off my life, Ford.” You roll your eyes lovingly, a few of the last of those silly tears escaping.

After getting up and pulling on some summer-friendly clothes, you slip down to the kitchen to find the morning well underway. The sun is beating through the windows, and Dipper is sat cross legged on the floor reading a book. He’s reading with the cover down, but his furtiveness is wasted on you; you know he's reading A Good Girl's Guide to Murder. ‘Mature murder mystery books’ indeed, Dipper!

At the kitchen bench, Mabel is haphazardly balanced on a stack of books, multiple propped open at once. From the batter congealing the pages together and the fact that most of the books are iced, you know they are cookery books. And a cookbook in Mabel’s hands is either as dangerous as a matchbook to a forest, or as useless as shoes to a fish.

By the looks of it, it is the latter. Although, is there a faint… burning?

“Great Aunt ___!” Mabel squeals, revealing sprinkle-harbouring braces. “I'm baking, look I’m baking! See, I had this great idea to try and substitute the liquids in my Mabel Cakes with Mabel Juice because Grunkle Ford has never had either —can you believe that? Me neither, so I thought I could kill two birds with one stone and make them together… but I didn’t realise the plastic dinosaurs in the juice would melt in the waffle iron!—” You try to cut off the young girl’s 100-mile-an-hour babble, but that girl is unstoppable.

You wince as she holds up two fists of semi-cooked, eye-wateringly bright gobdules of cakey dough. You, pained, notice the half-melted dinosaurs, faces in liquified agony as strings of molten plastic drip from their bodies. Matchbook in forest, matchbook in forest!

“—So now it’s a bit of a Jurassic Park, another reason why I think Grunkle Ford will love it, even if it’s a bit of a.... disaster. But if you think about it it’s more like a Magical Mabel Disaster! And oh, I added extra sprinkles because you can never have too many sprinkles! Do you think the hardened dinosaurs will make up for the uncooked dough? Or should I cook it more? Doesn’t matter, it’ll taste great!”

You give her a wobbly smile, mostly because you fear what might happen if you open your mouth.

“I tried to stop her,” Dipper mutters from between his pages, voice smug and matter-of-fact.

“Oh don’t act like you're so grown-up, you’re reading a little girl's book,” she retorts in a sing-song. Dipper slams his book closed, the tips of his ears matching the cover.

“I think you’ll find it’s very sophisticated and easy to digest—”

You let the twin’s bickering fade into the background as you begin to tidy up the carnage Mabel’s baking attempt has left. Usually, she gets distracted by things quite quickly, leaving Mabel-messes scattered around for anyone to find. You don’t mind it though, all too glad to slide the Mabel Cake into the bin. You shiver. Those plastic faces… they haunt.

Ford was back down in the basement, the sounds of clanging and buzzing drifting up through the weary floorboards. You want to go down there, but that silly part of you doesn’t want to disturb him again today. No— that’s ridiculous! Ford loves your company, you don’t get in his way —it’s not like it was when Bill was around.

Five minutes later, you're standing in the small room in the basement holding a cup of coffee and a salvaged Mabel Cake. You see Ford through the glass, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tools being used and replaced back onto his belt. He’s hauling colossal slabs of metal from the sides of the portal, the machine slowly being stripped down to bone. Like a massive carcass, it creaks and groans as Ford’s tools slice away at its flesh, and you hope he’s staying well out the way each time pieces of it fall to the floor like toppling trees.

After a few moments, Ford seems to notice you through his welding mask, though you can’t see his face through the tinted visor. He perks up though, dropping a massive saw to the ground and hurrying over.

“Hello, my dear! Is it too noisy?” He says as he slips through the door, pulling off his helmet and drawing you in for a sheepish kiss.

“No, just bringing you some of Mabel’s baking efforts— you don’t have to eat it, but she was awfully excited.” Ford surveys the cake with a smile, and you resist the urge to wipe the smear of soot from his cheek. 

“Thank you. For the sustenance, and for, uh, for checking in,” he says sincerely. Is that a flush you see? Your suspicions are confirmed when you set the coffee aside and bring him in for a deeper kiss, blouse-clad arms sliding around his neck, and you feel his pulse thrum beneath his skin.

The relief you feel! You’re not the only one navigating these unknown emotions, that the man who’s mapped the multiverse is also feeling the giddy nerves you are. Your skin prickles where his degloved hands bear your skin.

It feels strange to be held romantically after so long of loneliness. It’s not that you haven’t found love with the kids and Stan, but you could never bring yourself to even look at another in the way you used to look at Ford. Even if you never finished the portal, you would’ve spent the rest of your life alone, satisfied at least in the knowledge of how it felt to be loved, once. It excites you childishly knowing just by his kiss that Ford felt the same, the way he cradles you in his gaze and with his hands as if he’s trying to reabsorb every inch.

When you break away, his eyes open after yours, and he seems to be at a loss for what to say.

“Do you, um, want to go for a walk this evening? You haven’t left the shack yet, and we haven’t truly caught up…” you offer shyly.

“Yes! That would be… splendid! Spectacular. This evening. Perfect.” He blurts. The calm of last evening has clearly floated away in the daylight for both of you.

“Perfect.” You repeat.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @sleeplessdreamer14, @2hiigh2cry, @taffycandyqt, @papi-machucha, @muffin1304

© sunniskyies 2024, do not repost or translate my work

[faebaex]

TWST Characters - Big Spoon or Little Spoon?

author note: don't ask me what provoked this, i'm writing these silly little headcanons so that i can get it out of my head so i can write the things i'm supposed to be writing! forgive me for my slowness (｡T ω T｡)

characters: Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw & Octavinelle

Heartslabyul

Riddle Rosehearts

Little spoon who thinks he is a big spoon

He will try being both the big spoon and the little spoon respectively

But in his ACADEMIC opinion, he will declare that he is the big spoon

But despite how he insists that he is the big spoon, most nights he ends up falling asleep in your arms

If he wakes up in the middle of the night he’ll groggily try to rearrange but it doesn’t always work

Don’t tease him about it, sometimes he just needs the comfort of being held

Little spoon in denial basically

Ace Trappola

Silly straw who thinks he is a big spoon

No fr this guy will posture and insist that he is 100% big spoon material

But then as SOON as he falls asleep, he’s snoring and throwing his arms around and wiggling around, tossing and turning

Man will NOT keep still

The amount of times you’ve kicked him out of bed bc he keeps waking you up with his flailing

Rarely you’ll get a night where you comfortably sleep with him as the big spoon but don’t get used to it

Deuce Spade

Respectable big spoon

Probably one of the most comfortable people to sleep with

Will cuddle you well enough that you feel soothed but not tight enough that you can’t slip out if you want/need to

Always makes sure you’re comfortable, probably to the extent that you have to tell him to stop fretting

Good boy, 10/10

Cater Diamond

Undeniable little spoon

There is no doubt, just hold him pls

His favourite position is with his back to you bc he prefers it if you can’t see his face

Can’t have you seeing him vulnerable instead of his usual silly, goofy persona

Sometimes tho he’ll lay his head against your chest and you’ll have a little moment together

But don’t mention it otherwise he won’t do it again

Trey Clover

Big spoon

As if there was ever any doubt

He actually really likes spooning, he likes the intimacy

He likes the feel of your heartbeat and being able to stroke a hand through your hair or watch you as you sleep

Plus it is easy for him to slip into bed next to you if he’s stayed up late to finish baking

Savanaclaw

Leona Kingscholar

Big spoon but only because he treats you like a living pillow

I mean let’s be real all this man does is sleep

So there is no way that you will be anything but the little spoon here

He’ll think its funny if you try to be the big spoon and then just push you underneath him and resume business as usual

Spooning with Leona is either incredibly comfortable or the most uncomfortable sleep you’ve ever had – there is no in-between

He pretends not to care if you voice any discomfort but genuinely will try to be more attentive in future

Jack Howl

Big spoon

But he goes to bed sooo early so you don’t always get to cuddle

Sometimes when you sneak into bed he’ll roll over and engulf you in his arms

As if he sensed you in his sleep

But other times Jack sleeps like a rock

So its kind of hit and miss

But when you do get to spoon, it feels like you are encompassed in a huge, never-ending hug

It may even be tempting enough for you to become a morning person, if you’re not already

Ruggie Bucchi

Little spoon 100%

My man just likes to cuddle up after a long day of making thaumarks and running around taking care of Leona

So there is nothing he loves more than snuggling into your chest or side and passing out

Plus being the little spoon makes it a tiny bit easier to slip out in the morning when he has to do one of his early morning jobs or get Leona's breakfast ready

Plus plus having you there makes his bed feel just that little bit more comforting :)

Octavinelle

Azul Ashengrotto

Little spoon who thinks he is a big spoon #2

You’ll fall asleep with him being the big spoon but you always ALWAYS wake up with him somehow in the little spoon position with his arms and legs wrapped around you

Will insist this is a misunderstanding and that he slipped bc he’s still not used to beds yet

He actually loves nothing more than burying his face into your chest and feeling nice and safe

Nevertheless he will go to the grave insisting that he is the big spoon

The biggest little spoon in denial, no one compares

Jade Leech

Big spoon

The only time he is a little spoon is when he gets too excited about mushrooms or something and needs to calm down while you stroke his hair

Otherwise he is a big spoon through and through

Thing is though, his grip is TOO strong

Once you make the decision to spoon with him, there is no escape

His arms will be wrapped so tightly around your waist that you can’t even more an inch away from him

He has absolutely no remorse about it either the next morning, he’ll just give you his little closed eye smile and be all ‘whoops’ but hold you just as tight the next time

Floyd Leech

Hear me out, hear me out

100% a little spoon

He gives off big spoon energy but actually prefers to wrap himself around you and have you hold him and play with his hair and give him back scratches

Be careful if he’s in a silly goofy mood though because he’ll start nipping at you

Thinks its hilarious when you’re relaxing and you suddenly yelp bc he’s nipped at your side

But usually he behaves himself bc sometimes he’s a little touch starved so he really likes it when you hold him

[bettysupremacy]

Omg imagine james doing something stupid (not much imagination needed there) and r is telling him of (lovingly) and he’s just like “yes ma’am🫡” and the others are like side eyeing him I just NEED james to call me ma’am in an argument

i hope you are having a great december so far my love

(not much imagination needed there) LOL

i could kiss you this idea is so cute thank you lovely

“Oh, my boy.” You croon to the mess tumbling into your lap. Softly, you brush some hair from his fluttering eyes. “What‘ve the evil twins done to you.”

“Evil twins!” Sirius gasps.

Remus laughs. “That’s a new one.”

You don’t look up from the sickly boy careening for your touch. “What did they feed you?”

He moans into you, muttering something you can’t pick up. He’s gone all right, ten shades of flushed and warm to the touch. It’s already a warm night, but this is no warmth that came naturally.

“We didn’t do anything.” Remus denies impishly.

“Puking pastilles again?” You eye them. “Do you know how long we sat by the toilet?”

“That was not our fault.”

“And neither were the nosebleed nougats?” You sigh. “Seriously thought his brain was coming out his nose.”

Sirius nods in agreement nose scrunching. “Not his finest moment.”

“Because of you.”

“Don’t start with me, woman.” His finger points between your eyes.

James is malleable under you, nose pressing into your thigh coyly. You see the corner of a smile as you fuss, guilty pleasure at your roaming touch. The room is hot, warm bodies passing and going as they please through the small flat. You fear he may run a fever, though that’s uncommon. James immune system is a rock, solid at anything thrown to it.

You press your hand to his forehead. “Has he had to much?”

The boys eye each other suspiciously. “Too much?”

You scoff. “To drink?”

“Depends.” Sirius shrugs

“On what!”

Their dubious behavior alarms you. These boys are up to something, or rather, were up to something, and now they’re avoiding dealing with the consequence of you.

“The substance.”

“Substance?” You sit up straight, shuffling the boy under you. He grumbles in protest.

“Potion.” Remus gives.

You frown apprehensively. “You didn’t.”

“We didn’t,” Sirius starts.

“he did.” Remus finishes.

Felix Felicis. They’d been talking about it a couple weeks ago, getting their hands on some. You protested, begged them, to forget it. It’s too dangerous, your voice of reason lowered their spirits, James you’ll be sleeping on the couch if you risk yourself like that.

“No,” You whine, fretting over the intoxicated fool. “how much?”

“Ask loverboy.”

“The whole,” James takes a deep breath mid sentence. “bottle.”

“Oh my god,” your eyes wide at the older boys standing. “he’ll be puking all night.”

“Maybe not..”

Your face drops into your hands exhausted. “Puking Pastilles all over again.”

“M’sorry.” James moans under you. “M’so sorry, lovely.”

“That was so stupid.” You scold lightly, hand coming down to flatten over his collar bones. “So, so, so, stupid!”

You're ruffled, shaken at the thought of him downing such an expensive, easily tainted, potion.

“Do you listen to everything they tell you to do?”

“No,” he starts slowly.

“Seems like it.” You bristle, pulling him up to sit. You look into his eyes seriously and he shuffles, nervous under your gaze. “Get a mind of your own.”

His fingers twitch at the hem of the dress you’d picked out tonight, squeezing it in his grip, grounding himself in reality. “Yes ma’am.”

Sirius scoffs behind you, shaking his head at Remus who looks equally perturbed at James’ extra affection. Under them, you wrap your arms around his neck surely. Besides the soft sent of sickly sweet potion, he smells of pine and cologne. You let yourself recognize his body is continuing to function as it should. Untouched, mostly, by the yellow inebriant.

“I can’t stand you, do you feel well?”

“I’m feeling better.”

You stick your face in his shoulder. “Be serious.”

“No, I don’t feel well.”

You sigh into him, pressing a kiss into his freckled skin. He won’t sleep on the couch tonight, though you aught to teach him a lesson.

“We’re going home.”

“What?” James frowns. “We only just got here.”

“D��you have another pool to jump in?”

He cringes at the memory of his fireball spree. “Kay, coming.”

You collect your coat and purse as you stand, leaving James to fend for himself behind you. “Felix Felicis isn’t a joke, one wrong tincture of thyme and you’re in St Mungo’s- James, were are your shoes?”

[gay-dorito-dust]

What about if Stanford got sick/hurt? How do you think he’d deal with that?

Ford is stubborn as they come when it comes to injury or illness.

He doesn’t want anyone to fret over him and will try to deal with it himself first and foremost almost all of the time regardless of how he’d promise to start letting others help him, old habits die hard unfortunately and Ford was no exception to this.

He didn’t want to raise suspicions in anyone and would act like nothing was actually wrong, when it was clear as day that there was indeed something wrong. Ford just didn’t like being a burden to you, nor his family.

You’d have to force that man to sit down and force him to let you take care of him with no room to complain when you had to catch him in your arms in due to the fact that he fainted while mid sentence. It scared you to death that something bad had happened, so for when to find that he had been hiding a cold or a injury, you were more or less upset with the fact that he didn’t say anything sooner and tried to do everything by himself yet again.

So when he came to, only to find himself laying on a bed, his bed, with you hovering over him with your arms crossed, unimpressed. ‘Darling what are you-‘

‘You fainted, right in my arms when you were telling me what goblins and gnomes hate each other,’ ford winced but you continued, ‘I thought we agreed to stop hiding things Stanford Pines.’ You finished as you called him by his full name to convey your upset over this.

‘My dear I-‘

‘Don’t use the excuse that you could handle it because you obviously couldn’t or else you wouldn’t have fainted in my arms.’ You cut him off as you reached out to hold his hand. ‘You scared me Ford, you really scared me back there.’ You admitted in a whisper as you tightened your grip on his hand.

‘I’m sorry my dear, I didn’t mean to scare you like that, I just didn’t want to bother you with my own things solely on the basis that we are partners and must share each others grievances.’ Ford said as he squeezed your hand in reassurance.

You smiled softly at him, knowing that you could never truly stay mad at Ford for long periods of time and kissed his forehead. ‘Well I want you to start sharing your grievances with me from now on,’ you tell him, ‘I want to help you sweetheart and I can’t do so if you keep yourself cooped up in the lab or close yourself off emotionally from the rest of us who are only trying to help.’ You finish as you go to leave Ford’s room.

‘Stay here while I go get your soup, if i see that you have taken a sock clad toe out of that bed, I’m revoking privileges.’ You warned him.

‘What privileges are you revoking my dear?’ Ford asked sheepishly.

‘Cuddling and late night campaigns of dungeons, dungeons and more dungeons.’ You told him simply as he visibly deflated as you went into the the kitchen to get his soup when you were joined by Stanley.

‘He fainted again didn’t he?’ Stanley asked.

‘Yep.’ You replied shortly.

‘What was it this time? Common cold, injured?’ Stan inquired as he helped you get a bowl for the soup intended for his stubborn brother.

‘Sleep deprivation caught up to him with a slight injury to his side, from what I don’t know.’ You told him as you thanked him for the bowl before ladling the soup into it. ‘Other than that I’m not surprised that he’s hidden it from us.’

‘Old habits die hard with my brother, there are going to be times where he won’t tell you anything in hopes of dealing with it himself, it’s all part of the lone complex he devolved while isolating himself from the rest of Gravity falls.’ Stanley said and you found yourself listening intently to it all.

‘He thinks he can do it all by himself but the moment he gets proven wrong, it makes him want to try and do it by himself even more to the point where he exhausts himself into gaining and or hurting himself further.’ Stanley continues as he leaves his back against the kitchen counter, sipping on a can of Pitt cola that seemingly magicked itself into his hand.

‘Has he always been like that?’ You asked.

Stanley chuckled. ‘Fuck no, when we were kids Ford would always come to me with whatever his big brain didn’t understand, but now after everything I’m not surprised to see that he’s become more recluse and hesitant to open up.’ Stanley saw your defeated expression and put a hand on your shoulder.

‘Don’t give up on him just yet, my smart ass brother still needs you to bring him back down to reality now and then.’ Was all he said before leaving the kitchen as you brought the soup back to Ford’s room, just to see that he had fallen asleep, not a sock clad toe out of bed too. You smiled softly as you place the soup at his bedside table and taking off his glasses before you began to ran your fingers through his hair.

‘My stubborn old fool, I love you so.’ You mused as you dedicated yourself to watching over Ford for the time being, just until he was feeling better again.

Which you did for the next couple of days, scolding him for trying to go monster hunting whilst on a cold when you spotted him trying to make a run for it out the window, not until he saw you stood there looking at him like a unimpressed parent.

Needless to say Ford went back into the really quick after that attempt.

Ford was restless and he was stubborn but you always made the best out of a shit situation by having you both cuddle in bed and have your one mini campaign of dungeons, dungeons and more dungeons to pass the time.

[senualothbrok]

Here

Summary: After you save him from Orin's clutches, Gale has some things to work through. You show him that he is not alone.

Featuring a fireside chat with Astarion.

A response to this anon ask. I hope you like it 💜

Word count: 2.1k

Non-18+. Mild hurt/comfort. Gale x reader/Tav.

AO3 link

A/N: You can watch Gale's reactions to being rescued from Orin's lair here (at 12.32) and here.

Thank you so much @dekariosclan for beta reading and being my marvellous Gale consultant, as always!

****

His scream tears you from sleep. It is shrill, piercing, a desperate flinch against untold horrors. You reach out for him as he gasps, clawing at his orb scar, choking for breath.

When you touch him, he thrashes, still caught in the talons of his nightmare. You see the scars left by Orin in his cloying sweat, his shaking frame, his subsiding shouts as he crumples into you. He cannot hide them from you, much as he tries.

“It was a dream.” You press his head against your chest, twining your fingers through his tangled hair. “You’re safe. You're home.”

He does not speak for a long time. His eyelashes flutter against your skin, his heartbeat jolting through you as he searches frantically for his glade of calm. When he eventually finds it, you feel his hands come to rest on the small on your back, steadying, anchoring. You hold him, torn apart by a gratitude as strong as grief. He is here. You could have lost him, but he is here. You will never let go of him again.

He clears his throat. When he moves back to look at you, his smile does not quite meet his eyes.

“My apologies, my love. I didn't mean to wake you–”

His voice is hoarse, broken. You shake your head. “You have nothing to apologise for, Gale. Absolutely nothing.”

He looks away for a moment. You know you have a brief opening, now, before the mask comes up, before the jolly dismissals and self-deprecating quips resume their well-worn routines. You place your hand on his cheek.

“Gale, you know you can talk to me, don’t you? Everything that happened–”

He jerks his head, taking your hand in his. His skin is clammy, and there is a hollowness in his gaze, though it is still tender as rain-kissed earth.

“I'm fine, Tav. Please don't worry yourself.” A brisk smile of reassurance, warring with the dark circles under his eyes. “Of all the things on your very full plate, my welfare is not something you need to burden yourself with.”

You are about to object, but the kiss he plants on your cheek is swift and firm. When he rises from your shared bedroll, you feel bereft.

“I'm quite alright. Nothing that a bit of fresh air and a quick walk won't cure.”

He combs his fingers through his hair, squaring his shoulders. The walls are up, and he is retreating into the night. Even as you ask, you know what his answer will be.

“Should I come with you?”

He huffs, bending down to kiss your forehead. “No, please. Rest. I deprived you of a good sleep tonight, and gods knows how many nights before this. I want you to take what rest you can for our battles ahead. I won’t stray far. Don’t worry.”

You cup his face tightly, desperately. “I love you.”

This time, his eyes smile before he turns away. “I love you too.”

*****

In the distance, streaks of dawn tease at the bruises in the sky. Sleep is a triviality that eludes you. You huddle around the campfire, fretting, trying not to mark the hours that Gale has been gone. Trying not to imagine all of the nightmares which were until recently Gale’s reality.

You fail. You think of how Orin must have flayed Gale’s mind from his body as he struggled, powerless and alone. You imagine his terror, not just of torture and death, but of the orb inside him. And you wonder whether he despaired as he waited, doubting that his love would come for him, fearing that his friends had forgotten him. Convinced that he was once again abandoned to die.

‘Of all the things on your very full plate, my welfare is not something you need to burden yourself with.’

You bury your face in your hands, a chaos of panic, love and guilt. It takes you a moment to register the presence beside you.

“Gods, you look awful.”

Astarion is peering at you like he is examining a torn gown. A trickle of blood stains his collar, the triumph of a late night hunt. He wrinkles his nose as he studies you.

“Do I need to have a word with Gale about laying off on” – his hand circles vaguely – “whatever it is the two of you do at night?”

You do not have the energy to glare at him. Instead, you glance towards the edges of camp, scanning for signs of Gale’s return. When you see nothing, you sigh. Astarion arches an eyebrow.

“Do I really need to explain why Gale might not be in the mood for that?”

Astarion tilts his head. There is understanding in the pause that follows. Astarion had been the one who helped you get Gale down from Orin’s altar, after all. He had seen the turmoil in Gale’s eyes, the blood on his limbs before the healing spells. He had felt Gale’s resistance when you both laid hands on him, easing him up. The fractured moments before Gale’s usual cheery gratitude snapped into place. Astarion would have recognised the signs better than anyone.

“He’s been having nightmares,” you manage. “But he won’t talk about them. He woke up screaming tonight. Then he went for a walk. He’s been gone for two hours.”

Astarion frowns. “If you’re worried for his safety, the wizard is more than capable of blasting people to smithereens.” He purses his lips. “Assuming he’s not magically restrained, like Orin managed–”

You wince at your rising dread. Gale is an archwizard, you remind yourself, not a defenceless babe. You fight the urge to smother him in care, to protect him and keep him safe at all costs. It is not what he needs. But perhaps you do not know what he truly needs.

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Astarion stares at you for a while. He leans back, brows furrowed, and you suddenly wonder if you give him enough credit. Perhaps there are things Astarion sees, despite his usual habit of deflecting things with thinly veiled insults.

“Sometimes, there are things that are better left unsaid.” He curls his lip. “Even for Gale.”

You ignore the barb, spinning towards him. “So Gale should just soldier on? Stiff upper lip, the show must go on? Even when he’s falling apart?”

“So dramatic, darling.” He tuts. “Who’s falling apart? He seems fine to me.”

You clench your hands. “The nightmares are getting worse, Astarion. Gods knows what Orin did to him.”

From the feathering of Astarion’s jaw, you know he can guess.

“And he won’t talk to me. Like he doesn’t want to be a burden. Like he’s sorry…” You scoff. “As if it’s his fault, that he’s the one who let me down.”

Astarion narrows his eyes. “If you’re suggesting that it’s your—”

“No, no,” you huff. “No, this isn’t about me. It’s about Gale.”

Astarion sighs. His gaze is weary as a scar.

“Some things are too horrific to share, darling. So atrocious that it’d be a nightmare to even hear them. He just needs to grit his teeth and get through. Survive.”

You struggle to keep the anguish from your voice. “Does he have to do that alone?”

Astarion’s mouth tightens. He averts his gaze. “Maybe that’s what he’s used to.”

You are taken aback by the resignation in Astarion’s words. Conviction rises in you, an unstoppable tide that weaves through the tents of each and every member of the family you have found.

“But he isn’t alone anymore. He doesn’t have to keep it to himself. He isn’t a burden, and there’s nothing he could do or say to drive me away. I’m here for him. We’re all here for him.”

There is a quiver in Astarion’s features. You have a sense of a door cracking open. A glimpse of something ancient and hidden.

“It takes a while,” he says quietly. “To get used to that. To believe it.”

The silence that falls over you is both heavy and light. Within it, a lifetime of loneliness and fear crashes against the battle-forged bonds of love and friendship. And you believe, with every fibre of your being, that love will endure.

Astarion jerks his head behind you. You turn, your eyes filling as they fall on what they seek.

“But if anyone can remind him,” you hear Astarion chuckle, “it’s you.”

*****

When you return to Gale’s tent, you try to settle him, but he is a flurry. His movements drag with exhaustion, yet are manic with determination.

“Is there something I can get you to help you sleep? A cup of tea? A warming spell? Do you need a–”

You embrace him. His breath catches, and you clasp him so close you can feel the points of muscle and bone. The weight of him, the miracle of him beside you. You will never take him for granted.

“Just you,” you whisper. “Here, with me.”

His lips tingle against your neck, his grasp tightening around your waist. For an eternity, neither of you let go. You are haunted by the shadow of your separation, chasing away Orin’s ghost with the strength of your need. When he dips back, his brows are steepled with concern.

“You’re troubled.” He traces his thumb across your jawline. “What troubles you?”

After all this time, he still does not understand. He cannot see how someone could love him so deeply that his pain becomes their own. He still cannot believe that someone could respond to his love by giving him their whole heart. That you could love him as he loves you. An outpouring of the soul. A sacred offering, steadfast and unending.

“That you’re troubled.” Your fingers interlace with his. “That you think your struggles are a burden to me - that I wouldn't want to share everything with you, including your suffering.”

He grimaces so sharply, it is almost a flinch.

“My love,” he heaves. “You quite literally have the weight of the world on your shoulders. It torments me to know I’ve added to that load, rather than easing it. If I weren’t such a fool to fall for Orin’s trap–”

You shake your head. The force of it stills him.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Gale. What happened wasn’t your fault. And what you’re going through now…You don’t have to pretend that everything’s alright. I know it isn’t. I hear it, I see it, every day, every night.”

His eyes widen, the wrinkle between them deepening. You sense the knee-jerk apology that bubbles within him. Your grasp his hand tighter, the words tumbling from you like the sea surging against the shore.

“I love you. I’m here for you. I’ll never abandon you, no matter what happens. You can tell me anything. Everything. Whatever you want. And you can trust me, just like I trust you. Just like I know you love me, and will always be there for me.”

For a while, he does not speak. His gaze roams your face, searching for signs of doubt, hesitation, disapproval. But all you can give him is love.

You draw him back, sinking down to your bed roll. He softens as you curl into each other, his arm wrapping around your body. Your head nestles between his neck and shoulder, and you breathe in the sour tang of his sweat. He inhales deeply, nuzzling into your hair. Memorising you, just as you are soaking him in.

“You kept me alive, you know,” he whispers. “When Orin toyed with me, tore at me. The thought of you, your courage, your kindness. Your love. She could never break me, no matter what vile cruelties she inflicted. I had you.”

Your tears trail into the nook of his collarbone. His voice trembles.

“My foolishness, my carelessness… it could have got you killed. And when you saved me – when, yet again, you saved me from the precipice – I resolved to do better. I told myself the least I could do was cause as little hassle as possible.”

You lurch forward, your vision a blur as you take his face in your hands.

“Gale,” you breathe. “I love you more than anyone and anything. You are not, and will never be, a hassle. A burden. Never. You're the man I love, and you're everything to me.”

His eyes are bright as he brushes away your tears. You watch the shadows lift from his features as the truth of your heart washes over him, wave by wave. Slowly, reverently, he presses a kiss to each of your palms, holding them against his cheeks.

“What have I done to deserve you?”

There is awe in his voice. Wonder. And shimmering within it, the beginnings of acceptance.

You lean forward, circling the tip of his nose with your own. He lets out a shaky breath, his hands weaving around your back, pulling you closer.

“You don't need to do anything. Just be here, with me.”

You smile into each others’ lips, two rivers joining in the sea.

“I can do that.”

********

A/N: Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to know what you think as always, so don't be a stranger 🫶

Liked this fic? Check out my other work

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won’t Let Go

Shower Shenanigans

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 2.7k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Zombie!AU, sexual tension, masturbation

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

It’s still dark out. You feel heavy, limbs weighted down in a way that has nothing to do with your pregnancy and everything to do with the furnace beside you in bed and the heady sensation of comfort rolling over you in waves.

The cold nipping at you has been such a constant you barely notice it until now with its distinct absence.

You’ve never been one to fret over waking in the middle of the night. You know at some point you’ll fall back asleep so blessedly avoid the oh god why can’t I sleep why am I awake cycle that inevitably keeps people up at night.

Despite being separate when you drifted off to sleep, at some point in the night the chill of incoming winter chased the pair of you together under the covers.

You’re on your left side, John behind you with his arm draped across your belly and something at your lower back.

Hello.

Turns out his overall stature and general demeanor isn’t the only thing about him that’s imposing.

There’s a flicker of interest, a small flame that you try to tamper down immediately out of shame and embarrassment.

You’re pregnant, for God’s sake and he’s asleep. Nothing about this is intentional on his end.

You’re just a hormonal cocktail going through dick withdrawals. He’s not interested. This is the kind of bullshit that got you pregnant in the first place.

David- the man who got you into this mess because you most assuredly did not impregnate yourself- had rapidly lost interest once you started to show, and you’ve been focusing on the whole not dying thing so your libido has taken a backseat for the last while.

Hard to worry about rubbing one out with death looming overhead at every turn.

But now?

You’re safe and fed and warm and tucked up against a man who absolutely would turn your head in another life.

You’re being fucking delusional. He’s doing the right thing- the kind thing by trying to take you back with him. Nothing more. Soldiers are supposed to protect civilians, that’s their whole job (you also may or may not be delusional about the moral soundness of someone paid to follow orders and kill on command, but hey, you’re not exactly spoiled for choice here).

He’s just doing his job.

If you were alone in your own bed, perhaps you’d give into the urge to run your fingers across your thigh and reach between your legs- with some effort and wriggling.

Then again, if you were in your own bed you wouldn’t have John’s morning wood pressing against your lower back, so it’s entirely plausible your libido wouldn’t have been reignited.

You try to shift a bit towards the edge of the bed- give yourself some breathing room so you can clear your head and stop being silly.

It doesn’t go well at all.

John seems to be a clingy sleeper. The moment you gain any real space between you his reaction is immediate. The arm draped across your belly locks against you immediately, his other arm looping under and around your neck loosely to pull you back against him.

Surely he must be awake- there’s no way he can react this strongly in his sleep.

He gives absolutely no indication. There’s a short, irate huff as his nose presses against the nape of your neck and reaffirms his hold on you, and then he’s back to snoring lightly in your ear. And little John is right back to pressing against the small of your back.

Well shit. So much for that plan.

You have little option other than to deal with it (or wake him up- you don’t exactly want to go down that particular rabbit hole, however), squirming with the realization that you are wet and trapped and unable to do anything about either.

Despite being clung to and held hostage, you manage to do the only thing that you can in this situation and fall back asleep.

When you wake up John is gone.

It is still warm under the blankets but you have very limited patience to see if he just slipped away for a moment and is coming back soon- Especially with your kid sitting on your bladder.

You can hear him moving around downstairs, so it appears that this part of your routine will not be changing. He leaves you to sort yourself out in the morning in your own time, and waits to bring you down the stairs after you've finished in the bathroom.

Before things went to shit, you were a big fan of hot showers. Nowadays you’re just grateful to have access to running water and you don’t mind the cold near as much as you thought you would. But gone are the days of lingering under the spray and enjoying the heat while you dissociate about work. Now showers are what they always were supposed to be- a measure to get yourself clean. Get in, get done, get out.

You really must be a hormonal cocktail going through withdrawals, however, based on the mess between your legs as you clean yourself up.

Maybe if you just handle it yourself you’ll calm down and stop feeling like a cat in heat.

As your hand moves between your legs, you try to keep an ear out for John.

That somehow he’ll just know that you’re doing something you shouldn’t be, and come to investigate it.

You’re grateful for the water muffling you- the way your breath hitches before a shaky exhale as soon as you touch yourself. Provides some sort of insulation incase John comes to check on you, although you don’t plan on being particularly loud.

It’s been so long since anyone has touched you, including yourself.

There’s a fair bit of maneuvering on your end, trying to find the pose that will best let you get between your legs while standing under the cold spray.

You get it figured out, need and practice having you working yourself up in no time at all.

Back before things went tits up, you had the comfort of your bedroom, a variety of toys, and whatever erotica or porn suited your fancy at the time.

Now, you don’t have more than your imagination but find it to be perfectly up for the task.

At first you’re not thinking much about anything- just enjoying the sensations as you circle your clit. Your other hand reaches to grasp and tease one of your nipples.

Despite the cold water your body is flush and warm between your legs. All the bloodflow heading south.

You can feel the coil tightening in your belly as you work yourself up.

It’s like you hit a plateau though, or a proverbial wall. The pleasure doesn’t fizzle out or taper off but it just won’t quite go where you want it to. Just the physical stimulation isn’t enough to get you off.

You’re numb to the cold, mind wandering as you mentally tab through recollections of your prior go-to fodder, or previous encounters with partners who’d known what they were doing and had done their jobs properly.

That helps, but still isn’t quite enough.

Christ, this is taking too long now. John knows how long you shower for. He’s going to notice if you don’t hurry up.

The thought of John catching you sends a jolt of electricity straight to your pussy.

You absolutely do not want him walking in on you. But the thought of his voice purring low in your ear as he praises you, big hands roaming the expanse of your body as he guides you exactly how he wants you- gruff and taciturn with his orders-

That does the trick, grabbing you by the back of the neck and hurdling you across the finish line.

And God help you, you’re not sure if it’s simply because of how long it had been since you last had any sexual gratification, or if the captain really just has that much of your attention- but the orgasm that rips through you is enough to make your knees buckle.

You’re no stranger to handling your own pleasure but it’s not often you literally make your own legs shake.

You are struck rather quickly with the realization that if you do not sit down, you are going to fall down.

It’s far from graceful, but you manage to land as gently as you can, given the situation.

You’re dazed, completely unrelated to the fall. Good God you’ve been in dire need of relief to have this strong of a reaction to getting yourself off.

Reality comes knocking at the door amid your post masturbatory bliss. The cotton pulls away from between your ears, and the cold settles on you about the same time.

If you don’t hurry up and get yourself dried and dressed, there’s no way John isn’t going to come looking for you.

You reach forward and fiddle with the taps to turn off the water. What you can’t quite do is bring yourself to stand just yet.

You’ll sit for a second and then try to get up. The cold biting at you proves to be an excellent motivator to try soon, as well as the porcelain of the tub. It’s not exactly comfortable so you have no intention of staying here all day.

Just as you take a breath to psych yourself to get your legs back underneath you, the sound of John’s knuckles rapping against the door breaks the silence.

“You plan on coming out sometime today, Love?”

“I’ll be out in a minute!” You hope your voice doesn’t sound too pitched like a child who definitely just got caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

“In your own time, then,” he huffs from the other side of the door and you can just see the pinched expression on his face through the wood. Thankfully though you hear the floorboards creaking as he steps away from the bathroom.

Pleased with yourself that you’ve successfully managed to deter him, you decide now you’re ready to tackle the hurdle of getting back up.

A very pregnant woman on her ass and a wet bathroom does not make for a very good situation, unfortunately.

You’re not very far out of a sitting position when one of your feet slips. It’s a stretch to call it a fall, really. You’re fine.

But when your foot slips, on reflex you move your arm to catch yourself and bang your elbow. The immediate tingling and accompanying unpleasantness is just the old it’s not very funny when you hit your funny bone, but you can’t stifle the reflexive “God fucking damnit” from escaping you unprompted.

There’s no telling which of those was the first to catch his attention, but you hear the floorboards protest his return to the door. “What was that?”

Ah, shit.

“Nothing!” You know your tone isn’t very convincing now, stress pitching it up an octave.

There’s a silence that stretches just long enough that you think maybe- just maybe- that John is going to leave you be.

That thought is dashed immediately when he simply states, “I don’t believe you. I’m coming in.”

“John, no!” You immediately protest. “I’m-” the door opens, his focus on the air space your head would be occupying if you weren’t currently on your ass. “-fine,” you finish lamely as his gaze drops to yours.

The look of are you fucking kidding me is scrawling across his face so plainly it might as well be written in sharpie.

“What the hell happened?” He demands, taking the two strides required to get to you.

“I’m fine!” You protest again (from the ground). “I got dizzy and sat down so I wouldn’t fall.” Not entirely untrue, and mollifies John enough that now his expression is just one of being disgruntled.

While he’s probably just deciding what to do with you, you’re keenly aware of the fact that you are wet and naked and on the floor with him towering over you. It doesn’t do you any good in the slightest but try to draw your limbs up in an attempt for some form of modesty.

“Right,” he seems to have come to a conclusion for how he wants to proceed, “let’s get you back on your feet and dried off before you catch your death.”

Only way out is through, you suppose.

You really, really, really wish he would just turn around and leave so you can salvage your dignity in solitude, but you can also just tell that that isn’t going to be an option. He’s not going to leave you until he’s satisfied you haven’t busted your ass too severely (you didn’t, but you also know it’s a lost cause to try to convince him).

He really does have quite the imposing figure, even as he kneels down to your level to better get a hold of you.

You almost ask for a towel- something for some sort of modesty, some sort of barrier between your wet, naked, vulnerable body and the very man you were thinking about that got you in this scenario to begin with.

Pragmatically you realize it’s not a great idea. It won’t wrap fully around you to cover everything anyway, and your attention should be on getting back on your feet and not worrying about what the towel is doing. It will probably just fall in the impending shuffle anyway.

His hands are gentle with you, despite the various scars suggesting that he is often not a gentle man. Firm enough to get hold of you and make sure you don’t slip away from him without being overbearing.

Much like last night, you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes right now. Which is fine, because you can bury your face in the crook of his neck and look past his shoulder like this, avoiding his gaze entirely.

Your arms are around his neck as he positions you how he likes, readjusting his hold on you.

“Feel like you’ve got your legs under you?” He asks, and you huff. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“So she claims despite being on her arse in the bath,” John huffs right back at you before starting to count.

Context clues tell you that “One, two, three,” is your cue to make a go of it.

John’s grip lingers for a moment- “You don’t feel dizzy do you?”- assessing how you feel now that you’re standing. You can’t, in all fairness, begrudge him that as that’s your story for how you ended up on the ground anyway.

“No,” you feel like a broken record insisting you’re fine and decide against continuing to protest against his involvement. “Can I have my towel, please?”

As he releases you to do as you ask, the instability you feel isn’t so much a physical one as one that’s much less tangible.

You’re quick to take the towel from him when he hands it over, eager to have something between you. You feel somewhat less exposed this way, even though it’s not really doing you any good.

It’s like something out of your silly little paperback bodice rippers when he tilts your chin up to look at him. You’re still avoiding eye contact which is likely what prompts him to do this.

The movement gets him the desired result as you instinctively follow his cue to look at him, clinging to the towel like a lifeline.

He’s assessing you, you realize. Sorting out for himself if he believes that you’re actually fine despite your numerous protests.

At a certain point he’s clearly decided that he’ll accept that you’re unharmed.

He clears his throat, satisfied momentarily but still seemingly content with being overbearing.

“I promise I’m fine. I need to get dressed,” its an assurance and a request wrapped together- please leave. You just want to dry off and get your clothes on, and forget that this happened.

The end of the world hasn’t totally knocked away your sense of modesty, and given your recent revelations of how your emotions are just one hormone cocktail regarding John, you can’t quite decide how you feel at the moment.

The caveman grunts, giving you a final once over before turning and leaving, the door clicking shut behind him.

You’re alone now, which is what you want, and naked and cold.

[ellieluvr420]

Friends? Never. Pt.7 (Ellie Williams x reader)

SYNOPSIS: You and Ellie had been bitter enemies for years now but before that you were best friends. You had always planned to be roommates one day but when that becomes a reality the situation isn't exactly how you both imagined it.

SMUT mdni, brief mention of attempted SA, story-typical violence

It had been two weeks since Ellie had come back from patrol injured, Maria gave you leave so you could take care of her and it had been a nightmare for the full fourteen days, Ellie never once making life easy for you and proving herself to be the worst patient in all of history. Nevertheless, you still managed to get through it and today was your first day back on patrol. If you said you weren’t nervous you would be lying and if you said you were nervous solely because of the attack two weeks ago you would also be lying. You had been up all-night pacing and fretting about being away from Ellie for a whole day, you were so angry that in the space of two weeks you had become dependent on her company but there was nothing you could do to rationalise with yourself, so you paced, and you bit the skin around your nails raw and possibly pulled a couple clumps of hair out, you had yet to look in the mirror and assess the damage but when you walked into Ellie’s room where she was sitting eating breakfast, you knew it was bad. 

“Why do you look like that?” 

“Like what?” 

“Bad.” 

“Wow thanks.” 

“Oh come on you know what I mean.” As you sit on the bed and lean in to peck her lips, she holds your face close to hers to whisper: “You always look beautiful, but you don’t look well.” She kisses you once again and leans her forehead on yours as you smile bittersweetly at each other. 

Since your first kiss you had spent every second together, the little bubble surrounding you both was tinted pink and the second you walk out the front door for patrol you know the feeling will be ripped away from you. You had spent every night watching films, making dinner together once Ellie was mobile again and you had even started taking it in turns reading your book to each other. The new definition of your relationship was undecided but the air around you both was heavy with want. You had been holding yourself back because of Ellie’s condition and Ellie had been holding herself back because the irrational fear that she would somehow infect you if you had sex was at the forefront of her mind, sometimes she’d even hesitate to kiss you before remembering that it was okay. Things were calm and quiet, and you almost forgot the real world, almost. 

“I’m fine El, I just didn’t sleep much last night.” 

“Then you shouldn’t be going on patrol, you won’t be able to focus, tell Maria you can’t.” 

“Okay so I tell Maria I can’t patrol because I’m tired, how do you think she’ll react?” 

“... Okay fair enough but I don’t like it.” 

“You and me both.” You gaze at her face that had the last remnants of some green and brown bruises as well as the stitched cut across her freckled cheeks that was healing well as you cup her cheek. She takes your hand in hers and kisses at your knuckles before tightening her grip and holding your fingers for her to inspect. “Wait, No Ellie.” 

“I fucking knew it you liar, you’ve bitten them raw. Are they sore?” You snatch your hand away from her with a shameful look on your face as you avoid eye contact. 

“No they’re fine. And I’m fine, I gotta go though so I’ll see you later.” 

“What time will you be back?” 

“Five-ish.” You both go quiet as the memory of that day dawns on each of you, you watch as panic flashes across her face. “Hey, it’s going to be okay, there’s a big group of us going today and we’re sticking together. They managed to get us walkie’s somehow, so we’ll be able to stay in touch with each other and Jackson, okay?” 

“Okay.” She sighs and you kiss her check before walking to the door. “Be safe.” You look back at her and flash a solemn smile. 

“Always.” You keep walking without looking back again for fear that if you did you would never leave, so you don’t look back until you’re on Greg and riding out of Jackson to your first checkpoint. 

“Haven’t seen you in a while.” Lacey smiled at you. You were often on patrol with her, so you had become good friends. Her black curly hair was pulled up into a messy bun and her brown eyes sparkled with a hint of curiosity. Lacey was beautiful with her glowing deep-brown skin that only looked more heavenly in the sunlight that was beating down on you all. The first thing you noticed about her was her beauty but as you got to know her you found she was strong and kind. She was the first person you told about your sexuality and she was the first person after Maria that you told about your parents kicking you out.  

“Yeah, I got given leave because my roommate got really hurt in the attack the other week, so I was taking care of her.” 

“You were taking care of Ellie; I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for that.” 

“How do you know I live with Ellie?” You had barely seen Lacey since moving in with Ellie because of everything that’s happened so you hadn’t had a chance to tell her, for a second you wondered if you would have told her even if you had seen her, but you push the thought away before you let it distract you. 

“Everyone knows.” 

“What?” 

“Oh come on, you two are sworn enemies and now you live together, everyone’s a little interested on what that’s like. So, fill me in, is she secretly buried in the backyard right now?” She grins at you playfully as you shake your head and chuckle. 

“Well, um, she’s not dead yet.” You choke out a small laugh and immediately feel consumed with guilt as Lacey laughs with you. You don’t know why you said that. What you wanted to say is it’s been the best thing that’s ever happened to you, but your mouth wasn’t connected to your brain. 

You had been to two out of four checkpoints and you were approaching your third now, a small holiday town with large cabins and a couple shops and bars, whenever you came here you always tried to imagine what it was like before the outbreak but your mind can never conjure up a picture and it frustrates you more each time. The actual checkpoint is one of the furthest cabins from the entrance to the town, so you check each building you pass on your way to it. There were seven of you today and each person seemed more on edge than the next but other than a couple stragglers you had been okay so far. You felt stupid for relaxing a little the second one of your men went down and bullets started raining down on your group. 

“FIND COVER NOW!” You scream to the rest of them and as you sprint past Finn lying dead on the floor something inside you flips and you’re no longer consciously acting, all your movements were controlled by the need to get back home to Ellie safely as you dived into the first cabin on your left. Immediately you pull your handgun out and check your pocket to catalogue how much ammo you had. You quickly but carefully check each room downstairs. If you had been calm and collected you would have went upstairs first knowing that you’re more likely to find someone there than downstairs, but you aren’t calm and collected, you’re panicked and running entirely on adrenaline. You hadn’t realised how easy it was for life to end, how quick, you had always pushed the thought of death away knowing it was all too possible in the hostile world you lived in, so you chose to stay ignorant to reality. You were content with your decision, until you hear the creak of a floorboard behind you. Without a second thought you spun round firing your gun twice, you watch as the figure that you had shot at dove towards you showing you his grisly face. You fire again but he’s too quick, slamming you down to the ground and climbing on top of you, pinning you down. You glance at your gun that had been hit out of your hand and was now sitting in the corner of the room, mocking you. He smiles like the cheshire cat as he runs a knife down your face before reaching for the walkie talkie he had attached to his hip. 

“Boys come to number 7, I’ve got a pretty one.” He speaks into the walkie talkie before turning his attention back to you. “I’m gonna enjoy this.” He begins reaching to unbuckle his belt and your body turns cold. 

Get home to Ellie. 

You lean up and smash your head into his and as he groans with a disoriented expression, you deliver a hard punch straight to his nose.  

Get home to Ellie. 

You push him off you and scramble away as quick as you can but his hand latches onto your ankle, you let him pull you closer and then kick him hard in the face which allows you to wriggle free again. 

Get home to Ellie. 

This time you manage to make it to your gun, immediately shooting him straight in the foot. He bellows out as he goes to the ground and you watch as you grab your walkie talkie. 

“Come to number 7, be discreet and be ready, there’s a group of them and they’re all coming here. I’ve got one already.” You walk over to the now writhing man and jam the gun into his stomach. “WHO ARE YOU?!” You screech out. His silence angers you more so you slam the base of your gun down onto his temple. “Start talking or I break your arm next.” 

“I’d like to see you try.” He chuckles and the arrogance sets something off inside you, in one swift motion you hold his right arm up, his dominant one you had noticed, and stomp down onto it until you hear a loud crack and see the creamy white of his bone poking through his upper arm. The scream he lets out is inhumane, but it was music to your ears. 

“You’ve got a minute or I break the other one too.” 

“FINE, fine, we spotted your town a couple days ago, we were gonna take you guys as hostages to make them trade us for supplies.” 

“Oh so you’re raider scum.” 

“We’re survivors just like you, you ain’t better than us just because you live in your fancy, cosy town.” 

“If you wanted supplies, you could’ve just approached the walls, we help anyone that needs it. That’s why we’re better than you.” As you finish speaking Lacey burst through the door dragging an unconscious man by his foot, she brings him to be in line with the man before you and drops his foot. The rest of your team follow, bringing in three more guys between them. “Two of you go find stuff to tie them up with.” You look back at your group that were waiting eagerly for what you next had to say. There was no leader in patrol groups, but they were listening to you like you were. 

“How did you find us?” You turn your attention back to the men sat before you, the conscious ones each exchange looks. You slam your boot-clad foot into one of the men brought in by your team. 

“Look at me. How did you find us?” 

“People talk, pretty town like yours, shit like that makes the rounds.” One of them pipes up. He’s clutching his side, and you notice the blood seeping from between his fingers, you walk over to him so you’re towering over his hunched form. 

“What people?” 

“Met a girl and her friends, said they’re looking for a guy who lives there but they don’t know where it is, only that it's in Wyoming. They’re on their way too but we move faster than most, we just wanted supplies.” 

“Did she say the name of the guy she’s looking for?” 

“Nope.” Your face turns dark as you raise your gun to his head and shoot him in a split second, the thump of him hitting the floor coincides with Lacey and Raphael coming back into the room with all the stuff they found. They all look at you as though you have two heads. 

“He was bleeding out, would’ve been deadweight.” They nod and start getting to work tying the rest up. They go to tie their feet, but you stop them. “We’re taking them with us. Maria’s gonna want to interrogate them about this. I’m gonna radio Maria and tell her we’re bringing back hostages. The rest of you watch them, they move you shoot but not to kill, got it?” They all nod, and you walk to the next room along to contact Maria. 

“We’re heading back now, we’re at Mountain Valley, we got ambushed by raiders and we’re getting ready to transport them now, they’re talking about a group that are on their way to Jackson looking for someone, figured you’d want to talk to them. We had one casualty, Finn, he went quick.” Your voice trembles but you take a deep breath to hold it together. 

“Okay, well done, he shouldn’t have died but six is better than none, don’t beat yourself up, it’s not your fault.” Her bluntness had always been refreshing but now it was causing bile to rise up your body, you push the feeling down and concentrate on replying. 

“I’ll see you at the gates.” You can’t acknowledge what Maria said, it doesn’t feel right, so you focus on getting the raiders ready to take back to Jackson. You all load them onto your horses, tying them to the reins and then climb onto your horses also. Lucas volunteered to take Finn on his horse so his family could say goodbye and he could be buried in Jackson. You, Ben, Mick and Lacey each have a raider on your horse, so you climb on behind them and jam your guns into their backs as a warning. The ride back to Jackson went by in a flash and before you know it, you’re approaching the slowly opening gates of home. 

Ellie was standing at the gates of Jackson, when she walked, or limped, over there it was 4 PM, she knew she’d likely be waiting for some time, but she couldn’t sit at home waiting for you to come back any longer. She finally understood your reaction to her coming home late because you weren’t even due back yet and her anxiety was the worst it had ever been. She figured waiting at the gates would be better than waiting at home but as she approached the gates and saw Maria standing there as well as a large group of guards, she felt uneasy. The atmosphere was calm but foreboding and she couldn’t understand why there were so many guards just standing and waiting. She walked over to Maria who looked stunned even before she was faced with Ellie who she wasn’t expecting to be out of bed let alone at the gates.  

“Maria, what’s going on?” 

“They got ambushed by raiders, the scumbags got Finn, but they managed to take them as hostages, they’re due to be back soon.” 

“Why are they bringing them back?” 

“She didn’t say.” 

“You spoke to her?” 

“Yes Ellie, she’s fine.” Ellie felt her cheeks flush at Maria’s obvious awareness of the situation between the both of you, but the thought is wiped from her mind when she hears yells to open the gates. She moves as quickly as she can towards the crowd of people, mimicking your movements two weeks prior, shoving and pushing past people to get to the front. She watches as you ride in on Greg with a man hunched over in front of you, she makes no attempt to move, just watching the scene play out before her. 

Two guards walk over to you as you climb off Greg and reach up to cut his ties to the reins with your knife before yanking him down where he lands on the ground with a thud and an ear-piercing screech. “You bitch.” She hears him spit out and she can’t contain the small chuckle that leaves her lips when you kick him once on the arm he was already clutching. He writhes and cries and as he turns, she sees the white of his bone protruding from his arm. She’s watching intently as she surveys the damage done to him until she notices your eyes on her. 

You weren’t expecting Ellie to be at the gate, especially not since you were early but the sight of her standing there staring back at you releases all the tension in your body. You were home, with Ellie, everything would be okay. You go to start walking over to her but Maria steps in your way putting a hand on your shoulder. “I need to speak with you.” 

“Wait- Can I-” 

“Now. Let’s go.” She pulls you by your arm and as you catch a glimpse of Ellie over your shoulder you mouth ‘I’m sorry’ at her before letting Maria yank you away from the crowd. 

Ellie watched Maria dragging you away and her guard immediately went back up again as she subtly started to follow you both. You walk round a corner, out of sight, and she darts to the edge of the building that would shield her from yours and Maria’s sight as she focuses on trying to listen to your conversation while wincing from the sudden movement. 

“Not a word of this to anyone. Seriously, not Ellie, no one.” 

“Alright I got it. Are you worried?” 

“I haven’t decided yet.” 

“Who do you think they’re looking for?” 

“I don’t know, do you think they’re not letting on everything they know?” 

“Maybe, I’m not sure.” 

“Well we’ll find out won’t we.” Ellie panicked as she heard footsteps coming her way, she once again darts round the other corner of the building so she’s out of sight of whoever is about to walk past and as she watches Maria storm away she creeps back round the building until she’s met with you, standing staring at the floor as you bit at the skin around your nails. 

“Are you okay?” You jump but relax as you see it’s Ellie approaching you. 

“Yeah, hi, I’m okay.” She pulls you into a hug that neither of you feel ready to leave so she speaks into your shoulder. 

“What the fuck happened?” 

“Fucking raiders.” Your voice is muffled by her chest but she can understand you fine.  

“Sorry about Finn. You know it’s not your fault right?” 

“Yeah I know.” You were lying but it was easier to lie than have this conversation right now. 

“Why’d you bring them back?” 

“Thought Maria should decide what to do with them.” You both know you’re lying but she leaves it for the moment. 

“Come on, let’s go home.” 

“I actually had a better idea.” You pull away from her with a cheeky smirk as she cocks an eyebrow at your tone. 

You’re sat in a booth with Ellie at the Tipsy Bison nursing your fifth drink of the night, you had been there for an hour and a half. You recognise the first few notes of one of your favourite songs: ecstasy by the crooked stills, and you gasp before jumping up and standing in front of Ellie. “We have to dance to this.” 

“I’m good.” 

“That wasn’t a question.” You grab her hand and gently but firmly pull her up and onto the dancefloor with you. Despite her reluctance her hands immediately find their place at your waist, sqeezing a little, as you begin to sway to the slow song together. You arms that are round her neck pull her closer to you until your bodies are pressed together and your head is resting on her shoulder. 

Ellie feels her cheeks redden as she realises you two are in public and dancing together, so closely too, but as she looks up, she breathes a sigh of relief that no one’s eyes are on you both. It wasn’t that she wanted it to be a secret but she felt like she was under a magnifying glass whenever she was out and now was no different. She notices you shifting until your face is back in front of hers where she meets your lidded eyes. You’re drunk and she knows that so she had only had one drink to make sure she could watch you, she wanted to let you blow off some steam but the thought of being drunk like you were now unsettled her. Her eyes widen as you lean in but they shut as she relaxes into the kiss. You lick at her bottom lip and she opens her mouth so her tongue can collide with yours and the kiss deepens as you cock your head to the side slightly and push your body impossibly closer to hers. As you both pull away she looks at you with a giddy expression, she hated being the centre of attention but knowing that you just kissed her in front of everyone here makes her beam with pride, until she notices your eyes aren’t meeting hers, they’re fixed over her shoulder and your eyebrows were scrunched together in a cruel scowl. She glances over her shoulder and when she sees your parents standing there both red with scowls that matched yours she realised you kissing her in front of everyone had nothing to do with her. You were using her to piss off your parents and she felt more hurt than she had two weeks ago after the attack from the horde. 

“Are you fucking serious?” She pulls away from you leaving almost a foot of space between you both.  

“What?” You feign ignorance, she shakes her head and chuckles drly before storming away from you and out of the bar. 

“Ellie, wait up! What the fuck is your problem?” You slur as you chase after her, despite the limp she was moving impressively quickly. As you catch up to her she spins around with fire in her eyes. 

“YOU! You’re my fucking problem.” You stand completely taken back by her rage as she begins walking off again, the guilt consumes you in an instant as you begin trailing behind her, keeping your distance, knowing you had been caught. It wasn’t like you only kissed her because your parents were watching but that fact doesn’t make what you did any less awful. The walk was slow and long despite Ellie storming as fast as her injured body would take her and when she reaches the house and enters she slams the door behind her, right in your face. You enter cautiously and close the door behind you quietly as you see her stomping up the stairs. You flinch as you hear her bedroom door slam and prepare yourself for the worst as you turn the doorknob and shamefully slip through the door. “Get out.” 

“No, let me explain.” 

“Get out.” 

“No Ellie, just listen please.” She moves towards you at lightning speed and pushes you against the wall holding you there, she was rough but she wasn’t trying to hurt you. Her breathing was deep and fast as she stared you down with dark eyes. Neither of you spoke, you didn’t know what to say and all Ellie wanted to do was scream so you both stayed silent and frozen in your places. She takes in the sight of you hungrily as her mind is is contemplating her next move. Just looking at you makes her angry but as she takes in your appearance, something else takes over. 

She smashes her lips into yours so hard it almost hurt as your teeth clash together and her tongue prods at your lower lip. Her hand finds its place around your neck and squeezes until you gasp so she can invade your mouth with her tongue, her hand remains wrapped around your neck squeezing more gently this time as you moan into her mouth. She snaps away from you and pulls you away from the wall before pushing you down onto the bed face first, you go to flip over to face her but her knee over the arch of your back stops you. “That was fucked up.” 

“I know Ellie, I’m sorry.” 

“Shut up.” She grabs a handful of your ass and kneads at the flesh. You hadn’t seen this side of Ellie, even when you would bicker day in and out, she still seemed like Ellie. This wasn’t Ellie. You feel her knee leave your back but you don’t move, afraid that if you anger her more she’ll leave you pent up and frustrated. You just watch as she looks down at you taking in your body from this angle before hooking her hands round the waistband of your trousers and underwear, she meets your eyes and for a second you see your Ellie in there. “You wanna do this?” 

“Please.” 

“You’re gonna regret that.” She yanks everything down in one swoop leaving you completely bare from the waist down. She grabs your hips and yanks them up until you knees bend to support the new position. You feel vulnerable knowing she can see everything right now but you feel safe regardless as you watch her eye your heat with a lick of her lips.  

You gasp and jolt as you feel her rubbing two fingers up and down your slit gathering your slick and spreading it all around. Her free hand holds you in place with a bruising grip on your hip as she surveys your face to check you’re okay. She was so, so angry at you but the thought of hurting you almost made her stop for a second, she only didn’t because of the quiet whine that left your lips as you wiggled your hips at her slightly trying to signal what you need. 

“Ask for it or you’re not getting it.” You roll your eyes before sighing and accepting defeat on this one occasion knowing that if there was ever a time to not hit her with a snarky rebuttal, now was the time. 

“Please fuck me, Ellie.” Your words set something off inside her and she immediately plunged two of her long fingers inside you as the other hand left your hip to rub tight circles harshly on your throbbing clit. You groan at the sudden intrusion as you push back, your needy hole sucking her fingers in even deeper as you shudder. Her hands were bigger than yours so her fingers reached places you never had and the feeling had your eyes rolling back in your head. She curled her fingers to abuse your sweet spot as her assault on your core only quickened, your body was on fire as you trembled and moaned. “Oh fuck Ellie, please... keep going.” You can barely get the words out through bated breaths and a mixture of groans and moans as you clamp your eyes shut focusing on chasing your high that was racing at you like lightning. “I’m so close oh my god.” As quick as your release approached, it dwindled away as Ellie removed her fingers from you and flipped you over. 

She could barely feel the achey pain in her body as she stared down at the prickly expression on your face. You open your mouth to question her but before you can she slips her fingers that were shiny from your arousal into your mouth, making you gag as she pushes them in to the knuckles.  

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” She uses her hand in your mouth to manoeuvre your head into a nod that she can’t help but smile at. It was the first time you had seen her smile since you started dancing at the bar so the sight warmed you until her face dropped once again. With her free hand she yanked down her bottoms in the same fashion she did yours before climbing on top of one of your thighs to slot you both together at the hips. She brings the thigh she isn’t straddling to rest over her shoulder as she bites at your calf, you wince at the sting, but the pain is immediately replaced by pleasure as she begins to grind herself down onto you, hard and fast. Her face screws up as her eyes clamp shut ignoring the way yours were staring holes into her as she chased her high. Your moans became muffled to her as she uses you to get herself off. You’re seeing stars as her hips begin to stutter in their rhythm but once again, the feeling goes as quick as it came as she finishes with a guttural groan and stills her hips on yours.  

“No, no, no.” You whine to yourself as you throw your head back in frustration until you feel her climb off you and yank you up from the bed so you’re standing in front of her. She doesn’t wait before she spins you around and starts walking you backwards to the door. As you realise what she’s doing panic takes over and you wrap your arms around her in a death grip as you plead with her. “No, please Ellie. Come on, let’s talk. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She reaches the still open door from earlier and pushes you off her past the doorframe. She slams the door in your face before she can even see you stagger from the force of her push. 

You consider storming back in there but decide now wasn’t the time before dragging yourself to your room where you shut the door and immediately curl up on your bed as you pull the covers over yourself. You hug your knees tightly to your chest as the tears begin to fall. You had sex with Ellie, for the first time, and she kicked you out afterwards without a second thought. You weren’t angry, you understood why she did it, but it didn’t hurt any less. 

You fall asleep still hugging yourself tightly trying to pretend it’s Ellie’s who’s embracing you and that you aren’t alone right now. But you are. 

tags: @emiliabby @readbydayana @radioheadfan699

[bitebitekxll]

Sfw ask:

Genshin men with a sick reader headcanons

Diluc, Kaeya, Kazuha, Ayato, can remove or add if you’d like

What they do when you’re sick

៚ Diluc ✧ Kaeya ✧ Kazuha ✧ Ayato ✧ Childe

Notes: FIRST FIC ASK LETS GOOO!! Also happy holidays everyone <3

For a character I am the least sure about characterising, Ayato’s somehow became the longest?? Fingers crossed I did him justice. Also couldn’t resist spreading my malewife Childe agenda so he’s in this too. Hope you enjoy ~

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐂 ᥫ᭡

Even if Dawn Winery has a whole set staff on hand, he will insist on taking care of you himself; making sure you take your medicine on time, cooking you meals, doing anything he can to ensure your work doesn’t suffer in your absence. The only way to convince him to let Adelinde handle it, is to remind him he can’t hold you if he’s running around. He’s quiet. Not his usual comfortable silence, but one that adds a weighted air to all actions as he stays vigil at your side. Diluc doesn’t like feeling helpless and hates when you’re uncomfortable so you can bet he’ll be extra fussy over you when you’re sick.

(Not to mention vigilant to ensure you don’t get sick in the first place. Going out in the rain? Not without his umbrella you’re not. Venturing into Dragonspine? What a coincidence, he happens to have business there. Yes, really. But, oh it seems they cancelled last minute so now he will of course accompany you. His pyro vision can provide better warmth than whatever few seelies you come across, so it’s only reasonable he tag along.)

You might need to literally thwack him a couple of times to get him to stop being overbearing, but you can guarantee you’ll be taken care of with all your needs attended to.

𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐀 ᥫ᭡

He won’t let you lift a finger the whole time you’re recovering. It doesn’t matter if you only have a bit of a cold, he will physically pick you up over his shoulder and drag you away from work/chores/any responsibility. If someone even dares to suggest you do something while unwell— even if you make it clear you can handle it —he will mercilessly cut them down with that little bastard smile of his playing on his lips.

“You can’t possibly be suggesting our dear Y/N take care of that in this condition. After everything they’ve done for us, no one would be selfish enough to deprive them of some well-earned rest, hm?”

This man will convince the whole of Mond that you need to be spoiled when sick. Good luck doing anything without people rushing to help you with that, no no sit down, you should rest, actually why don’t we just call Sir Kaeya, I’m sure I saw him around—

He does make sure not to annoy you too much with his antics, letting you be independent when it seems like you’re reaching your limit (as long as the task isn’t too taxing) and he’ll be sure to keep you company while you’re stuck at his home.

If you do get bored of being inside he’ll take you out, but don’t expect to set a foot on the ground as long as he’s there.

𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐇𝐀 ᥫ᭡

Though he’s no physician, Kazuha is excellent at dealing with illness and injuries. He had to take care of his own by himself before joining the Crux, after all. And even now, he’s often sought out by the crew during voyages when someone needs medical attention. His calm and reassuring demeanour only further makes him the perfect candidate to be at your bedside.

After doing whatever he can to ease your symptoms, he lets you rest your head in his lap. Expect to be lulled to sleep by nimble fingers carding through your hair, and the sweet whistling tones of a leaf as Kazuha plays it for you— and you still can’t figure out how he manages to do that. He presses kisses to your forehead, your knuckles, your lips: you can remind him that your illness is contagious, but he’ll just smile and kiss you again softly.

“There is no greater honour, nor privilege I can imagine, than sharing the burdens of the one you love. Don’t fret, my dear. Let me hold the weight of all your troubles, and let me hold you, for as long as you will grant me that pleasure.”

𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐓𝐎 ᥫ᭡

For a man who is so powerful, so composed in public, he is a complete kid with you. He would mope and whine when you tell him you’re not getting out of bed that day. He’s always so bored when you leave him on his lonesome, and even if he can’t be by your side every second he still loves knowing there’s a chance of running into you around the estate or Inazuma itself. So of course he’ll try to goad you into getting up, wanting the two of you to start the day together.

But he changes his tune the moment he realises you’re truly unwell.

Ayato doesn’t hesitate to wrap you up in his arms for the duration of your illness. It’s not like Diluc where he insists on doing the work himself, he gets the staff to bring you whatever you need according to the doctor, but only so he can dedicate all his time showering you in love and affection. You get even more attention from him while you’re sick than you usually do (a feat that should be impossible). He’s a clingy bastard and is fully prepared to let the commission suffer until you’re better, unwilling to part for even a moment while you’re in this state. (He’s lucky Ayaka and Thoma keep things running in the meantime, but you can bet he’s in for a scolding from his sister when he returns to his duties).

If you don’t like being touched while sick, he’ll just stay by your side and keep you company. But if you give him the okay? Prepare for him to take advantage of you being stuck in bed to love on you ‘til his heart’s content.

“You know… some say the best way to recover from a cold is to pass it to someone else…”

By the time you’re feeling better, the idiot’s gotten himself sick. You can lecture him about being careless all you want, he just gives you a pleased grin as he looks up at you adoringly. Naturally, he never learns his lesson.

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄 ᥫ᭡

Will immediately panic when he sees you’re in bad shape. He’s equal parts alarmed and enraged, ready to seek vengeance on your behalf. Once he realises you’re just sick and not recovering from an attack, he’s more in his element. As a Snezhnayan, Childe is no stranger to illness. Young children, especially, are less tolerant to the cold, so he’s had plenty of experience looking after his younger siblings in that regard. He extends the same care to you: keeping a cooled wet towel on your forehead to settle your fever, cleaning your home with a frenzied determination, never allowing dust to settle and irritate your lungs.

Don’t even bother trying to eat yourself, he will feed you while you recline back on the mountain of pillows he fluffed up minutes prior. He makes the warm soup himself, but instead of the usual seafood concoctions he’s known for, it’s a much simpler, pleasant dish.

“My mother’s cure-all recipe; there’s nothing better for when you’re sick! The kids love it. In fact, Teucer’s even faked sick before just so she would make it for him, the little rascal. Try a bite, I promise you’ll be fighting fit in no time!”

Big malewife energy the whole time he’s taking care of you. He’s concerned about your health, of course, but because he’s done this before for his family he doesn’t feel panicked. Instead, he’s all warm smiles and attentive affection, making jokes to cheer you up while he keeps an eye on your condition. If you need anything from him, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.

[therealslimshakespeare]

|| What Took him so Long?

Summary: For a long time I’ve wanted a comfort fic dealing with Bucky’s arrival in camp and the assumption that once he got there, found his men and was relatively safe, he had a big adrenaline crash and needed a ton of loving care. So I wrote it into this world.

Note: I wrote so many of the boys for the first time this time and, well, it was fun but have mercy I’m new here

Continuity: This segment follows the events of First Night

Thanks: I owe dear @hogans-heroes a lot for helping me sort my screams about multiple different aspects of this fic and for how much depth they’ve added to my own love of these guys. Also to @ab4eva @blurredcolour and @crazymadpassionatelove

Warnings: usual universe warnings apply, 18+,additional graphic recounting of past violence and rape, descriptions of injuries from the same, angsty conversations and misplaced blame, the boys trying to give all six foot two inches of dead weight Egan a bath

“It’s Ida,” Brady’s nimble hand was deceptively strong when clutching Gale’s bicep and shaking him to wakefulness early in the morning, “she won’t fuckin’ respond but she’s bowin’ up ‘till I think her neck might snap.”

Well that got Gale tumbling out of his bunk, out from Maureen’s hold on his face, swollen thumb on his tongue. The hell had he been thinking last night? The raucous noise of his landing to his feet woke the others, Crank instantly startled at their hovering over Ida.

“What’s wrong?”

“Dunno,” Gale replied, staring down at Ida Brady who was suddenly quite still again, “when’d the jerks start?”

“About an hour ago. She didn’t move before that.” John reported and Gale was sure it was an accurate report as Brady’s eye bags suggested he’d not even slept a wink. “She’s cold but she kept seizing so I stopped holding her.”

Gale bit his lip and tried to recall how pale was deathly pale, or just, pale. He bent over her and placed his fingers against her pulse, relieved to find a strong heartbeat in her neck. Maybe too strong, but he wasn’t about to start picking apart mercies. He was trying to measure it to his watch’s third hand when she started again, neck truly so bowed beneath his fingers he understood the impression of it close to breaking. He took his hand away discomfited and by this time Crank had joined them to stare down at her but those eyelids didn’t even flutter.

“We shoulda called a doctor last night.” Crank fretted, “She wasn’t just tired, not after what she’s been through.”

What she had been through was not something that had been discussed really, and so, it had been happily tabled as a past occurrence when she came in last night and toppled into the bunk straight after showers. Now their silence on the topic seemed like the sort of lethal discretion that kills amongst “polite” societies.

“Well, let’s get one now.” Gale snapped, “Crank -find the one who sewed my cut. Vega, I think, Vargas, something like that. He’s here, in the south compound.”

“You got it major.”

As Ida quieted again, Gale tried his hand at her pulse once more. A few moments later she was writhing in her sleep again.

“Since she seizes everytime you touch her, how about ya stop touching her?” Demarco’s word of wisdom filtered in from his bunk.

Chastised, and with shared looks of alarm at their foolishness, Gale and Johnny retracted their hands to clasp behind their backs and waited in that mock parade rest until the doctor came in, dark expression on his face and a very deflated medical bag at his side.

“It’s one of the women?” he asked, shouldering between the two men.

“Yeah, our colonel.” Gale supplied before relaying in brief terms the timeline of her stay here, her symptoms, her rather obvious injuries.

“We might be dealing with a concussion,” the Doc warned upon inspecting her face, “how’d she get these?” he asked about the swollen cheek and torn temple.

Gale turned to Maureen who still sat in her bunk, quiet, oddly quiet. “I saw her get punched once, I think it was on that side. But it wasn’t so bad, the rest happened when they took her away from us.”

Doc Vega was inspecting the rest of her as he pulled the covers down, her shirt flaps up, bruises and more bruises visible and -“She’s bleeding through her pants. Is this a cycle or-?” He turned to Kendeigh expectantly and she only shook her head, making Brady turn away with a wounded noise and walk a convict’s lap around the table, breath shuttering out in rough huffs, fists shoved into his pockets. Maureen wasn’t sure how anyone expected to get on top of such emotions, much less a bother. She was sure as soon as she had energy for it, she’d start making some Germans pay, it didn’t matter which, someone needed to pay.

“With assault this severe-“ Doc Vega’s face was more than eloquent regarding his horrified assessment. “-she should be in hospital. You know that right? That’s what this is, sexual battery, and like the word suggests, it's damaging, very damaging. Not to mention infection, fever- she belongs in hospital.”

The silence was heavy except for Brady and his off kilter laps.

“If they take her, I don’t trust them to guarantee her Combatant status.” Gale’s jaw worked overtime as he stared down at the body of his friend, “German hospital might be the best thing to ever happen to her or the worst when they discharge her. She’d not want me to let them take her out of here. Not after she fought so hard to get in.”

“Then by god,” the doctor exclaimed, “take her to the camp doctor, there must be some supplies. Antibiotics at the least, aspirin perhaps. Something for the swelling, inside and out. Camp doctor has supplies, how many times do I gotta tell you guys -I don’t! Take her to him.”

“No!” John Brady spoke up urgently only to immediately appear chagrined at his slip as Gale Cleven turned a very suspicious eye on him, “I mean, sir, if we take her, the German doctor will just transfer her to hospital. He can’t see how bad she is.”

That was a valid point, Cleven had to give it to him, although he noticed Hambone’s own suspicious, cud chewing, background shuffling observation of his pilot. Every time that doctor was brought up, Brady mildly suggested that they not go to him, without fail. His mentions regarding the guy being German and illusions to his methods being foreign were wearing thin. There was a miasma of myth about the doctor that no one could actually credit for a single source and Cleven hadn’t expected Brady, sensible, steady, laconic and measured Brady, to be the one to start spinning folklore in a place like this. He had next to no patience for it.

“Brady,” he decided to have at it, “you gonna tell me why everytime I bring up medical care in this camp you act like I’m suggesting suicide?”

“Sir,” Johnny’s gentle eyes grew wide and ever more guileless, “I told you, that man isn't much good.”

“Even a trash physician who has supplies is better than a good one without.” Doc Vega pointed out as he prepared to take his leave, “I’ve done everything with what I have. There simply isn’t anything at my disposal. Packages got held up and didn’t have everything accounted for.”

“He probably takes the stuff.” Brady muttured.

“So he’s the one to go to.” Gale snapped.

“He’s not touching her.” Ida’s brother replied.

Gale pinched his nose as he watched Vega leave them, the guy’s useless little bag of nothing swinging by his side, “By not being good - do you mean a poor physician? Be clear, Damnit.”

As if sensing a penultimate conflict, the room soon cleared of everyone save Maureen who was too invested by curiosity and a healthy dose of her own suspicion.

“Sir I’ve told you, he -he operates outside his purview.”

“Son? I can’t even pretend to understand what that means.” Gale’s patience grew more lethal as it rubbed thin, “That could mean he uses leeches or he abuses his patients.”

Brady’s eyes darted back and forth from Cleven’s face to the plain beamed ceiling as if he could find his answer there. Manic and with an odd glitter easily mistaken for tears. The kid probably needed to sleep, or maybe he needed to fess up about the doctor. Either way, Gale found the whole thing more and more unsettling but also, aggravating.

“Now are you gonna tell me which is it? Or are you alright with me withholding help from dying men because Captain Brady’s too intent on staying vague?”

“He’s just odd, sir.” Brady gave a defeated huff, eyes still watery, “It’s nothing bad, I-I never said not to send them, sir. He just can’t see Ida. He can’t.”

Gale was intently watching Brady swallow hard and wrack his brain for another respectful appeal when Crack came barreling back in, the eagerness in his step reserved for only one thing these dismal days: “They’re here! There’s a new batch, bringing them in the front now, quick, there’s not a long line!”

Brady was up and darting out the room before Gale could blink, uncharacteristically excusing himself before his superior had dismissed him and leaving Ida behind, still motionless in her bunk.

“Bucky could be with them!” Brady explained as he dashed out, same old hope repeated for over a month now and Gale wondered when the guy was going to crack from one too many hits to the morale.

“Brady!” Gale called after him a beat too late, wondering who was going to stay with Ida, but after catching Maureen’s quizzical eye, Gale too bolted and left the woman in his lover’s charge, tearing out of the combine to have a word with his young Captain, fleece and cover on for a little added dignity the camp pallor had no doubt stripped him of.

The scars, too.

Brady was at the fence by the time Gale caught up, his wiry frame slipping between the surging mass of POWs come to greet and heckle the newcomers. Gale had long ago found it a dismal scene and wasn’t fond of watching after it, but Crank and Brady were too intent, and some heartsick need drove Gale to find such excuses for why he, too, always managed to be at the scene when a new batch trudged in.

And what the cat brought in today made Gale forget about everything, everything else but that tall, shuffling, bloodied mess of a man he knew was his friend. And, characterically, despite appearing half dead, Egan was asking after Cleven, like the crackers after the cheese, damn the association risks.

“John Egan! Your two o’clock!”

Like a sunbeam splintering a thundercloud, Bucky’s battered face split open in a beaming smile the second he’d registered Cleven’s own. Gale couldn’t help the effusion of bittersweet gratification at the immediate resumption of the old ways, the old sweetness between them, the nearness of a good man to help brave this hell.

“What took you so long?” he jabbed, but his friend’s face told a story Buck wasn’t sure anyone left in Stalag Luft III had the stamina to hear.

And just like that, Egan was shuffled past and into processing and it would be ages before he saw him again. When Gale turned his back and worked his way through the crowd, Brady was lingering in one of the clearings, hands clasped and a rote twirl of thumbs matching the catatonically grateful prayers on his imperceptibly moving lips. Or Gale sure hoped they were prayers, it was that or Johnny having finally cracked.

“You were right.” He gave the kid a pat on the shoulder, smiling gently at him as he seemed to come out of his relieved fog, eyes too big in that lean face and dark circles making reflective ponds below, “You were right, you said he’d make it.”

“I hoped he would.” Johnny didn’t sound like he was expecting to cash in those prayers so soon.

“I’m going to that doctor.” Gale informed him, leveling him a strong look, “I think we should get a little list for the other girls. Play it off, could be for anyone. Penicillin, sulfa, that sorta thing. Does that sorta thing cure…their sorta thing?” Cleven admittedly obfuscated towards the end, not really expecting John Brady to know what cured venereal diseases but more hoping for an opinion of solidarity, like one does when ordering a risky plate off the menu.

Major Cleven never learned whether Captain Brady thought penicillin would work or not, there was a commotion outside the main center compound’s administrative building, and then the sudden appearance of guards dragging between them a slumped figure.

A dragged body was bad in most situations, at the prison camp it was cause for more than a little ire and panic. When Gale recognized the stature of their burden, the familiar span of the shoulders, the dark mop of curls hung low, his own brisk walk turned into a full on sprint across the muddy yard, Brady at his heels full of the same enlightenment.

“The hell did you do to him?” Cleven bellowed at the reasonably perturbed guards who were already mounting a defense of their blamelessness for Egan’s unconscious state.

“Nothing!” the more fluent of the two protested, “He vas being processed, yes? And he falls over, like zat. Nothing. Did nothing. Check him, he is—“ the guard made a motion to his face signifying the battlement Gale had already noticed as Egan trudged in. Back when Egan was awake and on his own two feet. “We? Nothing!”

Gale took Egan from them like a mother being handed their child, full frontal weight of his large friend propped against him and he succeeded at little more than keeping them both from hitting the mud. He was already weaker than when he first got there and the proof was here in the staggering weight of a man he used to hold his own against. Crank and Johnny and Demarco were beside him before he can even look for assistance, expressions of compassion and anger at Egan’s plight all melding into a series of disbelieving grunts as they heaved him up between them, carrying his dead weight like a feedsack. Gale and Brady take under his arms, Crank and Benny his legs. Gale studied the completely bashed face of his friend, a seething deduction brewing as to how he came to be in such a state.

“The showers.” he directed his men as they stalled midway in the yard after having got the weight of him hoisted.

They created a stir as they went, the dire oddity of the scene drawing attention as they shuffled through camp.

“Holy moley, is that Egan?” Talullah Smith came to a sudden halt in their path.

“Move!” Gale told her. “Or get the door.”

“He even alive?” Murphy was with her, no doubt obeying Cleven’s order for no woman to be unattended around camp, and he scrambled alongside to help as they mounted the steps and passed through the door Smith held until they were in the dank and echoing, poorly tiled room. There were a few other men in here, washing clothes and dabbing at their underarms. The showers themselves were not on today, hadn’t been for days, and Gale knew the large trough sinks down the middle of the room were their best bet for a triage and an initial wash.

“Somebody get his boots off, come on.”

It was horrible, grunting, grappling work trying to keep Egan’s dead weight up as they tugged off encrusted articles of clothing one after another, cringing at the bruises each grip and pull necessarily aggravated.

“Sorry Bucky.” Demarco apologized repeatedly to the insensible man as he adjusted his grip on his ribs for Brady to pull the slate gray button up off him.

“Smith, you can go.” Cleven noticed her lingering by the door, consternation written all over her face at Egan’s state, Murphy shadowing her. It wasn’t suitable for a woman to remain for the rest of it, whatever skill she had at setting fingers was a little below the pay grade of John Egan’s injuries. “You and Murph, can go get Doc Vega. Again.”

He sent Brady a look but the boy was too busy to notice, helping pull a very discolored arm out of a Bucky’s standard issue, fleece-less jacket. “What’d the looney do with his sheepskin?” he asked.

“Gave it to, Kidd.” Brady grunted, “Right before Munster. Said you didn’t like it.”

I’ll be damned: no lucky deuce and no lucky jacket and no fighter escorts, how were they supposed to manage to stay in the sky with recklessness like that? “You sentimental sunnuvabitch,” he hissed mournfully at his friend’s flopping head as they got him stripped and the full extent of his bruises came in view, “-supposed to be the last ones up.”

If anyone else understood what he meant in his mournful rage, they didn’t heed it, and if they didn’t understand they also did not press him for his meaning.

“Let’s get him up.”

Collectively they grabbed a limb apiece again and hoisted Bucky, groaning themselves under the bare weight of him.

“What did his mother feed him?” Benny protested as they staggered, and dumped him onto the longest of the troughs, getting a weak moan of protest from their specimen at the cold and hard surface.

“Major?” Crank begged hopefully of his closed eyes as Gale worked at the pump on the faucet, the gurgle of chilled water preceding the blast.

“I’m gonna use this, lad.” Brady was informing one of the armpit washing boys down the way, swiping their washcloth with kind presumption and returning to squeeze it out under Cleven’s growing steam.

Gently as he had his sister’s scalp, Brady began to use the wet cloth to scrub and wipe at the blood dried in an ominous swirl around Bucky’s eye as Gale continued to pump.

“He’s gonna catch chill.” Demarco warned.

“Haul some buckets?” Gale asked if they were willing, the kitchen combine was not so far away with fires and tin pails.

“We’ll be back.” Benny agreed.

“Brady, go with him.” Cleven unceremoniously pried the washcloth from the boy’s hand; silent weeping was an art Gale had perfected as a child but he’d not seen it in a grown man until today, “Go.”

While they were gone Gale did his best to keep the chilled water somewhat diverted, with Crank’s help he even managed to roll Bucky on his side and probe at his blackened ribs. As is, Bucky began to shiver and when Doc Vega got there; he was none too gentle in his hurried and angry assessment.

“Fractured ribs.” he rubbed the washcloth across his face like he was sanding the deck back home, “Possible fractured orbit. Eye socket, Cleven, looks busted. Just keep him propped, hope his eye doesn’t fall back into his skull.” Gale stared back at him unblinking, there was only ever one question these days and after a beat Doc Vega answered it, “And no, don’t have anything for it.”

Brady and DeMarco had returned with their now tepid water in time to hear this. “Should we wash him?” Benny gestured hopelessly.

“Yeah, he’ll probably sleep it off. If we’re lucky. Get him clean, get him warm.”

Gale began to pump anew and Brady gently tipped his warm bucket over Egan’s clotted curls, running his fingers through to disentangle the crusted snarls. Unfortunately their irrepressible patient took the kindness for a waterboarding and began to thrash, sending a shower of cold droplets over his caregivers.

“Buck?” a wrecked voice, punctuated by chattering teeth, stalled them all. “I saw Buck, where’s Buck, I found Buck, wh-“

“Yeah, yeah Bucky, it’s me.” Gale dropped his task and crouched over him, shivering himself as the sink ledge dampened the front of his own clothes.

“Buck!” Egan begged again, arms reaching out until Gale found himself all but tipped into the sink himself, arms wound around Egan’s pale shoulders with their blooming blue mottle, “M’so goddamn cold, Buck.”

“I know, I know, I’ve got ya. I swear, I’ve got ya.” Gale squeezed him tighter, “Almost over. Gettin’ you freshened up. We’ve got ladies here now.” he joked.

John’s head rolled listlessly on Gale’s forearm and his sharp blue eyes flitted across the washroom ceiling until he caught sight of someone else dear hovering over him with another pail, “Brady, what’re you cryin’ for?” he croaked.

“You.” the kid didn’t miss a beat. “So sorry Bucky, I’m so sorry.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice strengthened with vehemence, “s’not your fault. None of it.”

“Yeah,” Gale agreed, gently peeling a flake of blood off his ear, “that plane was going down anyway without your lucky jacket.”

Bucky somehow had the stamina and the facial expertise to look sheepish at that despite his disfigurement. “Why'd you guys put me in the sink? Animals! Get me out, too goddamn cold, get me out. Gale! Get me out.”

“Ok, ok, shh, ok.”

There was a compassionate scramble to help Bucky sit up and swing his legs over the side, the groaning and swaying of the Major a hardly promising sign for the excursion he seemed intent to make. Suddenly they were helping to prop him on his feet again, and while he was no longer the dead, unconscious weight of before, he was now six feet something of bare, slippery flesh vibrating between them all in a terrible chill. Murphy and Smith had brought blankets along with the Doc, and gratifyingly someone from their combine had proffered a t-shirt and fresh skivvies.

Crank and Brady swayed dangerously with his weight on their shoulders as Gale knelt down and made his shaking legs step into them. Bucky’s own hand arrested him standing up by placing a clumsy hand on his cheek.

“Where’d you get these?” he was thumbing at those scars Gale hadn’t managed to live down.

“Flack.” Gale maintaIned as he rose to his feet, “What the hell happened to you?“

Bucky gave him his old lopsided grin, “War, Buck.”

“Too much of this kind of war lately.” Crank pointed out unamused, wounds were one thing but what was with the abuse? It didn’t seem to stay away, even from the strongest or most esteemed of their number.

Bucky’s brow ticked in curiosity at the allusion to others but he was too drained to keep his thoughts ordered, “Marched us through a town, RAF had just paid a call. Townspeople didn’t exactly come out with flowers.”

“Holy shit.” Benny sucked his teeth in a grimace, noticing how the other men down the way paused their chores to listen in.

“They attacked you?” Cleven’s tone left little room for questioning.

Bucky gave them a wincing little smile, tilting his head in a shrug, “Yeah, guards just let them at us. I’m the only one who made it.”

“What?” Came up in a chorus, his doleful audience suddenly animated, “You mean they killed the rest?”

“One got knifed,” Bucky stared down at Brady’s work on lacing his boots, skivvies and boots, now he looked like all the other clowns here, “the others - guess they beat them, too. I heard shots. Woke up in a cart on the way to a nice, quiet little spot in the woods.”

“Jesus Christ:” Crank uttered, “Jesus Christ.”

“I’ll be ok.” Bucky muttered, scuffing his boots to see how heavy they felt, his limbs wouldn’t stop shivering and he had a sick feeling it wasn’t from cold alone.

“Yeah, you will.” Cleven’s pained eyes ordered him sternly and to swipe away that horrid crease between his brows, Egan would do anything.

“Yeah.” he agreed.

“Let’s get you a bunk.” Brady prodded, slipping back under one of his armpits, wiry shoulders having more strength in them than Bucky credited, “We’ve got a nice little sick ward going.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah; and no medical supplies.”

“Great.”

“Yeah, it’s a real well oiled machine they got here.” Benny snarked as the lot of them kept pace with Egan’s limps across to their combine -it wasn’t under discussion where he’d bunk, he would be in with them.

“What’d you name the place?” Egan asked dismally at the threshold of their combine.

“We didn’t.” Gale admitted his unimaginative oversight for the second time in twenty four hours on these same steps.

“No?” Egan slapped at the boring raw lumber and sniffed, “You let Maureen in billet in here?” he asked suddenly.

“Y-yeah.” Gale was wary and his defense at the ready, “All the women who’ve arrived so far are in this one, so we can help guard them. Yes, Maureen’s in with us.”

It was better just to say it, to head off the teasing and the suggestions and the disorder right away. Cleven smiled back at Bucky confidently, waiting for this friend to get a move on over the threshold.

“Huh, ok,” Egan made a funny little face; “then I christen you,” he went on addressing the combine itself, clearing his throat loudly to collect before spitting on the doorframe above Benny’s disgusted head, “Love Shack Number Nine.”

“Just -get your ass inside.” Gale shoved at him between his shoulders and Bucky -with Brady still tucked dutifully under a wing- entered his new home.

Gale gave him a preliminary roster of inmates in each barrack, “We’re down near the end.” and by the time they got to their own room Crank had to help support Bucky’s other side, the brief surge of energy the cold water and friendly faces had given him waning fast.

“Just so goddamn hard to breathe.” He tried to explain, wincing at the pull of his arms as they clumsily shouldered into their room.

It was empty except for Ida in her bunk and Maureen beside her who stood up fast as a lightning bolt at the sight of Egan. “Jumping Jehoshaphat, what happened to you?” She rushed him but pulled back before her usual greeting of hugs to survey the damage, suspecting a squeeze might be too cruel even by Egan’s standards.

“I’m ok, Candy.” he assured, smooth as butter as he reached for her and ran busted knuckles over the curl of her hair, “God you’re a sight for sore eyes after all these ugly bastards.”

“Really though, what happened?” she shied away from his pacifying touches, glaring at the others to start spilling the beans.

“They tried to lynch him.” Gale saw there was nothing for, she’d wheedle it out at some point and after what she’d seemingly endured, what exactly was he shielding her from? “Killed everyone else with him.”

Maureen’s worried eyes dulled sadly at this and she proceeded to hug herself, hands carefully tucked into her armpits, “Gosh, Bucky.” she mumbled.

“Hey, said I’m alright, didn’t I?” Bucky coaxed, swaying towards Maureen and laying a heavy hand on her small shoulder. It tipped him too far forward and he had to clutch at and brace himself on the bunk slat behind her head. Suddenly he was peering over her shoulder and instead of empty sheets as he expected in the lowest bunk, he found the bruised face of a superior he didn’t know had even been shot down. “What the hell happened to her?”

At the silence that followed this very simple question, Bucky swung his head round to stare the men down. It made the world rock, window blurring into the room in a nauseating sheet of white and Buck had too many eyes and all of them sad and Crank hadn’t even a face but a blob and his vision was shot to shit with spots but as no one said a word, he repeated his question in a yell that surprised even himself, “What happened to her?”

“The Gestapo kept taking them from the Dulag.” Brady’s voice was soft and thin in his ringing ears, like a child explaining the fate of a broken toy, “They even took them to a camp. A women’s prison camp.”

“Am I missing the part where any of that promises a face like that?” Bucky demanded, trying to get the goddamn window to stop whiting out his vision.

Gale’s voice was on his other side, the side without the window, he wanted to look at him but he was afraid to move his head again and for the spots to get large and everything go black one more time. “Long time before they’d recognize them as combatants, Bucky,” Gale laid a preemptively calming hand on Egan’s arm, “SS knocked them around bad.”

That’s all Gale really knew of it. Most of it had been gotten out of Smith who seemed most giving and most angry over it all. The others were skittish or tired.

“Knocked them around.” Bucky repeated bitterly, disbelieving Cleven’s moderate retelling, “Who’s them? Who else?”

“We’ve got a little over a dozen of the girls here.” Gale replied, “Brought them in a group, some downed weeks before others. Held them while figuring out what to do before they brought them here.”

“What to do?” Bucky knew he was back to yelling and the spots were getting excited from it, “Treat them like officers being a little too much to ask?”

“Like they treated you?” Demarco weighed in, if only to take the heat off his co-pilot, “Like they treated Buck?” -or maybe not.

“The fuck did they do to him?” Bucky really did try to turn his head this time and he was blindly groping for Cleven’s soft cheeks even as the spots took over his vision and his knees began to buckle. Gale grabbed him on the way down with Candy’s help, but Egan heard her exclamation of pain from it.

Steadied, with his hands back on the bunk slat, Bucky willed away the spots and stared down at Kendeigh’s supportive hands on his waist -or what shoulda been hands. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen an uglier set of paws.

“Were you with her?” he asked, gravelly and not to be ignored.

“Most of the time.” Maureen whispered back and if Gale could have cleared the room for her he would’ve.

“Then what the hell happened to her?” Bucky summoned the last bit of himself and stared down the auburn beauty of his erstwhile drinking buddy, “No really Kendeigh, answer me. I’m your superior, you don’t have recourse, you answer to me. What’re you gonna do, huh? Ask your fairy godmother colonel if you can ignore me? Huh? ‘Hey ida got a sec, Ida?’ No? Looks like her office is closed. Fucking talk to me, Candy. Start with those hands. What happened?”

“Someone stood on them.” -if Gale had to hear Maureen repeat it one more time in that monotone way he was going to start chewing through his cheek.

“Why?” Bucky always had such simple questions, it was one of his wisdoms and Maureen hated it right now, her eyes flashing and her face reddening as she ducked away from the stare of friends.

“So I’d stop fighting him.” The statement was hardly legible, her voice had gone so wispy.

“He, this ‘he’ -he knew you were an Officer?” Gale hadn’t thought to ask that, and he’d thought of so many things to ask that never made it out his throat, but Bucky did. “An army Air Force combatant?”

Maureen swallowed hard before throwing her head back, neck taut and nose flaring -Gale didn’t think he’d ever seen her more magnificent. “He knocked my cap off before it.” she answered at last, a cold hard meeting of blue eyes and Bucky stared her down, “And he laughed at the engraving on my belt buckle when he undid my pants.” There was dead silence for a beat before she went on, “They tore the wing patches off Ida’s shirt, you can see the holes there, see? Johnny’s not fixed them yet.”

Bucky slumped to a seat on Ida’s bunk, a shaky hand extending to push down the blanket and expose her shoulder, and there was a jagged tear in the standard issue, sure enough. “What’s Johnny been fixing?” he asked, voice hollow as he thumbed at Ida’s mottled skin, she was white as a ghost beneath the blue discoloration. Bucky wondered if he looked half as rough.

Johnny was then in a squat beside him, rummaging under the bunk before pulling out a pair of trousers. He tossed them into Bucky’s lap, wordlessly. Drab olive, Brady’s tidy repairs obvious due to the clashing thread, and also blood -so much goddamn blood down the inseams, meticulously scrubbed out but stained all the same and woven together by the white stitches. “You bastards let him do this?” Bucky asked the men incredulously, rage beginning to boil over and it didn’t have a single source and it certainly had no rightful outlet, “None of you can handle a fuckin’ needle? No? No, go on then, let a brother sew up this shit, let him get to think long and hard about what each fuckin’ rip means for his sister! You goddamn cowards -you haven’t even asked them! You haven’t talked about it with the girls, have you?”

“Bucky, Bucky come on now,” Gale tried reasoning with him, “they just got in. So did you. Let’s, let’s take it easy, save our mad for the ones who deserve it.”

“Oh, oh you don’t think that’s us then, Major Cleven?” Egan scoffed, “Because we didn’t do it, isn’t our fault at all?”

“It’s not!” Crank insisted behind Gale’s back, “Gonna blame Buck for your ribs, too?”

That defeated him. Bucky’s fury visibly dimmed in his eyes and Gale would have almost preferred the insulting rage over the dead helplessness that followed, it was too reminiscent of his own. “They’re safe, you’re safe.” he summarized gruffly, “Doc says sleep for both you and her.”

“Sleep.” Bucky mumbled as he looked back to Ida, trying to imagine with masochistic singleness of mind the sort of men who’d enjoy picking a strong woman like her apart -he could bring them to mind too easily. “Sure, just…sleep it off.”

“I don’t want her going to the doctor.” John Brady insisted once more like this had never been argued before in this very room.

“He no good?” was all Bucky asked.

“No sir.” Brady was emphatic and relieved to be taken at vaguest value.

“Brady’s the only one to say that,” Cleven butted in, “and he won’t specify.” Gale may have shot a glare at Ida’s brother, Bucky’s own predicament causing a double issue. “You need one, she needs one, too.”

“I-I trust my little Fox.” Bucky disagreed, although it was less impressive by both the use of a nickname and the slurring stumble that occurred right after as he attempted to get up from the bunk and pat Brady’s cheek. This small movement caused such disturbance in his fragile equilibrium that he would have nearly toppled if Cleven and Kendeigh hadn’t been at his side to catch him. “Goddamn! Goddamn, I’m dizzy as hell.” he repeated, “And cold. I don’t want a doctor, I want a blanket. And a nap.”

“Just what the doctor ordered.” Gale repeated dryly with a ghost of a grin that would have normally riled Bucky into smushing it between his fingers. He was too far away for that and Bucky was too dizzy to reach.

“M’gonna sleep for a week.” He announced.

“They’ll be in here for roll if you don’t show.” Gale begged.

“Good luck to them, moving me.” Bucky grumbled and shook a boot across the room before Brady knelt and helped with the other one. How many times had the sweet kid been shoeing him today? He should start calling him mom.

“They’ll come for her too, if she misses again.” Gale pushed, “A guard came and checked to make sure she was alive this morning.”

“They’ll just take her to the doctor.” Brady repeated hopelessly.

“No they won’t.” Bucky assured him, already fully convinced of two things Gale very much held in suspicion, and he’d been here under half an hour, “They won’t.” he repeated and, before anyone could fully credit their eyes, he appeared to use his last gasp of strength and dexterity to roll Ida Brady, none too gently, further in her bunk toward the wall before climbing in after her and sagging into the meager bedding.

“John!” Cleven had too many objections to itemize at present and all of them were tidily conveyed by use of his Christian name.

“They can’t take her from us like this, Buck.” Bucky was slurring worse than ever, now obstructed by a pillowcase and Ida’s torn head.

“She doesn’t wanna be touched.” Gale hissed urgently, side eyeing Demarco who seemed beyond caution and was now viewing this as analytically as a laboratory experiment.

“S’ok.” Bucky mumbled, “Ida always knows me.”

Gale and Johnny exchanged helpless looks, with Gale choosing to flavor his own with no small amount of accusation towards the younger man. But then, both occupants of the bunk became -and stayed- still, and no seizing episodes followed the heavy burden of Bucky’s arm over Ida’s ribs. So, with shrugs and outstretched hands of mere mortal impotency, they resigned themselves to life with Bucky in Love Shack Number Nine.

“I forgot how loud he could get.” Crank’s mutter broke the silence.

“We should get some salve at least.” Demarco observed with a nod to Bukcy’s face and Kendeigh, who had been oddly quiet and sat with legs swinging on her bunk, echoed in agreement.

“I thought maybe penicillin, too.” Gale asked the room at large.

“Why not ask for the keys to the front gate while we’re at it?” Crank snarked, “That krout sawbones never gave me shit for Murphy’s cuts, hasn’t even tended Hambone since he got out of hospital.”

“Hambone hasn’t gone to him because Brady has scared him off.” Cleven retorted, “Any of you have a better idea?”

“I could try.” Maureen spoke up, “He might -respond?- if a woman asked.”

“No.” Cleven shut that down with a sharp cut of his hand through the air, “No way in hell.”

“I’ll go sir.“ Brady’s soft assurance broke the tenseness, Gale watched the boy stoically as he rose from his place by Ida’s -and now Egan’s- bunk, and grabbed his pipe off the table, “Salve and penicillin?” he confirmed, face cocked shyly back at Cleven once more from the doorway.

“Salve and penicillin.” Cleven affirmed, “And Brady-“ he halted the boy, “-you sure about this?”

“He knows me.” Brady’s eyebrows drew together, a sudden strong expression on his face, nonplussed in a way that made Cleven feel like he was the one slow in the head, “Fixed the shoulder.” he reminded, gesticulating to the joint that had been dislocated by a poor parachute landing, no doubt caused by arguing too long and close to the ground in a spiraling plane with Major Egan. “I’ll get you the stuff, sir.”

Brady shoved his pipe in his mouth and dug his hands into his coat pockets as he walked down the drafty hallway. Conversations from the various rooms drifted to his ear, odd still to hear the high tones of female chatter amongst them. He found himself rolling his last bit of tobacco round and round in his pocket as he neared the door, he’d been saving it for a real doozy of a day; for some catastrophe that needed nicotine to wash it down, or else a holiday that deserved the special exception. Ramming his once hurt shoulder into the door to open it, Brady decided today would have to be significant enough.

The day he got salve and penicillin.

“You just chew on that thing instead of smoke it now?” The laconic humor of his bombardier startled him mid shiver, it wasn’t even that cold outside he just felt poorly and everything was getting real cold and awful as he stood rooted to their steps and eyeing the main compound.

“No, I was gettin’ ready to pack it.” He answered Hamilton, leveling him a scrutinizing look over the pipe in question, “How’ve you been keepin’ occupied?”

“This and that.” Hambone shrugged, gold teeth still glinting as he assessed Brady. “Where you headed?”

“Who says I’m headed anyplace?”

“Word is Egan’s here and half dead.” Hambone scratched at his scar, the rough sutures too late in being taken out and now causing irritation, Brady almost felt guilty for that. “And now you're out here eyeing the Pill Hut. I’d say you’re going to that doctor.”

Hambone never really got enough credit for his smarts, and Brady wished he’d stop using them only when it concerned things Johnny was already having enough trouble psyching himself up for -like radioing the tower to admit they were lost or visiting this freak in a white coat.

“They need some stuff.” He conceded.

“Gonna waste good baccy on it?” Hambone scoffed again, “Come on, I feel like a walk. Haven’t seen inside the place anyway, all your ghost stories were too spooky.” Hambone was mocking him, but he was also beginning to walk towards the hut with the plain expectation of accompanying Brady.

“Hambone-“

“With all due respect, just shut it, Captain.” Hambone gave him a look, and it was the first one today that made Brady feel seen without feeling all of two inches tall, “If I have to rub these stitches on those rough pillows one more night I’m gonna claw my face back open.”

Brady didn’t doubt he would, so in a spooked and complacent mood, pilot followed grinning bombardier down the muddy lanes to the doctor’s shack.

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

MOTA taglist, I only have one so ignore if this is not the universe you signed up for:

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

@storysimp

@javden

@sexualparkour

@jointherebellion215

@sunny747

@ask-you-what-sir

@xxanaduwrites

@pretty4u

@yorkshirekiwi

@waitedforlove743

@elvismylove04

@blikebarbie92

@luminouslywriting

@euryno-j47

@justheretoreadthhx

@bookotter01

@mads-weasley

@ka-ski

@darkestbeforethedawn16

@slowsweetlove

@richardslady121

@barbeygirl

@prfctplcsreads

@vaf24

@harrys-housewife

@claireelizabeth85

@pearlparty

@piastrinho

@sapienti0sat

@atrophyingaphrodite

[ofallthingsnasty]

tw: workplace harassment, mental illness, gn reader, make sure to read the last paragraph as well characters: Crocodile, Doflamingo word count: 1k

While I may be suffering from "I'm a total newbie and scared shitless of my boss" disease + an anxiety disorder, this would be so perfect for either Crocodile and Doflamingo.

Just think about it… You just started working for one of them - and both men certainly demand respect, can be quite scary when provoked, but you think you can weather any storm that might be coming your way. You’re grown, you’ve got bills to pay, they’ve been professional enough so far, it won’t be too bad, right? Oh, stupid, stupid you - because they can smell your little authority figure issues ten miles upwind.

Both notice that you're green, easily impressed and hurried by their presence, notice how sweaty your hands and furrowed your brow gets - and both definitely corner you; try to get you into a frenzied state, right into panic mode just because it’s fun to see how you slowly fly off the hinges. They both toy with you in their own ways - Crocodile is just always standing behind you, silently watching, only the smell of smoke and his cologne telling you he's right there, looming over your shoulder. He enjoys the way your hands shake with whatever it is you’re doing, how you cough and shift around while he does absolutely nothing. His mere presence makes you so antsy he doesn't even have to say something and his silence is easily interpreted as criticism and mistrust by your anxious little brain. It only gets worse when he never talks about his little staring/surveillance sessions, never explains why he randomly shows up at your desk or workstation, never asks you for a word afterwards - you always feel like you’re not good enough, that no matter how long you’ve been by his side, he needs to check up on you. He’s an imposing man, too - so much bulk and smoke, just the thought of him asking you for a vis-a-vis keeps you up at night. And every day, every week spent fretting over him and his perception of you (coupled with the fact that you really, really need this job) makes you more and more insecure, makes it hard to unwind after yet another long day, makes you overanalyze every single glance, every word and move of his. He slowly creeps into your after-hours, your conversations with friends, your weekends, even your vacations.  And he can tell. Crocodile notices the slight, subtle changes. The way you smooth over your clothes before talking to him, how you place an index and middle finger over sternum as if to shield yourself from him, the fucking cold sweat shining on your forehead whenever he does question a decision of yours with a gruff bark. The way you avoid his eyes, stumble over your own feet in a hurry, the way he can see that you sleep worse and worse - that’s how he knows he's got you hooked, fully and wholly. That all you're thinking about is him and work and pleasing him and being good at work and again, him and work and him and- Your job is the only thing in your life now, from the moment you wake up to the time you lay your head down to sleep, everything is consumed by thoughts of him and his opinions about you and your abilities, always aiming to please and so, so nervous to fail. It’s perfect.

Doflamingo is way more vocal about it. He'll throw your work right back into your face, all sneers and acid tongue. It’s just not enough, never enough, reflects badly on him, on his company - whatever it is you do, it hails nothing but criticism and mockery and late nights to fix your stupid mistakes. He doesn’t even give you moments of rest, he just constantly picks on you until you’re seriously considering just resigning for your own mental health. He’s methodically destroying your self-esteem, makes you doubt your own abilities - you know you shouldn’t let him creep into your head as much as he does, but when all you hear is that you’re so fucking bad at your job, how much you suck - it sticks. You’re so stressed because of him you almost have a panic attack over putting your two weeks in and despite your suffering, you keep procrastinating, keep telling yourself you’ll do it tomorrow, when you have had a full night’s sleep. Problem is - you never do. He can tell by the way you’re idling, fiddling with the straps of your bag whenever he comes in for the day that you’re trying to leave - but that you're simply too scared of his reaction to pull the trigger. And that right there; that fear, that pedestal you put him on is the perfect breeding ground for all sorts of unethical things he can push you to do for him. He starts out small; things like getting him coffee in the mornings when you never did that before, a too-warm, lingering hand on your shoulder, a comment about your outfit - every little thing is calculated, tailored to slowly destroy your boundaries while you fear him more and more, give him way more authority over your life than you should. He knows it’s psychological, that someone else might be able to flip him off and leave without ever thinking twice about him. But you… You have accepted him as the one part of your life everything hinges on - you give him all that power in your sick little brain. Oh, he’ll use it well. The fun has only just started, rest assured. 

And while Crocodile gets to click his tongue, scoff and tell you that he'll take over from now on because clearly - you're just not capable and you obviously need him (not only at work but also in your whole life, silly), Doflamingo taunts you and tells you to make yourself useful, then, if you can't even do your job right. Maybe sucking his dick is your true calling - come on, let's see if you can do at least one thing right. One man wants to take your life over completely, sees you as the malleable (perfect) mess that you are, with all the potential that comes with it - and the other just wants to fuck you up for the next decade of your life, wants to be reason you wake up in the middle of night because his vicious smile still bounces around in that head of yours

[yourheart-inmyhands]

hii silly ask anon back with another silly ask😓 (before i continue tysm for answering the last one i enjoyed it sm!!🫶🏻) how would yan!zhongli, pantalone (help me i love them) and childe react to darling going absolutely feral with rage anytime they are near😭?

like they’ll get home and be like “i’m home pookie💗” and reader will scream their head off crying and throwing stuff at them

this is so long sorry but could i be 🐚 anon?

ofc you can! the more anons the merrier :D also this is such an interesting thought because there are so many different ways for the yandere to reaction in a situation like this and it's certainly not talked about enough with the diverse types so i hope you enjoy :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including delusional behaviors, implied being held against will, force-feeding, mentions of being drugged, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Yandere!Zhongli would be well prepared, readying his shield before getting within arms reach of you. It really does come in handy for your more unruly days and he appreciates its usefulness. While he doesn’t want to see you enter the mindbroken or emotionally numb state, he’s worried that he might not have any other choice but to push you to that, lest you calm down otherwise.

“Fret not dear, it’s merely food. If you flip it over again I’m afraid I’ll have to go back to spoon feeding you.” Zhongli enters the room with a plated meal for you, setting it down at your feet. His shield was already activated, the faint glow from Geo illuminating the room as you glowered up at him. Your spot on the floor, chained down for your safety and his, was not ideal but for now it was practical. Mixed with the low lighting of the room and its generally chilly temperature, Zhongli hoped to create a strong feeling of isolation, one that would slowly drive you insane. If need be though, he had other options for breaking you, he just preferred this one. It was the most humane after all.

Yandere!Pantalone would only tolerate it for so long. He can replace all the furniture and decorations in his home with less easily broken replicas until you calm down. He can sleep in bed at night while you slept in a cage built into the walls of the closet. He could eat his meals alone while you starved in another room, too busy fretting about it being poisoned, that all he could tolerate. But the screaming was something else.

No one in Zapolyarny Palace heard your screams and wails, and those who did were ordered not to pay mind to it. It was a wasted effort that had Pantalone often sitting with his head in his hands, trying to find some sort of solution. He had run across a few temporary ones, a sleeping agent from Dottore for night time, sound proof walls in his office for business hours. But nothing could help him outside though hours, like at dinner time. You were kept in a separate room strictly for feeding due to the mess you often made, while Pantalone sat alone at the empty kitchen table. The home in general looked devoid of life outside the small inhabitant of Pantalone. This was because it was supposed to be your home, but you were often too busy throwing a hissy-fit to enjoy it and Pantalone was getting really sick of your behavior.

Yandere!Childe would take it as a challenge, playfully wrestling you to pin you down so he could feed you during the day. You could kick and scream and punch all you want, he’s taken worse and won’t stop until he’s physically unable to move. The screaming doesn’t bother him either, he just thinks you need more time to adjust is all.

Another day, another miserable feeding session. You were currently pinned underneath Childe, the ginger having pinned you to the floor with your hands held tightly to your chest as he slowly fed you bites of a sandwich. Any attempts to spit them out would be met with a pout, he had worked hard to make it for you ya know, and any attempts to not eat would be met with a quick pinch of your nose to force you to open your mouth. The worst part was possibly how normal Childe acted about the whole thing, chatting amicably to you about his day as he shoved bits of food down your throat. One time you had kept spitting food at him and in response he covered your mouth with his hand to prevent you from continuing the childish act. You had bit down as hard as you physically could on the male's palm just for him to not flinch and continue his silly little stories like nothing had happened. Being stuck with this guy was hopeless for you.

[lightlycareless]

imagine naoya leaving for work then comes naomi chasing after him with tears in her eyes because she knows she won’t see him for days.😭

HELLO!!!!

WELP MORE DOMESTIC STUFF ON THE WAY!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I love baby Naomi 😭 I wish it could be us Naoya and our baby happy together forever.

This has the same energy as when you and Naoya cry when realizing Naomi has to go to school or is at school and not home anymore 🤣 but omg this is such a dramatic moment in her life, the moment she realizes her papa isn't actually there most of the time, kept oblivious thanks to your consistent work of distracting her 😭 how dare we fool her?!

Anyways, here are the warnings: fluff. you have a daughter with naoya named naomi. she is smol... we need to protect her 🥺💖

Happy reading!

How you managed to keep the truth from Naomi for so long is something that has to be commended! Though your daughter’s innocence helped you a lot.

Naturally you felt bad for taking advantage of her naïveté, but it was genuinely the only way to prevent her from crying—alongside the video calls Naoya would always try to make back home: one in the morning during breakfast, another at lunch, and the last one before heading to bed.

Though it seemed that these calls were mostly made with Naoya’s benefit in mind, for the sight of Naomi's face lightening up upon hearing her dear papa's voice is one that always melted all his worries away, as well as anxious to return home.

So that, alongside your constant distraction of Naomi by bringing her with you to wherever you went, whether it being going from one side of the estate to the other to oversee your duties, or going out shopping with your staff, nobody could say your daughter was unattended—and subsequently, ignorant of her father’s absence.

Because of said things, the two thought of themselves to be very lucky to have such a well-behaved child, the envy of some in more ways than one!

Until she grew old enough to realize what was going on.

It was only inevitable, encouraged that she’d become conscious of her surroundings, which you began to notice when she started giving slightly more complex storylines to her dolls when playing with them… as silly as that might sound.

And while it was endearing to see her grow, it was also highly worrying, for you fretted about the kind of reaction she’d have when she finally acknowledges the reason why her father wasn’t around—an unprecedented event that occurred as followed.

As customary, you always made sure to either ask your staff to distract Naomi whenever you were off to bid your farewells to Naoya, or if his departure is happening at night, place her in bed, rocked to sleep by her papa before carefully sneaking out of the bedroom and meeting by the entrance.

Tonight, was to be the latter, with Naoya placing one last kiss on Naomi’s forehead as she snored softly, a sight that squeezed his heart, silently cursing his responsibilities and his supposed duty to the clan, collecting himself afterwards and heading over to your direction to get another spoonful of that same regret—why did he have to leave?

“When will you come back?” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his chest and holding him tightly against you, not wanting to let go.

“In a few weeks.” Naoya sighs, kissing the top of your head and resting his head above yours. “I hope Naomi doesn’t grow too much when I’m away.”

The slightest hesitation in your response is enough for Naoya to pursue the matter, placing his fingers underneath your chin and raising your gaze to his.

“What is it?”

“Oh, well—Naomi doesn’t fit in her onesies again; the ones I got her last month!” you respond. “…I fear that when you come back, she might not be as small as you remember.”

Naoya frowns.

There is one thing he hated from coming back home and that was realizing he’s missed out in his daughter’s growth—and for something as stupid as doing these lousy missions HQ couldn’t bother to assign to literally anyone else.

Though, in some ways, it was his fault. For he wanted to reassure his position as the future leader of the clan, prove that he was worthy, and apparently the only way to do so was to drown himself with work.

«It won’t be much longer» Is what he’d tell himself from time to time. «Everything I do is for my family’s wellbeing. To give them a life where they can be safe and happy.»

A life where the only things either would have to worry about is what stuffed animals to buy for Naomi, or where should they go for holiday next time he’s off work…

Or what to do with a curious baby girl that woke up earlier than anticipated, upset that her parents weren’t by her side, leading her to exit her bedroom and head towards the direction she hears them to be, all in the innocent quest for answers— coincidentally, her parent’s torment.

“Pa—pa! Mama!” Naomi coos upon seeing her parents, a wide smile on her chubby little face as she rushed to them, a sight that would’ve normally inspired the two to run to her in return and scoop her into their arms. But for now, only made you wonder how she managed to escape Mariya’s attention?! Wasn’t she supposed to keep an eye on her?!

“Pumpkin, you’re supposed to be asleep!” Naoya says, perhaps thinking Naomi would stop on her tracks and head back—or who knows?

But she ignores his words, diligently continuing her way to them until she was able to cling onto Naoya’s leg, lightly tugging at the fabric of his pants as if asking him to pick her up and pepper her with all the kisses he gives her whenever doing so.

And while Naomi doesn’t retaliate when you’re the one that gives her those gestures, it’s only when you slowly begin to separate her from her papa that the issues begin.

Naomi first attempts to break away from your embrace by pushing away, looking over to Naoya then back to you with a whine and pout that lets you know this isn’t what she wanted, nor is she open to negotiate.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, mochi.” You say, hoping she’ll understand and stop moving. But she doesn’t, if anything she insists even more! “Naomi, you have to—"

“No!” she cries, shaking her head. “Want papa!”

Her disappointment doesn’t come until she sees Naoya’s lack of initiative, the unusually quiet, distant response to her calls that made her eyes tear up a bit.

But her heartbreak only occurs when you eventually resort to the thing the two probably should’ve done way before, and that is, telling her the truth.

“No, baby, you can’t have papa because, well, he has to leave.”

Naomi frowns, the last sliver of hope unwilling to give up just yet, as if skeptical of your words, believing you to be hiding the truth…

Until Naoya confirms it as well.

“I won’t be gone for long— I just gotta do some missions, I’ll be back before you even—”

“No!” Naomi shakes her head. “Papa no go!”

“I have to. It’s my job; you know I’m a sorcerer and—”

“No! You don’t—you don’t—leave…!”

And so, she weeps, pouring her small heart out with the most heart wrenching cries either have ever heard in their life—because they weren’t ones of hunger or displeasure. They were ones of sadness, upset that one of the most important people in her life is leaving, to return God knows when.

“Naomi…” you murmur, attempting to comfort her by resting her head against your shoulder, to no avail. It was clear what she wanted, who she wanted, so Naoya decides to take her from your arms and soothe her himself, which in reality only made her cry even more, as if realizing this is the last time he was going to hug her—for now.

“I won’t be gone for long, princess.” Naoya attempts to comfort her, pinching her cheek in the usual teasing way that always had her giggling—but she was too distraught to do anything else but cry.

She couldn’t be blamed, for Naomi was only a child that just began to understand that sometimes, her parents weren’t always going to be there by her side. There would be moments where they’d have to temporarily part ways to do other things, but that didn’t mean they didn’t love her. Or that she wouldn’t be ok.

Maybe this was the result of your over-endearing ways. Perhaps the two were simply too much for her, and this led her to have issues at the mere thought of either’s departure. You were always there for her, anyways, so why did it have to be different now?

“Princess, there’s nothing to cry about, you know I’ll always be here with you…”

“Pa…paaa—!” she gaps, tightly holding onto his shirt with an unprecedented strength that only serves to reflect how heartbroken she was by his words. “No go!”

And she’d continue to cry well into the following days. Soon after waking up, having tired herself out by her tears, when remembering her papa wasn’t there anymore, and wouldn’t be, not even if she searched all around the estate.

The once hilarious video calls, for Naomi thought her father had shrunk, were now nothing but a sad endeavor, accompanied by her sobs and quiet pleads of his quick return.

“I love you, little mochi. I only left because I needed to.” Naoya would always remind her. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Mnnno!” She shakes her head. “Come back!”

“If you promise to behave, I’ll take you to that park you like so much.” Her papa offers. “We’ll get all the sweets you want, and we’ll also go visit your grandpa. You like it when we go visit him, right? With auntie Hinata and uncle Ren.”

But Naomi doesn’t stop, showing him again and again that she doesn’t want any of those things—she just wants her father back and that’s it!

…

It would be the first thing Naoya wouldn’t be able to fulfill for his daughter, the same one that provided him with the much-needed reminder that being a parent is more than just giving everything to your children; it’s also preparing them for the surrounding world. Teaching them that some things are simply not meant to be and that it was ok.

While this change was initially painful, for no parent would ever want their child to suffer, as well as difficult because at the end of the day, Naomi was still a child, and thus, struggled to grasp certain subjects…

It was also very gratifying to observe Naomi grow up. See her do things that she couldn’t before, or perhaps never cared about, and help her overcome them. Because it reflected the love and care both had for their small family, and all that was yet to come.

Things that neither could wait to see happen, the realization of the amazing person she was always meant to be and supporting her every step of the way.

Ngl you and naoya were moved that she was that emotional about her father but at the same time you obviously didn't want her to cry. aaaaa parenthood is conflicting, but we love naomi nonetheless.

Thank you so much for sending in this ask!! I love writing about these small moments, it makes their dynamic so much more enjoyable. I hope to get to write about Naomi's first day of school soon!!!

Until then, take care, and hope to see you soon 🥰💖

[bettysupremacy]

Hi! How are you? I hope everything is well :) I saw that your requests open and I wanted to request a James Potter fic where the reader is a bit insecure when it comes to romantic stuff because she has never dated anyone so when James and the reader start dating she gets really shy about everything and James helps her feel comfortable with all of it maybe? I hope you like the idea! Thanks in advance :)

hey babe! thank you for the request I hope you like how it turned out

James stands in the bathroom, sink running, caps clicking. The sight and sound is a kind of domestic you’ve never felt before. This freaks you out.

“You wanna pick a movie, dovey?” It’s warped and bubbly from a mouthful of toothpaste, but you understand.

When he’d asked you to spent the night you hadn’t realized the intense bellyache of anxiety you’d get sitting in his bed, in his shirt, in his socks, waiting for him to be finished in the bathroom. If you had, you would’ve backed out.

You’re fingers fumble through his dark blue comforter. His room is so him, it’s a little suffocating. The remotes not here. Blue comforter, tee shirt thrown over his bed, circle framed glasses on a nightstand. His bedside table catches your eye. It’s in there.

You simply cannot open that drawer. You’re already suffocating in the intimacy of his room, you can’t also fall into the depths of his most personal drawer. He notices, wiping his mouth and jogging to the bed.

“Sorry.” He swiftly opens the drawer and tosses you the remote. It lands in your lap with the cushion of his blanket. “You ok?”

“I’ve never done this before.” You frown embarrassed.

“Slept over at my flat?” He breathes out, suppressing a smile. ”God, I hope you haven’t done that. D’be a bit weird, bug.”

You breathe a laugh but it comes out wonky. He frowns. “What’re you worried about?”

“I don’t know.” You whisper. His hands grab yours, thumbs working into your skin.

“Y’don’t gotta be nervous.” He smiles. “We’re just watching a movie is all.”

“And sleeping.” You add. “In the same bed.”

“Sleeping is what you’re worried about?” He teases. “You’ll be unconscious, I think that’s the least of your worries.”

You smile, genuine smile, this makes james proud. “What if I hog the blanket?”

“As long as you’re warm.”

“Stop.”

“What!” He laughs. “As long as my baby’s warm I’m content.”

You shake your head. “What If get too close? I’ve never shared a bed.”

“Baby, if you think that’s a problem..”

“I’m serious.” You give weakly.

“I’m serious! If you mind your personal space I won’t mind mine.”

The stare is silent but the smile on his face has you fighting off your own. He takes his hands back, bringing them up to your face. Rubbing the rough surface of his rugby palms over your cheeks, you lean into the touch.

“Seriously, baby,” he murmurs, “don’t fret it.”

You nod. Letting him take in your face.

Slowly, very slowly, he pushes you back. You almost don’t notice but the way his hands come down to your shoulders brings nerves back into your belly.

“I like when you’re in my personal space.”

He lays on you like a weighted blanket. Though, you can’t feel a weighted blanket breathe. Head in the spongy pillows, your fingers come up and tangle in his curls.

“This is nice.” You mutter.

“See?” You can feel him sigh. “Don’t let anxiety eat you.”

“Okay.”

“There’s nothing to be anxious over, you’re safe.”

“I know.” You mumble again.

He looks up at you. “You getting tired? Should we skip the movie?”

“No, put it on.” Your head shakes as much as it Can laying down. “I won’t fall asleep.”

“You liar!” He affably laughs. He can feel your giggles against his chest. “Can I at least get a kiss before we start the movie and you don’t fall asleep?”

“Mhm.”

The kiss he plants to your lips is warm and sturdy. He sits there for a second, too long to be chaste, to quick to be deep. When he pulls back you’re smiling.

“Y’ready?” He pushes some hair from your face. “You pick a movie?”

“No.”

He groans loudly, dropping back down on you. “What would you do without me?”

[aislingsurrow]

The Night After Ravana’s Defeat…

“Never did I doubt you, Warrior of Light.”

Aisling turned over in her bedroll- Estinien’s earlier words still tickling at the back of her mind. Spoken after she returned from the hive.

“Never did I doubt you…”

Instead of that Someone whispering what the next day would bring, what pains would come and what the weather would be and who she’d meet, she could only hear him.

“Warrior of Light…”

She turned on her back and her eyes burst open to stare at a wide open sky, blistered with bright stars.

“Warrior…”

His lips had turned up when he said it. Just the corners of them, a slight little smile and from her low angle she could see up into his helmet. See that the smile, however small, reached his eyes.

“Fretting like a maid for her sweetheart, he was.”

And in that moment their eyes had met.

“Sweetheart…”

The way his lips formed the words was stuck in her skull. The look in his eyes. And when something passed between them, unspoken, she was glad Alphinaud was jostled enough to protest the teasing. It gave her a moment to steady her wildly beating heart. Of course, thinking about it again now only made her heart go so wild again she had to sit up- stand up- and wander from the dying embers of their fire and the two sleeping Elezen.

They were within the walls of Anyx Trine, tucked in a corner by the gate with a watchful company of dragons nearby- meant to keep an eye on Estinien. He was gone, though; in the few nights they’d enjoyed the hospitality of the dragons, Estinien had not slept within the walls. Still, he never went far- which is why Aisling slipped out of the gate, feet bare, cool wind tickling her shoulders in her nightgown.

She didn’t have to search far at all- there he was, just outside the main gate, leaned back against the stone in a devilishly cool way. As ever, he was in his armor- a mask she saw beneath in brief flashes.

“I had a feeling you’d be up,” he said as a greeting.

“Oh? Yer having visions now?”

“You’re predictable. You found me, somehow, after the boy’s trial. And then once more when you freed the Bull. I figured I’d make myself easy to find this time.” The twitch of his lips again- her heart rushed. “Make it easy on you.”

“Y’need never go easy on me, Estinien. I can handle it.” She lifted an arm and slapped her bicep- certainly not bulging with lean, lithe strength like him, but solid all the same.

“I see you can.” He pushed himself off the wall. “Shall we walk?”

“Aye!” Aisling beamed and hopped beside him, her feet buoyed just above the ground by a cushion of Air aether placed with each footfall.

They took a turn around the walls of Anyx Trine. Above them, dragons flew past- entering and exiting their home. Some landing on the wall and lingering. Some watching the two wander by, made curious by the continued presence of men.

“It is nice y’waited fer me, though,” she said a few minutes in.

She could feel him roll his eyes. See a hint beneath the helm from her angle. “Must you say it aloud?”

“Are yeh embarrassed?” Her lips split into a sly grin. “Will y’blush if I call ya kind? What of handsome?”

The sound that came from him was somewhere between a scoff, a gasp, and a bark of a laugh. “You make your opinion so readily known!”

She glanced sidelong at him, raised an eyebrow. “Someone’s got to. You won’t say what y’want.”

“Oh?” He shook his head. “You know what I want, eh? Have you Seen it?”

“Of a sort.”

She paced ahead of him with a quickness that surprised the Azure Dragoon. For once, he sped to catch up with her.

“Is this another vision to solve?”

She walked a bit faster again and he was answered by her back. Her hair was unbraided, casting her curls down behind her shoulders. The moon and starlight caught in the blonde- the soft pink- and seemed to glow.

This time, Estinien didn’t catch up to her and trailed behind.

“... Well?” he prompted, after a moment of her silence.

“Why do y’look at me the way you do?”

“And how do I look at you?” He was about to laugh, but her sudden stop and turn stole it from his lungs. He paused mid-step and her eyes caught under his helm. He didn’t have time to school his expression.

“Like tha’.”

His jaw clenched up. “... It’s no particular way,” he protested, rather ineffectively for him. Which is why her answer was only silence- a brow raised in question. And his jaw tightened again- fists joining in an angry curl.

“Such wants are distractions,” he snapped and brushed past her. “Should I falter from my task? Just for a want?”

She didn’t follow him, and when he realized a few yalms away he slowed to a stop, anger flattening slower than it came.

“... You said before you saw my death,” he said, his back to her.

“I seen yer agony,” Aisling replied. The memory of the vision summoned small motes of light to her eyes, Someone laughing in her ear. “Seen a monster wear your skin. Seen ya struck through. But I seen ya smilin’ too. Freer than ever I’ve seen a man.”

A laugh like a scoff. A sigh. “You think I can escape?”

Aisling couldn’t quite answer that. “... I seen us, hand in hand,” she said instead, and twisted her fingers in her nightgown.

“You think you can be my escape?” He finally faced her.

Her hands firmed into fists around the fabric. “Ain’t it what ya want?”

The quiet that settled between them vibrated. Aisling felt it rumble through her whole body- anxiety leaving her hands shaking in their nervous, white-knuckled grip. For all her Seeing, these moments were uncharted territory.

He moved first- raised his hands to his helm and- for the first time in her sights- removed it. His pale hair tumbled down over his shoulders and instead of having to peek and search for his eyes they were right there- his gaze heavy on her- heavier than Aisling had ever felt before.

Estinien closed the gap between them with slow steps.

“... If we do as I want,” he muttered, “I won’t be going easy on you.”

Her breath caught.

“Y’need never go easy on me,” she said in a whisper. All inside of her trembled with excitement. “I can handle it.”

“... I see you can.”

He dropped his helmet to the side and they came together like a dance. He lifted her in the next step and found something- a wall- to press her against as his lips found her neck, exposed and chilled from the night air.

Any dragons still lingering on the nearby parapets roused themselves and, for a blessing, gave the pair some privacy. And with Estinien’s heart so sweetly consumed, for a restful moment their only companions were the stars.

[xxlady-lunaxx]

Summer days induced sleepiness, causing Obanai to be constantly bored but too lazy to do anything. In hopes to cure his dilemma of having nothing to do, he called Mitsuri. She was quick to answer and eager to please, having her mother drop her off at Obanai’s house. But apparently even Mitsuri’s never ending enthusiasm was dampened by the hot weather, and they ended up laying aimlessly on the couch, staring at the ceiling and talking.

Somewhere through Mitsuri’s explanation about why one of her cats was refusing to go in her bedroom, she trailed off. Obanai took a moment to realize that she wasn’t just thinking and he propped himself up, gazing down at Mitsuri. She was curled up, back facing him, her eyes closed. She must’ve fallen asleep, he realized, and smiled to himself. Oh, well, they could both use some sleep to pass time. So Obanai lay back down, letting himself relax into a dreamless sleep.

Some time later, he awoke to the sound of rain. A bit confused, mind muddled from sleep, he blinked, turning to the window. His eyebrows lifted as he realized it was raining, the trees outside swaying in time with the wind. The drastic weather change threw him off for a moment and he struggled to understand if he’d slept a whole day.

Then he felt Mitsuri rolling over, still asleep as she found a more comfortable position. He sought out his phone, noting it had been a couple hours since they’d fallen asleep. Likely, Mitsuri’s parents were wondering what she was doing now. It was beginning to get late anyway, and she’d promised to be home by 5. It was 6, now, but he hoped the rain was enough explanation for her lack of response to their undoubtedly worried texts.

Gently, he nudged Mitsuri, trying to wake her up. “Mitsuri…” he whispered, moving one of her braids to settle against her back.

Mitsuri shifted, but didn’t awaken right away. After repeating the process again, Obanai managed to get her to sit up, her hands closing to rub at her eyes. She mumbled something of question, yawning.

“It’s, uhm, six,” he explained. “You probably have to get home now.”

With that, she snapped awake, grabbing her phone to frantically text her parents. Obanai waited patiently until she’d sorted things out, watching her expressions change quickly. She was always so expressive, and he adored that about her.

After a while, she looked up with an apologetic smile. “Is it alright if I just stay here for the night? Something happened with some tree that fell in my neighborhood… I think from the wind? So they’re not allowed to drive through, and I live on those dead end roads,” she explained, eyes flicking down to her phone. “If not, I can tell my parents and we’ll figure out a way to get me back.”

Obanai was reasonably surprised, but shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll consult my cousin, but she usually doesn’t care,” he promised. Their parents were gone for some time, and given that his cousin was eighteen, he was put in her charge for the moment. She was honestly bad at her job, but it meant more freedom for him.

“Are you sure? Can you ask her now? I want to tell my parents,” Mitsuri said, then quickly added, “they won’t mind either answer, I just don’t want them to worry any longer.”

Nodding, Obanai stood and maneuvered the house to his cousin’s room, knocking and waiting impatiently. She appeared after a moment, raised an eyebrow, and interrupted him before he could get two words out.

“Do whatever. Just leave me be,” she said flatly, then shut the door in his face.

…alright. It wasn’t Obanai’s fault if she got upset at Mitsuri’s stay.

He returned to the living room, giving Mitsuri the okay. She confirmed it with her parents, reassured them that it was Obanai and she’d be fine, then pocketed her phone.

“Ahh, I’m sorry about that,” she fretted.

“No, no. It’s okay. You’re staying the night, right? Are you hungry?” he asked. He wasn’t hungry himself—would’ve just skipped dinner—but Mitsuri nodded and they moved to the kitchen.

Once they pulled some random foods from the fridge and the cabinets, Obanai made some quick sandwiches, not quite wanting to cook and risk his cousin being annoyed by the smells. They settled down to eat, and Mitsuri chatted animatedly, quite refreshed from the nap and the cooler temperature. After they finished eating, they departed to Obanai’s room, taking the safer bet in staying out of anyone’s way.

The rain continued on, and somewhere around 10, Obanai glanced outside. It had gotten dark a couple hours ago, but now he could barely see anything out the window except the street light that glowed pitifully against the blur of the rain and the darkness around it. Mitsuri followed his gaze, humming something of content.

“Rain sounds are so pretty,” she commented, beaming when Obanai agreed. “They make me tired, sometimes. But we slept earlier so I’m not too tired now…”

“We can stay up,” Obanai offered. He didn’t feel like sleeping much, either.

Mitsuri pondered this, her teeth tugging at her bottom lip. “Okay,” she agreed, after a moment. “But let’s sleep at midnight, maybe? I don’t want to be tired tomorrow.”

With that agreed to, they took brief showers and Obanai offered her some of his bigger clothing (which admittedly fit Mitsuri a bit snuggly), and they clambered into his bed. Mitsuri kept up a steady conversation, skipping through topics and leading most of the talking. She seemed happy with it, snuggling closer to him and pulling the blanket to her chin. The night dozed on but they remained awake until nearly 1 a.m. when Mitsuri checked her phone and panicked at how they’d lost track of time.

She was keen on sleeping, and Obanai caved, allowing himself to be pulled down and join her in resting. Though he couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep, Mitsuri somehow managed to drift off amazingly quickly, her arms wrapped around him as her breathing steadied out.

Quite late into the night, somewhere around 2 a.m., Obanai heard the faint sounds of his cousin finally ceasing her unnecessarily loud music and settling into sleep, as well. The rain was still going, as was Obanai’s body’s apparent lack of interest in resting. Mitsuri continued providing him with warmth he wasn’t used to, and he found himself pulling her closer at one point, bringing the blanket higher to tuck around her more tightly. He closed his eyes, trying to match his breathing to hers. Before he knew it, his mind was wilting, dipping into the unmistakeable signs of fatigue. It could’ve been the pattering of raindrops on the roof, or the steady rise and fall of Mitsuri’s breath, but Obanai was finally lulled into sleep, sinking into her embrace and letting the late hour whisk him away into hazy dreams.