#heavy-duty bunk beds

[alexrodes]

[joeyalohadream]

I wish you would write a fic where John convinces Gale to stay in bed for a bit longer to cuddle because they finally have the time and peace to do that ☺️❤️

Thanks for the prompt, lovely!

Used this an opportunity to escape the heaviness that is part two of my cooler fic. Here is a 2,790 word glimpse of my Cooler-verse Buckies, post-war. Where did they end up? How'd they get there? Don't worry about it, just enjoy some snuggles. 🥰

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Bucky feels wakefulness gradually edging into the edges of his blissfully quiet mind. Gone are the moments of jolting to full alertness with a mission to complete, with danger waiting outside of a closed door. Never again will a young airmen shake his shoulder with a firm hand and inform him that he might die today. Never again will he scramble out of a bunk or off of a factory floor with bitter, irate German words chasing him to his feet.

He turns his head, the soft pillow smooth against his cheek, and he rides the slow ebb and flow of drifting back into the waking world. The sunlight shines in through their bedroom window. Their bedroom window that will never be closed with shutters from the outside. Their bedroom window that they replaced the glass panes of two days after they purchased the little farmhouse, ensuring an untarnished view and a crystal-clear entrance for the rays of light to filter through. Their bedroom window that is never covered by so much as a curtain to ensure that Gale can find the outside when he looks up, no matter what time of day he feels the need to see the open expanse of the world around him.

He squints behind closed eyes as he feels the rays of the early morning sun tickling the backs of his eyelids and turns his head back out of the light. The mattress wobbles in the rickety bedframe they haven’t had a chance to replace as the warm body occupying the space next to him shifts. A moment later, he feels a gentle pressure against his cheek and he can’t fight the smile that pulls at his mouth.

“Good morning, John.” Gale’s usual low voice is rough from sleep and Bucky feels the movement of his lips when he speaks, still pressed against his cheek as they are.

Soft lips trail to the hinge of his jaw and then the side of his neck and he shivers at the sensation, smile growing.

He finally opens his eyes and is greeted with one of his favorite sights. Gale, hair mussed and messy, falling over his forehead and sticking up in all directions in the back, eyes hooded but clear and blue and happy. Sleep soft and perfect and here in bed with Bucky. Because they survived a war and a prison camp and a march that did its level best to kill them both. Because they made it home and traveled to new places for fun, not for duty and finally settled. Because they’re in their bed, in their bedroom, in their house.

Bucky can’t help but reach out and cup that strong jaw. He lets his thumb stroke the apple of Gale’s cheek and he leans forward enough to press their lips together and watches those blue eyes slip closed before he closes his own. He keeps the kiss chaste, knowing how much Gale hates morning breath, Bucky’s as well as his own. He lingers for a moment before pulling back enough to rub his nose against Gale’s and gently knocks their foreheads together.

Leaning back first allows him to watch Gale slowly open his eyes and he’s greeted with the sweetest smile, and he just smiles back.

“Good morning, Buck.”  

Gale props himself up on his elbow and grabs the hand Bucky still has cradling his face. He turns his head enough to press a kiss to the inside of Bucky’s wrist before letting both of their hands, now clasped, fall to the mattress.

“You sleep okay?” Bucky asks him, keeping his voice low and quiet, not wanting to disturb the peace that early mornings seem to naturally bring these days.

“I did actually,” Gale smiles and seems genuinely happy at the fact. And Bucky is too. Because while outside forces will never be allowed into their home to wake them against their will again, neither of them can escape the inside forces that invade most nights.

“You too?”

“Me too,” Bucky tells him honestly. Because last night, they’d made love in the home they now owned and shared, and Bucky had fallen asleep happier than he’d been in as long as he can remember. And he knows these happy days are going to start outnumbering the unhappy ones and it makes a pressure in his chest ease at the thought.

“That’s real good to hear,” Gale squeezes his hand and then, much to Bucky’s dismay lets go of it and then sits up.

Bucky watches as he shuffles to the edge of the bed and gets both legs out from under the blanket. The softest blanket Bucky could find at the store on the second night of their road trip, back when Gale couldn’t shake the cold, no matter how far south they drove.

Gale plants his feet on the ground and starts to push himself off of the mattress and Bucky feels unreasonably not okay with that. He reaches out and tucks his fingers into the waistband at the back of Gale’s skivvies and makes a fist, holding tight to the fabric. His odd action is met with a raised eyebrow over a still too bony shoulder so he just grins.

“Tryin’ to get fresh with me Major?”

And while Bucky can’t deny the near constant state of arousal, always simmering somewhere under the surface, he feels around Gale, that’s genuinely not what he’s aiming for. Not right now.

“Seemed like the easiest way to keep you reaching lift off,” Bucky says around a grin.

He releases his grip on the fabric but moves his hand so his palm is curved around the smaller man’s naked hip.

“It’s time to get out of bed,” Gale rolls his eyes at him, but he doesn’t move away from Bucky’s hand.

“Why?”

Bucky almost laughs at the confusion on Gale’s face when he raises the question.

“What do you mean, why? It’s morning, Bucky.”

“So?”

“So? We have things to do,” Gale states like it’s obvious. Like it’s a fact. And Bucky will admit that it is true. They do have things to do. But they also just don’t, and he thinks that is a beautiful thing.

“Like what?” Bucky props himself up on his elbow and rests his chin in his own palm, tilts his head a little and gives Gale an indulging smile.

“You know what, Bucky,” Gale sighs out. “We were going to buy a screen door for the front of the house and paint for the spare bedroom.”

The spare bedroom that will be Gale’s bedroom when they have visitors. The spare bedroom that will never be slept in because they’re currently in their bedroom, that they share because they made it home and this is their life now. Bucky feels warm inside thinking about it all.

“And the hardware store and the furniture depot will be open all day,” Bucky points out, still smiling at Gale. “And if we don’t end up getting either of those things today, guess what?”

Gale narrows his eyes at him, but he’s starting to look more amused than annoyed.

“Those stores are also going to be open tomorrow.” Bucky squeezes his hip and then pulls on him, satisfied when Gale twists his body around so one foot is back on the bed. One down, one to go.

Gale folds his leg under him and looks down at Bucky with a question in his eyes.

“So, you want to do what? Go back to sleep?” There’s no judgement in his voice, just curiosity.

“Nah,” Bucky shakes his head. “Just want to lay in bed with you for a little longer. I was sleeping the whole time. I didn’t get to enjoy you in my arms.”

Gale’s cheeks color and Bucky cheers inside with a victory. The look Gale gives him now is nothing but fond. But he still doesn’t lay back down.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong, Bucky.” Gale huffs a quiet laugh out. “Just feels like we’re doing something wrong after how many years of having to be up and moving every damn day?”

“But we’re not doing anything wrong,” Bucky moves his hand from Gale’s hip to his knee. “Well, technically speaking, in the eyes of God and the law, we are constantly doing something wrong, but, hey, I won’t tell if you won’t.” He winks at Gale and feels himself swell inside at the laugh it forces out of Gale. A real one, one that has him bringing his hand up to cover it’s occurrence.

“You’re ridiculous,” Gale informs him, eyes light and unburdened.

“Ridiculously in love with you,” Bucky adjusts his grip, moving his palm to the back of Gale’s knee and leaning back to get leverage to pull. “And ridiculously ready to cuddle you for at least an hour.”

“A whole hour?” The mock disbelief brings a laugh of his own out of Bucky. It doesn’t take more than a tug before Gale gives in and is climbing back onto the bed completely.

“Where do you want me?”

Bucky grins and reaches out to maneuver Gale into the center of the bed, flat on his back. He lets his fingers dig into his side for a moment, delighting in the involuntary laugh that Gale barks out at the prod.

“You tickle me again and I’ll be on my way to the hardware store before you even get your pants on, John.”

“Okay, Gale,” Bucky smirks at him.

He pushes Gale’s thighs apart and kneels between them, looks down at the amusement on the other man’s face and then lays himself down directly on top of him. He feels Gale’s startled breathy laughter as he settles his chest onto Gale’s groin and hips and then turns his head to rest it with his ear pressed to Gale’s stomach. He frames Gale’s sides with his arms, fingers trailing a slow path up his sides.

“Keep those fingers away from my armpits if you know what’s good for you.”

Bucky chuckles but trails his fingers back down. He can’t contain the contented sigh that escapes as slender, calloused fingers start combing through his curls, twisting them gently around before scratching lightly at his scalp and then repeating the motion.

“Comfortable?”

“Mhmm,” Bucky smiles into the soft skin of Gale’s stomach.

He uses his middle and pointer finger to walk up Gale’s ribcage like a staircase. Months out of the Stalags, over a week off the road and settled into their own home and they still protrude unnaturally. An everyday reminder that Bucky almost lost him, almost watched him fade away right in front of him. Gale’s been slim since the day he met him, he built muscle through training and while he’s slowly getting some of it back, it’s taking longer than Bucky thought it would. Bucky’s frame filled out gradually, but quickly and it truly dismays him that it wasn’t going to be that way with Gale. He has so far to go, and Bucky is starting to realize it’s another battle they’ll have to fight together.

He curves the palm of his left hand around the bottom of Gale’s ribcage and stokes over the most prominent one with his thumb, a silent apology. Soothing it, letting it know it’ll be hidden away soon. He turns his head and places a kiss to the center of Gale’s stomach.

“I bought a dozen eggs at the market yesterday,” Bucky gets a hand to the mattress and scoots himself up until he can rest his chin in the center of Gale’s chest and see his blue eyes. He resettles his weight and smiles when he watches the way all of his features smooth out at the sensation of the pressure of Bucky’s large frame over his.

“I know you did, I was with you at the market,” Gale tilts his head. He moves his hand down to the side of Bucky’s neck, fingers playing with the curls there.

“When I’ve had my fill of cuddling with you, I’m gonna go downstairs and cook all of them for you.”

“I can’t eat twelve eggs, Bucky,” Gale laughs.

“I’m gonna fry some of the ham in the ice box. Ham and eggs, and some sweet rolls too.” Bucky watches as amusement dances in Gale’s eyes at his words. “It’ll be a breakfast feast, fit for a King.”

He feels Gale’s thumb start to trace the lines around his eyes, so he widens his smile to make them more pronounced. Gale loves those lines, he’d told him so while he was miserable and sick and terrified in the Stalag just a few days after he’d returned from one hell to another.

“I couldn’t eat twelve eggs and ham and sweet rolls even before the,” Gale trails off a bit, doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to talk about it. Bucky leans into his touch enough to let him know he knows what he means. “But I definitely can’t now.”

And Bucky knows that. He knows he can’t just feed Gale three overly square meals a day for a few weeks and call it good. He knows there’s more to it than that. That Gale’s relationship with food is different now, just like his relationship with solitude and silence and noise and countless other things is different now too. Just like his own relationship with whiskey and crowds and the woods and even a phone call is different now.

It doesn’t mean Bucky doesn’t wish he could make it all go away.

“I know,” Bucky tells him. “I just want to take care of you.”

“You do,” Gale’s voice is soft and serious and gentle, and it warms Bucky to his core. “You take care of me every minute of every day, Bucky. You’re the only one who ever has.”

And Bucky feels so proud of himself and so sad for Gale at the same moment. But Gale doesn’t look sad, he looks happy and content and very in love.

“You take care of me too,” Bucky breathes out. “Better than anyone else ever has.”

Silence settles around them for a few moments as they watch each other in the early morning light. The sun is warm on Bucky’s bare back and he could stay just like this all day. But he feels Gale’s stomach rumble against his own where they’re pressed together.

“Can I make you two eggs, ham and a sweet roll?”

“C’mere,” Gale tugs on his shoulder and Bucky goes easily, moth to Gale’s flame.

The way Gale holds his face, palm cradling his jaw makes him melt further into him. Their lips meet and Bucky’s the first to close his eyes this time. He props himself up on his hands, framed on either side of Gale’s head and lets himself enjoy the press of Gale’s plump, soft lips to his own. To his surprise, morning breath be damned, the tip of Gale’s tongue traces the seam of his lips and his hips grind down at the same the wet slide of their tongues kicks the simmering arousal in his gut up a notch.

He feels Gale is similarly affected and he smiles into the kiss as Gale tries to pull him down, pull him closer. Bucky rolls his hips one more time and then leans back, smiling down at Gale as the younger man lifts his head to chase his lips.

The frustrated pout Gale shoots up at him makes him laugh. He brushes the hair off of Gale’s forehead and then lets his lips follow his fingers, pressing a kiss right between his eyebrows.

He leans back and get his knees under him and in one fluid motion he’s up and off the bed, Gale’s pout turning more frustrated. Still adorable though.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“It’s breakfast time, Buck.”

“This was your idea,” Gale reminds him, still laying in their bed, still looking sleep soft and precious and perfect and like everything Bucky every dreamed of and had really feared he might lose. He wonders if Gale can see the love he feels for him in his eyes, in his smile, in his entire being.

“I’m gonna make you breakfast and we’re gonna eat it,” Bucky tells him, hands on his hips, a smile on his lips that won’t be leaving his face at all today. “And then I’m going to have you for dessert.”

Gale’s eyes widen a bit and a slow, pleased smile spreads across his face.

“We’re not going to get any work done today, are we?”

“No, we are not.” Bucky tells him with a grin, already imagining all the things he’s going to do to him in their bed.

“Sounds good to me, Major.”

[blurredcolour]

The Only Truth... | Part Two

The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x POW Flight Nurse!Female Reader

Once rested, Bucky proves to be a rather difficult patient, but it's nothing you can't handle. Once he's discharged, however, the man still finds a way to remain close, even when he's no longer the one in need of medical care.

Warnings: Language, Angst, Nightmares, Detailed Description of Death by Gunshot Wound, Blood, Gore, Reader Scars, Hospital Setting, POW Camp Setting, SS Officers, Mental Health Struggles, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Rating - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5001

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April 12, 1945

The light of dawn began to filter in through the murky windows of the hospital and with Bucky once again sleeping deeply, but now with all apprehension about his ability to wake again lifted, you began to carefully shuffle about the space and take care of some duties you had neglected for the last twenty hours. Emptying a few bed pans for those too weak to move, you scrubbed them clean in the meagre washroom before beginning to work on bandage changes, blinking futilely at the bleariness in your eyes. You had made it through two patients when the doors to the hospital were unlocked and Major Chalmers filtered in with Captain Menzies, another British medical officer, clearly just released from their combine.

It had taken several weeks for you to realize that the man introduced to you as ‘Mingies’ was the same as the man whose name was written as Menzies on the charts and not some other doctor who worked mysterious hours. Both men waited for you to finish treating the rather ghastly thigh wound inflicted by one of the ubiquitous German Shepherds – miraculously still not showing signs of infection – before you washed your hands and delivered your report on Major Egan.

“Very good, Nurse. Why don’t you go rest for the morning, we’ll see you around 1300 hours.” Chalmers replied.

Exhaling with a grateful nod, you excused yourself down the hall to your ‘accommodations.’ The former exam room had been stripped of all medical equipment to leave a cot, a small wooden cubby for your meagre collection of belongings, a tiny table for you to eat your solitary meals and write your correspondence, and a rickety washstand with a chipped enamel basin and mirror split with a spider’s web of fractures hammered directly into wall above it. With no interest in anything but sleep, you sat on the cot with a heavy sigh. You pulled the six remaining pins from your hair, having misplaced four throughout the last several months and still not having your confiscated effects returned to you, and kicked off your boots before laying down to sleep for a few hours.

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 The next time Bucky awoke, you were nowhere to be seen. He was plunged back into a world of dull, gritty, pungent masculinity and he was admittedly bereft. The pain in his back seemed all the more acute in your absence, and though there was again a serving of broth, it was tepid at best. Perhaps he could have withstood the continuation of a grim life all painted in the same grey palette, but to have that disrupted by your presence and then have that light and color taken away? It was even worse than not having had it to begin with.

It made him all the more sullen and combative when the British doctor Chalmers informed him that he would have to remain in hospital as a patient another night rather than being permitted to find the rest of the 100th and bunk with them.

“I’m perfectly fine Doc, all rested up, can walk, talk, and piss all on my own. I don’t need to be here a minute longer – the rest of these fellas are way sicker than me.”

The surgeon narrowed his eyes in response, clearly not appreciating his directions being questioned, but Bucky had had more than his fill of taking other people’s orders. He just wanted to get the hell out of here and back to people he knew.

“One night, Major Egan, that’s all I’m asking. The only bunks for new arrivals are in tents, if you’re lucky.  In here you’re warm, dry, and have a bed that’ll feel nicer on those ribs – which are going to take four to six weeks to heal, might I add.”

Bucky was about to open his mouth to reiterate his protests when his eyes caught sight of you appearing from down the hallway, coming to standing behind Chalmers with your arms crossed and a stern look on your face. It was so utterly reminiscent of one he had received from his mother on countless occasions that he was momentarily unable to speak before clearing his throat to concede to the doctor’s request.

“Good.” Was his diplomatic reply before he turned to see you there. “Ah, Nurse, welcome back. In some irony of the universe, we’ve actually received a Red Cross shipment of supplies. Would you kindly catalogue the contents the goons have left for us and add it to our stock?”

Bucky did not miss the exasperation in your expression – it certainly did seem like a cruel joke for supplies to arrive with the end of the war surely weeks away.

“Certainly, sir.” You replied before looking to the large and very much opened and rifled-through box up against the wall essentially opposite to his cot.

Settling onto his stomach, he draped his arms across his pillow, nestling his chin atop his forearms to watch you work. “Don’t get a lot of supplies around here, do ya, angelfish?”

As you glanced toward him, he noticed you had changed your clothes, into equally threadbare ones but fresh ones all the same, and had tidied your hair. He would have taken you to a dance in Times Square looking like that. In a heartbeat.

“No, we most certainly do not, Major.” You shook your head and made a soft noise of triumph as you managed to fish out the packing list – something to compare the remaining contents to, he supposed. “Might mean we got more rations too though, corned beef and liver pate to eat desperately before they go bad.” You gave him a wry smile which he returned.

So the Germans here liked to punch holes in the cans, too. Good to know. Bucky watched as you retrieved a pencil from the central desk and began to unearth boxes of gauze and ointments and all manner of things he was only vaguely familiar with. He drowsily studied your profile, lips tugging fondly at the way you stuck your tongue out slightly in concentration, trapping it between your teeth and grunting in dismay when something you obviously were hoping for was not there. Hovering on the border between sleeping and waking, he jumped slightly as you gently nudged his shoulder, holding out two pills and his mug filled with fresh water.

“Aspirin.” You whispered and he raised an eyebrow before plucking them from your soft palm, tossing the pills into his mouth and chasing them down with a slug of cold water.

“You’re a goddess, angelfish.” He murmured, laying down his heavy head as you moved to tuck him in again.

Your soft laugh in response made him smile drowsily. “No Bucky, just a nurse. Now stop fighting it and go to sleep.”

He was yanked back into consciousness by the sound of your voice some time later, tone flat and impatient.

“Just let me finish changing his bandage, please.”

“Nein, it is lights out and you are going back to your room now schwester.” The rude, clipped reply of the SS guard had Bucky forcing himself up off his cot, gritting his teeth against the screams of protest in his frighteningly unstable ribcage.

His eyes flashed around the room before they landed on the uniformed man grabbing your elbow to usher you from the bedside of a patient and down the hall. Bucky stumbled to his feet, peering around the corner after you to watch the man shove you into the room on the left before pulling the door shut and snapping a padlock into place. Bucky narrowed his eyes, moving over to the patient you had been forced to abandon, supplies still on top of his blanket.

“I’m no nurse but I can give it a shot?” He muttered to the fellow who gave him a small shrug in return. “I’ll be back when the coast is clear, then.”

Bucky slid back into his own cot, watching the guard stomp his way out of the building before slamming the last set of doors shut, the lock snicking into place behind him before the lights all went out. Blinking against the darkness to force his eyes to adjust more quickly, he made his way down the hall, feeling his way along the rough-hewn wood of the wall and over to your door before knocking softly.

“Angelfish? You alright in there?”

“Bucky?” Came your muffled answer shortly after the sound of your footsteps approached.

“Damn they lock you up like in here like some kind of fairytale princess.”

There was a soft snort and Bucky could not help the smirk that pulled from him. “Anything I should know before I try and finish that guy’s arm?”

There was a pause before you cleared your throat and responded with, “no it’s pretty straight forward but…but if it smells anything like cheese would you mind letting me know?”

“Cheese…” He replied slowly.

“The smell of infection, Bucky.” You sounded amused and he wished more than anything he could take in your facial expression then.

“Got it. I was born in Wisconsin, raised for this.”

“And then you’re going to immediately put yourself in your cot and rest, Bucky.” You said firmly.

“You got it angelfish. You, too.”

“Night, Bucky.”

Gathering his courage and putting on a mask of cool, level-headedness, he returned to his fellow patient’s bedside, removing the old bandage and bowing his head to take a deep whiff. Thankfully, for everyone’s sake, there was definitely nothing cheese-like about it. He then bumbled about in the dark of the room, applying perhaps the ugliest bandage known to man, but a bandage nonetheless, and returned to his cot as instructed.

It was not easy to drag the blanket up over his body from behind, especially with the newly aggravated soreness from his careless activities, but Bucky managed to settle down and fall into an uneasy sleep, exhaustion still dwelling deep in his bones and sucking him under. It did not take long, however, for his dreams to be haunted once more by images of deadly accurate shots burrowing their way between Buck’s shoulder blades on the other side of that wall. Of his friend’s blond head falling into the mud just shy of the treeline, just shy of freedom. Waking with a start, he glared around the dark, unfamiliar room and looked to the floor, frowning as you were not there for him to hold onto this time.

He had not fully woken the night before, but he had sensed enough of your calming presence to return to a deeper plane of sleep. To chase away the darker voices that threatened to fill his mind. Leveraging himself to a seated position, he grabbed his blanket and shuffled his way down the hall once again in search of your soothing influence, even if there was the interfering barrier of a door. Bucky’s descent to the ground was less than graceful, his ribs protesting fiercely and as he settled on the floorboards, he was filled with a sudden doubt in his ability to rise from this position. But then he heard your voice.

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When Bucky had not immediately bustled back down the hall with tales of an arm wound stinking of ripe cheese, you had relaxed somewhat into your nightly routine, stripping to your long underwear for a proper night’s sleep…that did not really present itself. It was honestly not that surprising given the way you had pushed the boundaries of night and day, your body really was not sure what to make of it. You were just on the cusp of finally falling asleep when there was a commotion outside your room, the door rattling in its frame, the padlock jostling slightly.

Hearing a slightly familiar grunt, you sat up. “Bucky?” You called you softly.

“M’fine, angelfish, just sleeping out here.”

Your eyes widened and you practically leapt from the bed, crossing the room in record time. “Are you really ok? Sleeping…. on the floor?!”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just needed company.” He muttered from below and you slid down to lay on the floor, peering through the gap at the bottom of the door with one eye.

It was surely flush with the floor when the building was initially built, but as the hospital settled into the ground, about an inch-and-a-half had opened up below the door, allowing you to glimpse his face not far from yours.

“You had plenty of company in your comfortable cot, Bucky.” You whispered and the eye you could see flashed open, face turning to meet yours through the gap.

“Not yours, angelfish.”

“I don’t suppose I’m going to be able to convince you to go back to bed? No idea how the hell you’re going to get off this floor anyway…” You sighed, cheek pressed tightly against the floorboards to see as much of him as possible.

“I’m down for the count, I’d say.” He huffed with a poor show of playfulness.

Frowning, you looked over the visible portion of his face slowly. “You have another bad dream?”

He grunted noncommittally and averted his gaze, essentially confirming your suspicion. Sliding from your spot on the floor, you fetched your blanket and pillow before laying them down to rejoin him. “I get ‘em too. Stuck on that crashing plane and I can’t get off. Or the chute won’t open. Or I can’t…” your throat clenched, and you swallowed to clear it. “Can’t get my flight jacket off and I just burn up.” Your voice refused to come out any louder than an exhale, but you still managed to speak the last few words.

His eye slowly met yours once more though the thin opening halfway through your confessions and his brow furrowed. “Flight nurse?”

“I was, yeah. Just a kriegie nurse now, I guess.” You laughed wryly, trying to find a comfortable position on the uneven floor, the nail heads poking up into your shoulder.

There was a long pause as he seemed to weigh the pros and cons of unburdening himself to you before exhaling slowly. “I sent my best friend to his death. Least that’s what my dreams tell me. He didn’t want to run, I convinced him and then…well they almost caught him until I distracted them…”

“And got the shit kicked out of you.” You sighed, slipping into your ways of foul language on the edge of sleep, in the dark of your room.

Thankfully, by the twitch of his lips, he did not seem terribly put out by it.

“Basically.” He heaved a great sigh and you nodded, sliding your fingers under the door, as far as your knuckles would allow.

“No matter what happened, Bucky, he’s not in a place like this anymore. And that is a mercy.”

“Hmmm.” He hummed, unconvinced and you swallowed.

“What kind of man is he?” You lined up for another approach.

“Smart, too damn smart of any of this – built a radio out of a list of random junk I collected for him. He’s got the sweetest girl back home who writes him like clockwork. They were gonna get married if he got back. Was gonna be his best man.”

Taking a deep breath to summon your façade of brave optimism once again, for his sake, you nodded firmly. “When he gets home, you will be his best man.”

He looked to you hopefully, slowly sliding his fingertips to brush against yours beneath the coarse wooden bottom of the door. “Yeah?” He breathed.

“Yeah, Bucky. Yeah.” You nodded again, offering a smile, hoping it somewhat reached your eyes. “Now. Let’s try and get you some sleep.”

“Didn’t hear anything ‘bout you in that statement, angelfish.” He murmured sleepily and you hummed with drowsy laughter.

“I’m just about there, but not until you give in first.”

After a few beats of silence, you cracked your eye to check on him, pressing your lips together to smother your laugh as you caught him quickly squeezing his eye shut. It was not long, however, until his breathing evened and deepened, his mind at last surrendering to the sleep his body desperately needed. Swallowing tightly, heart throbbing slightly at the way his face softened, and the way his fingertips remained pressed stubbornly against yours as tightly as the door would allow, you tucked the pillow under your head, sliding your eyes shut to try and get some rest as well.

Despite the wildly uncomfortable position, you somehow managed to remain asleep until the next morning when Bucky began to shuffle and shift, soft noises of discomfort escaping him as he tried to find his way back to his feet.

“Roll onto your good side.” You coached through your drowsy state, and he stilled a moment before appearing to obey. “Bend your knees, then push up to sitting.”

There were still some grunts, but fewer overall, and the whole endeavour sounded a lot less like a fish flopping against the door.

“Then use the handle to pull yourself up with your good hand.” Holding your breath you waited until you saw two sock feet, firmly planted and steady on the floor, before rising on your side of the door. “Well done.”

“Still have a bit more time to sleep, angelfish.” He rumbled and you bit your lip fondly at his sleep-roughened voice.

“You, too.” You replied, pressing your forehead against the rustic wood, listening to his footsteps retreat down the hall until only silence remained.

You managed a few more hours’ sleep before the morning guard unlocked the door, delivering your morning pitcher of frigid water for your facsimile of a bath with a sliver of soap and rough wash cloth. Enjoying a breakfast of crackers and margarine, you reported for duty just as Chalmers was discharging Bucky, finding it suddenly difficult to meet his eyes in the light of day – the entire encounter in the dark feeling too intimate to recall in such a crowded, public space.

“Take care, Major Egan.” You smiled friendlily and followed Menzies out to the tent to assist with the removal of a set of sutures.

“You got it, Nurse.” He replied, the marked absence of the quirky nickname born of his inability to speak the day of his arrival halting your steps as you involuntarily glanced back over your shoulder to make sure he was really all right.

A grin slowly unfurled across his face, lighting up his exhausted features before he shot you a playful wink. You swallowed roughly as the day suddenly felt altogether too warm for your oversized sweater.

“Made ya look, angelfish.” He teased and you pressed your lips together desperately trying to smother your responding grin, conceding the fact that he had indeed made you look with a nod, before hurrying after Menzies when he barked your name from further into the canvas extension of the hospital.

Bucky’s discharge, unlike every other patient before him, did not mean that he dissolved into the general population of the camp. Somehow, he still managed to find reasons to make an appearance, dropping off bits of scrap wood to burn that he and his friends had collected to make the time pass faster, or arranging a crew of his men to deliver the hospital’s broth allotment to alleviate that burden from Chalmers and Menzies. He always appeared to be obeying his discharge orders and not hauling anything himself, at least when he arrived with his deliveries. Whether he was behaving out of sight was another question entirely.

Not only was the assistance greatly appreciated, but you found yourself looking forward to his visits as a break from the monotony of grim tasks of which your work consisted. Somehow, despite his worn-down spirit, he still managed to leave you feeling notably lifted by the time he was inevitably shooed out for getting underfoot or distracting you a little too long. Chalmers and Menzies were patient – indulgent even – but even they had their limits.

Four relatively peaceful days passed under this new routine, with no new arrivals in camp but, sadly, a few of the weaker patients in the hospital giving up the fight, until the sound of shots rang out mid-morning on the 18th. A great clamor arose among the patients indoors and the general population beyond the canvas walls of the tent, before a group of prisoners were rushing inside, Bucky at the fore, with an injured prisoner strung across their collective shoulders.

“Lay him here.” You gestured quickly to the cot you had been stripping after the death of its occupant sometime in the night, having succumb to infection and lack of food.

You did not miss the wince that crossed Bucky’s face as he maneuvered the injured man – no more than a boy, really – to lay where you had instructed. At the sight of a deep red stain, rapidly growing in circumference on the boy’s side, your eyes shot wide, and you looked to Bucky sharply.

“Find me Chalmers and Menzies immediately.” You stressed the need for expediency before turning back to begin rapidly pulling at the boy’s clothes, trying to locate the source of all that blood.

The shocking white expanse of his belly finally exposed, you found the gaping wound left by a large calibre round near his belly button, casting about frantically for your basket of fresh bandages to press against it, desperately trying to staunch the flow. What you would not give for a packet or six of sulfa right then. The pressure you put on his tender abdomen drew a yowl of pain from the boy and you frowned up at him sympathetically.

“I know, son, I know. We’re going to get this all fixed up alright?”

“Can’t b, b, believe they shot me! I just…just wanted to see the flowers poking through the fence and they just…Fucking war’s almost over anyway…” He was beginning to shiver uncontrollably, a sure sign of shock and you glanced towards the hospital doors, relieved to see Chalmers and Menzies rushing out to help.

“I’ll bet those flowers were beautiful.” You gulped as the bandage in your hand was rapidly soaked through and grabbed a few more to wipe the area clean, trying to permit the surgeons to inspect the wound itself.

No sooner would you swipe away the rapidly welling crimson fluid, than the hollow below his ribs, carved out by months of hunger, would accumulate a fresh pool of blood. There were noises of dismay before the pair of surgeons rolled the boy to check for an exit wound. They shared a dark look as there was none to be found, shaking their heads at one another. Your patient erupted into a panic, thrashing about, kicking you squarely in the thigh and knocking you back into Bucky, who thankfully stopped your rapid descent toward the muddy floor.

“I don’t wanna die! I don’t wanna die!”

“Nurse! Hold him!” Menzies barked and began to fish around in the boy’s wound to see if he could find the bullet.

Shrieking filled the tent as you lunged forward to press down on his shoulders, trying your best to soothe him even as his shirt grew damp with his own blood, transferring to the fabric from your fingers. He was stronger than he looked, the panic only amplifying what little strength he had left, and you sent a grateful nod to Bucky as his much broader palms took over pinning the boy’s shoulders while you collected his flailing hands between yours.

“Easy now, easy. Docs are going get you right as rain, just hold still now.”

“I’m gonna die and there’s not gonna be a heaven and there’s gonna be nothing!” The boy’s wild eyes wheeled on you, fairly punching you in the gut, and you shifted his wrists to grip in one hand against your chest while the other stroked at his hair tenderly with the other.

“Come now – you’re going to be alright. Besides, I’ve met the Pope. You think they’d keep that man in his fancy house and fancy clothes for nothing?”

His lips were growing a frightening shade of white from the blood loss, the rest of him the unsettling grey pallor of imminent death, but he seemed greatly calmed by your papal revelations. His hands shifted to grip at yours and his brow furrowed earnestly, the only movements of his body now were the echoes of the desperate attempts of the surgeons below.

“I want my momma. Tell my momma that I…tell my momma…” He trailed off into a whisper, the light slowly dimming from his eyes until there was nothing, his hands going limp, and he was gone.

Swallowing brutally, you carefully shifted your fingers to his throat, checking for a pulse and turning to Chalmers and Menzies when you found none. A simple shake of your head was all it took to communicate that you had lost the boy. Chalmers let out deep, aggrieved sigh while Menzies threw down a blood-soaked bandage with a wet slap and stormed back into the hospital. Gently setting the boy’s lifeless hands across his chest, you straightened slowly, feeling Bucky eyeing you from the other side of the cot.

Something ugly was welling up inside you, desperately trying to claw its way out, and you took a step back.

“Angelfish?” Bucky’s voice was low and cautious.

Your only response was to shake your head violently before stepping clear of the end of the cot, then breaking into a run. Following in the footsteps of Menzies, the words of the Army Nurse Corps pledge rang through your mind, the words you had sworn to serve by as a Nurse.

‘I shall approach him cheerfully at all times, under any conditions I may find…I shall appear fearless in the presence of danger and quiet the fears of others to the best of my ability.’

Reaching the end of the hallway, you stared at the door to your quarters and nearly choked on the idea of facing that stuffy, windowless room. You needed air. Needed to breathe. Turning sharply to the left, you continued along past the utility room and out the backdoor into the small courtyard between the hospital and the barbed wire fence that separated the Russian side of the camp.

‘…I will remember that, upon my disposition and spirit, will in large measure depend the morale of my patients.’

The flight nurse’s creed came flooding back to you next as you sought refuge between the back of the hospital and the bowed lines of laundry, stained sheets and bandages hung in the weak April sun to dry. What a different person you had been when you had spoken those damn words at your graduation from Flight Nurse Training.

Taking short, sharp gulps of air, each inhale was used to forcefully shove down the scream that was bubbling perilously in your throat. You paced to-and-fro, bloody hands planted on your hips. Surely you looked nothing short of mad when Bucky rounded the corner of the building, using that aggravatingly soft voice again as he spoke your name, making your head snap towards him.

“You’re not supposed to be back here.” You choked out, turning from him, fixing to flee once more.

“Too bad.” He ground out as he continued coming closer, clearly intent on comforting you, but if he got too near, you were terrified you were going to shatter entirely.

“Patients aren’t supposed to see me like this.” You could barely speak, hiccoughing and shuddering breaths intersplicing your words awkwardly as your grip on your emotions began to slip through your bloody fingers.

“Not here as a patient.” He muttered and slid his arms around you, pulling you close and you buried your face into his chest to let out a wail of agony – for the man who died in front of your eyes, for the horrid situation you found yourself in.

Somehow, you managed to maintain the wherewithal not to grab at him with your filthy hands, arms sticking straight out behind him awkwardly as you squeezed his sides with your elbows, knees threatening to give out as you found yourself not having to be the strong one for the first time in quite a long time. Bucky’s grip only tightened on you, fingers curling into your shirt to hold you up patiently as you cried yourself hoarse against him. Eventually there were no more tears to cry, the self-pity and grief you had stored up over the past few months running dry. Pulling back slightly, you wiped at your face with your sleeves, accidentally exposing a portion of the angrily scarred flesh on your left forearm.

Not missing the way his eyes flicked to it immediately, you sharply pulled your cuffs down and straightened fully. “You should get out of here before some goon puts a hole in you…”

It was supposed to be a joke, but your voice wobbled threateningly in abhorrence at the thought of losing someone else today, and Bucky promptly pulled you close again.

“Easy angelfish, not gonna get myself shot now. Not after you went through all the trouble of bringing me back.”

Sniffling affectionately against him, you pulled back to meet his eyes. “Thank you, Bucky.” You patted his chest fondly. “But please don’t go around carrying any more people with those broken ribs.” You gave him a stern look, finding it difficult to deliver as he smirked with a soft laugh in return.

 With a soft sigh, you moved to return inside and assist with the clean up.

“Bucky?” You stopped and turned back to him suddenly.

“Yeah, angelfish?” He glanced over his shoulder, halfway to the other side of the building.

“What’s your first name?”

He raised an eyebrow. “John.”

Nodding slowly, you swallowed tightly. “Thank you, John.” You repeated firmly before pulling open the door and heading inside to the utility room to fill a bucket with some water to rinse out the bloody cot.

-------------------------

Read Part Three

The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist

Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @luminouslywriting, @softspeirs, @sunny747, @storysimp, @slowsweetlove, @httpsmoon, @buckysegan, @justheretoreadthxxs, @precious-little-scoundrel

[poisonousgirlie]

Sparks (Luke Castellan x Daughter of Zeus! Reader)

A/N: This is my first writing post on here, so I hope you like it. In a HEAVY Luke kick right now, and I ran out of fics to read, so I decided to write one.

Word count: 1,515

Summary: Luke can't get the new girl at camp out of his head.

part II

Luke was just shy of 16 when you arrived at camp. He vividly remembered that day. He and Chris had been scheduled for an extra patrol shift because they got caught pranking the Ares cabin. More accurately, Chris got caught, and Luke got roped into it. Regardless, Chiron had appointed both of them to the border patrol shift that evening, even though they had been on the same duty just the day before. It was dusk, the shift was about to change, and Luke was looking forward to making his way down the hill for dinner when a disturbance in the woods caught the attention of the group. The 6 other half-bloods on patrol with him all reached simultaneously for their weapons as they heard a scream in the distance, and spotted the trees just down the hill from you shaking left and right as if something massive was pushing through them. Your figure came into view, distant and limping, dragging what appeared to be the semi-conscious body of your satyr protector behind you. You reached the top of the hill, just to the right of Thalia’s tree, and somewhat unceremoniously discarded the body of your companion against a tree. You turned back towards the woods, only a long dagger in your hand as you faced off the threat emerging from the woods. Luke and the others had begun running towards you as soon as you came into view, but the patrol had been nearly a quarter mile away when they spotted you, and to everyone’s horror the massive cyclops chasing you was moving much faster than they could. Luke watched, his heart in his throat, as you visibly steeled yourself before launching towards the monster. You agilely dodged its attempts to grab you before basically vaulting up its large form and burying your dagger deep into the monster’s chest. The move was smooth, not flawless but fluid enough to prove that you had done it before. Fortunately, the Cyclops disintegrated, leaving you panting and bleeding. You retrieved your protector and dragged the both of you the last few feet across the barrier just as the patrol reached you, seconds too late to be helpful. Somebody must have alerted Chiron to the arrival of a new camper because his form crested the hill and ushered you and your protector to the big house for medical treatment and your introduction to camp. That night, as he lay in his bunk in the corded Hermes cabin, Luke could not shake the image of you from his mind. You were stunningly beautiful, uncannily so, making him question if Aphrodite was your mother before he even got a good look at you. This wasn’t what left your image imprinted behind his eyelids however, it was the steely determination on your face and the impressive way you battled the cyclops that had you lingering in his mind. There was something curious about you, and he resolved to find out what it was.

In the time following your harrowing arrival at camp, Luke made a concerted effort to get to know you. Two days after your battle by the barrier, Luke was the first to volunteer to show you around camp when Chiron showed you to the Hermes Cabin. He toured you around, pointing out various cabins, training grounds, and important buildings as the two of you wound through the camp. You were polite and somewhat reserved as he showed you the ropes, not letting much slip about yourself or your past. Camp suited you. You settled in well to the routine, adoring the training and enjoying the novelty of having a warm bed to crawl into each night. Your hand-to-hand combat and blade-wielding skills were already impressive for a demigod with no training, and you improved drastically with even minor instruction. Luke took it upon himself to help with your sword and dagger training, partially as an excuse to get close to you and partially because he wanted a new sparring partner who could keep up with him. He discovered that the long dagger you had carried into camp was celestial bronze; you had found it mysteriously wrapped in your backpack a few years before you arrived at camp and had defended yourself with it ever since. As you became more comfortable with Luke, you slowly revealed more about yourself and your past. You had been alone for a long time, an orphan traveling around the country and battling monsters for years before your satyr protector had found you and escorted you back to camp. Despite being alone for so long, you fit right in with the busy nature of camp. Sometimes you would get slightly overwhelmed, but your quick-witted humor, dry sarcasm, and warm heart endeared you to most of camp almost immediately. Everyone had heard about your arrival at camp, not only saving your injured protector but also killing a 15-foot cyclops alone, with nothing but a dagger. Most campers had impressive stories, but your reputation grew before you even emerged from the big house on your first real day. You had spent barely a week in the Hermes cabin before you were claimed. Luke had been trying to guess who your parent could be. You were beautiful enough to be Aphrodite’s daughter, fierce enough to be a child of Ares, clever enough to belong to the Athena cabin. He even questioned if you could be a child of Hecate, even though she had no cabin at camp; something about the sparks that swirled in your eyes was distinctly magical. Despite having all these attributes, it felt clear that none of those options were the correct one. Not even Luke, however, was ready for the shock that your claiming would send through the world of Greek gods and heroes.

Your very first Friday at camp, capture the flag took place as usual. You fought well, aiding Luke and the Blue Team to victory. People were gathering together after the horn signaling the end of the games, congratulating teammates, and throwing bribes at the sore losers of the red team. Luke was helping a young camper tend to a minor wound when every hair on his body stood straight up, his nostrils burned, and he felt more than heard the deafening crack that shattered through the trees. He spun around to find you, a bright glow dimming in your eyes, hand extended towards the smoking form of a dead giant scorpion. The monster’s body was poised to strike, positioned just behind a completely shell-shocked Annabeth. The scorpion had managed to sneak up on her (a rare occurrence), and would almost certainly have killed her if it weren’t for your intervention. It was kind of impossible for Zeus to ignore you after you had literally wielded lightning, and the lightning bolt that shined over your head honestly seemed a bit redundant. Murmurs of shock and disbelief spread through the crowd; however, the campers made a path when Chiron appeared. The centaur stared pensively at the fading symbol above your head before bowing his head, and loudly calling out, “All hail y/n, daughter of Zeus, King of the Heavens.”

Chaos enveloped the hours and days after the incident in the woods. Nobody knew what to do or think. Zeus was not supposed to have children, Thalia was supposed to have been the only one. Chiron and Mr. D worried about your safety. Technically, both Poseidon and Hades were within their rights to strike you down, according to their agreement, as you were not supposed to exist. This seemed unlikely, as nobody wanted to anger the King of the Universe, but it was a very real possibility. Nothing seemed to be happening right away though, so the next day you moved into Cabin 1. Luke warned you that it wasn’t the most pleasant of spaces, big, cold, and empty. However, when you cracked open the door to the cabin, you found it to be much different than he described. The domed ceiling was made of glass, allowing for a gorgeous view of the sky, which seemed fitting for the sky god’s cabin. A huge statue of Zeus stood at the center of the marble room. However, there was an alcove to the right that held a comfortable-looking double bed, lamps that seemed to be lit from within with tiny little lighting bolts fixed at intervals throughout the room, and even the rest of the cabin had been magically populated with things you may need. Bookshelves now lined one wall, a small sitting area in one corner, the bathroom in another. The cabin still had a bit of a high and mighty air to it, but it looked like a livable space, rather than a cold stone box as it had been for years. Chiron had been flabbergasted when you showed him the changes. It seemed Zeus felt badly that you lived on the streets for so long and decided to bestow you with a gift. (a/n: pretend this would ever happen and is not wildly out of character please want my girl to have a nice living space okay). You settled your few belongings into your new home and prepared to truly begin your life at Camp Half-blood.

Luke had a difficult time for the first little while after you were claimed, the suddenly obvious parallels between you and Thalia sending his mind spinning. Both fighters, daughters of Zeus who had learned to survive on their own. Both battled a cyclops at the edge of camp while trying to protect their protectors. The likenesses were unnerving. His first instinct was to feel that it was unfair that you got to survive when Thalia did not, but he pushed that feeling down when he realized that you could not help that, and had nothing to do with the events that took place last year when he arrived at camp. You were your own person, situationally you may have been similar to Thalia, but you were not her, and deserved a fresh start just like everybody else, daughter of Zeus or not. Luke had been avoiding you since showing you to the Zeus Cabin, he needed a moment to process everything. In hindsight, you being a daughter of Zeus made perfect sense. There was something about your eyes, they seemed to spark with life, each emotion was mirrored within your eyes, and they seemed to truly light up when you smiled. You also always seemed to be accompanied by a slight breeze, the wind flowing through your hair, and giving you an air of floating as you moved. He also could have sworn that the other day as he taught you a new sword technique the wind had kicked up, pushing him backwards and aiding you in the mock fight. The grace and confidence you moved with made sense too, even bleeding, dirty, and scared you had managed to give off an impressive air of confidence and poise, fitting for the child of the King of the Gods. After a while though, his mind strayed from your parentage to just you. He had only known you for a few days, but he found himself captivated with you, you were surprisingly funny, able to joke with him and Chris on your first day. You were sarcastic, and he would not want to get on the wrong side of your quick wit, but he also saw the sweetness you displayed when interacting with the young campers in the Hermes cabin. Your residence there had been brief, but quarters were tight and the little ones seemed to like you, something that did not slip by Luke’s notice. He knew you were an anomaly, one he was determined to understand.

Over the next year, the friendship between you and Luke grew, along with your friendships with the other campers. You fit into camp as if you had always been there, despite the unusual nature of your parentage. Being on the older side of the campers, and also the only member of your cabin, you were made a counselor pretty much immediately. Before long, you switched from participating in activities to leading them. Your natural talent for both leadership and the activities you engaged in made the transition smooth. Despite your newfound duties as a counselor, you still poured your heart and soul into becoming a better warrior every day. You studied with Annabeth weekly, practiced archery with your friend Jasmine from the Apollo Cabin, and questioned Chiron endlessly about his past experiences with battle and about the heroes he trained over the years. Most important to you, though, were your daily training sessions with Luke. The two of you seldom missed a day, spending several hours drilling each other, sparring, and practicing fighting techniques each day. When things got busy during the day, you would sneak out to the arena after lights out, slinking back through camp side by side hours later in the middle of the night. Luke always dropped you off at your cabin when you did this, not wanting you to be out alone at night. The camp was safe, and you could more than handle yourself, but it was the principle of it. At least that’s what he told himself; he was just being a gentleman. He definitely didn’t just want a few more minutes of having you all to himself. In the time you two spent together, both during your training sessions and outside them, you became very close. Some people found it somewhat unnerving, the way your brains seemed to link together. You could communicate perfectly without words, a skill you developed after only a few months of knowing each other, and made your teamwork while fighting terrifyingly formidable. Something just clicked, you had never felt so comfortable and safe with another person before, having spent most of your life alone on the run. Luke was more or less infatuated with you, and it was quite plain for anybody to see. He always listened when you spoke and made sure everyone else did as well. He always found some way to be close to you, a hand hovering over your lower back as he ushered you out of the dining pavilion, stubbornly forcing his lanky body into the space next to you at the campfire even though there was more room elsewhere. Whatever the example, Luke stuck to you like glue. Annabeth would tease him when you weren’t around, saying that he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky. His pride had him vehemently denying this, but he knew that her words rang more true than he was ready to accept. He admired you as a person, as a warrior, he liked you as a friend, and deep down he knew he cared for you as much more than that. Even in such a short time, you had become his other half, Luke and y/n, y/n and Luke. It seemed to just work, like in the way puzzle pieces fit together, or like watching one of Annabeth’s battle strategies fall into place. For now, though, he did nothing, not yet ready to disrupt the precious relationship he had built with you.

A/N: I apologize for any formatting or any other issues, things are still a work in progress over here. I hope you enjoyed!!

xx posionousgirlie

[dystopicjumpsuit]

No Sleep Till Coruscant

A/N: Written for the lovely @kimiheartblade. You know what you did 💙💙💙

Pairing: Captain Rex x Fem!Reader (reader has insomnia and hair that is long enough to pin up)

Rating: M (minors DNI)

Wordcount: 3k (Look, this was supposed to be 500 words. I had to stop somewhere. If people enjoy it, I’ll write another chapter.)

Warnings and tags: fluff; a little awkwardness/secondhand embarrassment; bumps up against consent issues due to power dynamics (Rex is the ranking officer, but the reader makes the first move and definitely wants this); SMUT with feelings; hair touching; talk of masturbation; heavy petting; suggestive dialogue; Rex touches the reader’s neck and throat, but there is no choking

Summary: You can’t sleep. You ask Rex to help you relax.

Suggested listening:

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“Can’t sleep?” The deep, familiar voice rumbled close to your ear, and you knew without looking who it belonged to. He may have shared a voice with millions of other clones, but his was the only one that made your skin prickle with awareness.

You tore your eyes away from the Venator viewport as your captain stepped up next to you. You hadn’t even heard his approach, and his ability to move in total stealth while wearing half his body weight in armor and kama never failed to amaze you. His dark eyes traced your features a little too observantly, and you shook your head without speaking, turning back to the viewport and hoping he hadn’t been able to read your expression too closely.

“Something on your mind?” he asked.

“No more than usual,” you replied with a shrug. “I’ve never been very good at sleeping.”

“I guess we all have our faults,” he smiled. “I was wondering what yours was.”

“I suppose there are worse fatal flaws than insomnia.”

His lips quirked in a tiny smile, and he turned toward the viewport to gaze with you at the hypnotic blue swirl of hyperspace. After a few moments, he spoke again, quietly.

“Probably easier to fall asleep if you’re actually in your bunk instead of standing on the bridge hours after your shift ends.”

“Probably,” you acknowledged.

“Do I have to make it an order?”

You smiled. “I wish it were that easy. You could just comm me before bed every night and order me to go to sleep, and I’d have no choice but to comply. Insomnia cured by the power of the legendary Captain Rex.”

He turned his head minutely, and even without seeing it, you could feel his scrutiny. “Worth a try. Come on. I’ll walk you to your quarters.”

It wasn’t a request, so you fell into step next to him as the two of you proceeded down the silent halls of the Venator. You didn’t speak at first, content to walk with him in companionable silence. The majority of the ship was on sleep cycle, and the few troopers you passed merely nodded and continued about their business.

“What’s your excuse—”

“Got plans for shore—”

You and Rex spoke at the same moment, then stopped abruptly with quiet laughs.

“After you, Captain,” you said.

“Just wondering if you had plans when we get back to Coruscant for shore leave,” he said.

“Probably going to lie awake and wish I could sleep for most of it,” you admitted. “You?”

“I don’t think you quite grasp the ‘rest’ half of R & R,” he observed.

“Right, because you’re one to talk, Captain ‘Duty Never Sleeps,’” you teased.

“I never said that,” Rex objected.

“But you’re probably saving it to drop on the next batch of shinies they bring us, aren’t you?” 

His chuckle was so quiet you barely heard it. “What were you going to ask?”

“I was just curious what your excuse was for being awake in the middle of the sleep cycle,” you said.

“Duty never sleeps,” he said solemnly.

“I walked right into that, didn't I?” you laughed, allowing yourself the tiny indulgence of nudging him with your shoulder. Not that it did you any good; you couldn't even feel him beneath the cold plastoid armor, and all you got for your effort was a sore shoulder. 

Far too quickly, you reached your quarters, pausing outside the door. You didn't want to go inside, if you were honest with yourself. There was nothing in that room except an empty bed and four empty, gray walls that stared back at you through every endless, agonizing hour that you lay awake. Rex, too, seemed unsure of what to do now that you'd reached your destination. He fidgeted subtly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

“Do you want to come in?” you asked on impulse. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and you hastened to add, “For safety, you know. If you order me to go to sleep, and it actually works, it would probably be best if I'm close to the bunk. That way I don't fall and hit my head or something…”

You trailed off, realizing you were rambling.

“Good point,” he said, his eyes flicking almost imperceptibly down to your lips. “Wouldn't want to have a medical emergency.”

“Kix would never forgive us for the extra paperwork,” you agreed, keying in your door code and motioning him into the room.

As the door slid shut behind you, Rex asked, “Speaking of Kix, have you talked to him about your trouble sleeping?”

“Yeah. He gave me some pills that made me wake up in the morning with no memory of walking to the mess hall and making a grilled cheese sandwich while the cooking droid yelled at me for entering a restricted zone. I never bothered to try them again.”

“Can’t say I blame you,” Rex said dryly. “How was the sandwich?”

“Apparently I threw it in the trash without tasting it. Damned waste of cheese, if you ask me.”

“If it was GAR cheese, you did the galaxy a service,” he said.

“When can I expect my commendation?” you asked.

“Best I can do is a heartfelt thank you.”

Your eyes crinkled with amusement, and Rex smiled, looking rather adorably pleased with himself at having made you laugh. You scrambled for a clever reply, but nothing came to mind, and the silence stretched out until it became awkward. 

At last, you managed, “I'd offer you a seat, but the only option is the bunk.”

Rex looked away. “I should probably go, anyway. Will you be able to sleep?”

Suddenly possessed by unprecedented audacity, you murmured, “If I say no, will you sing me a lullaby?”

Rex drew in a quiet breath and stepped closer to you. “How often is it like this for you? How often do you lie awake, tossing and turning?”

“Every night,” you confessed.

“And what do you usually do when you can't sleep?” Something shifted in his tone, his words coming out low and husky.

Your tongue darted out to moisten your dry lips, and this time, there was no mistaking the way his eyes dropped to your mouth.

“I—I'm not sure I should say,” you rasped.

He dragged his gaze away from your lips at last, looking up into your eyes. “You can trust me.”

“I know.”

“Then… Will you tell me?” he asked.

“Sometimes, I take matters into my own hands.”

His eyes locked with yours, his gaze sharp and intense. “You…”

You nodded. “Sometimes it works.”

“When was the last time it worked?” His words were quiet and rough, his eyes dark as he looked deeply into your eyes.

“Last night,” you admitted breathlessly. “Probably why there's no way I'll be able to sleep tonight.”

“What did you do?” he whispered.

Drawing a deep, steadying breath, you began, “If I describe it to you, will you—”

His eyes widened as you paused, tongue-tied. “Do you want me to… Touch you? The way you tell me?”

You nodded, your entire body feeling like it was aflame. Hearing him put it so bluntly, you understood the magnitude of your suggestion. This was such a mistake. What was I thinking?! Asking a superior officer to—to—Asking Rex—Rex! Of all people—to touch me like that! I must finally be losing my mind.

Before you could backpedal, though, he slowly pulled off his gloves and dropped them on your nightstand. Your breath shuddered to a halt as you realized you'd never seen his hands without gloves before. In fact, this was the most exposed you'd ever seen the captain: helmet and gloves removed, yet still covered in armor. You felt like a swooning maiden in some overwrought period holodrama, having a fit of the vapours at the tiniest sliver of skin.

“How did you start?” he asked, stepping forward into your space. 

Force, has he always been this big? You felt acutely conscious of the bulk of his armor, his pauldrons so broad that it seemed like all you could see was white and blue plastoid. When you met his eyes, though, you saw something else: a searing heat that burned away all your doubts—a hunger that made your blood race in your veins.

“I started with my hair,” you replied, your voice noticeably hoarse.

He moved slowly and very deliberately, raising his hand to the back of your head. You could feel the warmth radiating from his skin as he carefully and meticulously removed every single pin holding your hair in its tidy, regulation bun. You felt your hair loosen as he pulled them out one at a time, making sure not to drop any, and when he finished, he set them in a neat pile next to his gloves on your nightstand. 

He threaded his fingers into your hair, combing out the remnants of your bun, until your hair tumbled freely down around your face. He touched the locks gently, not tugging on them in the slightest: simply feeling the texture and brushing them softly out of your eyes.

“What did you do next?” he asked in a low voice.

“I touched my face. My cheeks,” you whispered, “and my lips.”

He tucked your hair back carefully before his fingers grazed your skin. The first brush of skin on skin was electric, and you stifled a gasp. His thumb traced the line of your cheekbone as his fingertips curved under your jaw. His touch was light and gentle, his hand blissfully warm in contrast with the cool, recycled air of the starship, and you swayed slightly closer to him, leaning your face into the sensation.

He trailed his thumb down the line of your cheek until he reached the corner of your mouth. Your breath sped up slightly as you felt the calloused pad of his thumb brush over your lips, followed by two of his fingertips.

“Your lips are so soft,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on your mouth.

You brushed your tongue lightly across his fingertips, tempting him to slide them deeper between your lips. He hesitated for a moment, then slipped them into your mouth as you swirled your tongue over them. He rested his forehead against yours, his warm breath fanning softly over your skin. He raised his other hand to caress your cheek, his gaze fixed on you with an expression of pure fascination.

Slowly, he withdrew his fingers and traced them over your lips once again. For a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you, but instead, he took a ragged, shuddering breath and spoke again.

“Keep going. Describe it to me. What next?”

“Next—” the word was inaudible, and you paused to search for your voice. “Next, I touched my throat. Softly. And very slowly.”

The warmth of his fingers as they traversed the short distance from your jaw to the collar of your uniform sent shivers racing across your skin.

“May I?” he asked as he reached the opening of your collar.

You nodded your permission, and he unzipped your jacket with his other hand, the pressure of his knuckles barely palpable on your torso as they descended the line of the zipper. Instead of immediately tugging off the garment, though, he simply continued to stroke and caress your neck, drawing his fingers down from the corner of your jaw to the notch above your sternum.

“After that, I… I traced my collarbones,” you whispered.

His fingers slid beneath your uniform to run along the ridge of your clavicle as his thumb rested against the base of your throat.

“What did that feel like?” he asked quietly.

You shuddered. “Good. It felt… good. But not as good as when you do it.”

At last he slid the jacket off your shoulders, leaving you in only your camisole. His eyes flickered down to your chest, and he swallowed audibly as he realized you weren’t wearing a bra. “What did you do after that?”

“I brushed my fingertips down the center of my chest,” you murmured. “Between my breasts, but I didn’t touch them yet.”

His lips curved into a small smile as his fingers followed the line of your sternum until they reached the silky fabric of your camisole.

“Is this regulation?” he asked in a lightly teasing tone.

“No,” you admitted. “Are you going to write me up?”

“I’m sure the general would be very interested in how exactly I knew that your underwear was out of reg,” he said with a quiet huff of laughter. “Do you want to keep going?”

“Yes,” you replied, somehow managing to keep your voice from betraying the fact that you thought you might actually die if he stopped touching you now.

Is it possible to die of frustrated lust? GAR lieutenant investigates. More at eleven.

Rex dipped his fingers lower, beneath the satin camisole, as his thumb traced over the plush swell of your breast. 

“Is this how you touched yourself?” His voice was low and gravelly, with no trace of laughter lingering in it.

“Yes,” you gasped. “Just like that.”

Your heart pounded so hard you were sure he must be able to feel it as he trailed his hands over your soft, delicate skin. His eyes were fixed on your body, pupils dilated wide with arousal.

“And what did you do next?”

“I think you can guess,” you replied, heat rising in your face.

He leaned close and whispered in your ear, his warm breath sending a wave of tingles down your spine. “Indulge me.”

You inhaled sharply. “Next… Next I touched my breasts—I cupped them in my hands and played with them.”

Rex froze. His hand stilled, resting against your sternum. Even his breath paused momentarily. He whispered your name, his lips barely brushing the silky skin of your neck.

“Rex,” you murmured in a low, husky tone. “Touch me.”

He dropped his head lower, his lips almost making contact with your shoulder, but he hovered a breath away from you. Both of his hands settled on your ribcage and slid up beneath your breasts, tracing your contours, before finally cupping your breasts through your camisole, squeezing you gently, capturing your nipples between his fingers and teasing them until they were stiff and aching with pleasure.

“Like this?” he asked, his harsh whisper hot against your skin.

You arched up, desperate to feel his mouth on your body, but he held that tiny distance between the two of you. “God, yes, just like that.”

He slid his hand down your abdomen until he reached your hip. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your camisole to tease the soft skin of your belly, and then curled beneath your waistband as he dragged his knuckles over your hip.

“What were you thinking about when you touched yourself here?” 

You dropped your head to his shoulder, burying your face against his neck, not wanting him to see the truth in your eyes.

“Tell me,” he said. His voice was soft, but every instinct you possessed screamed to obey his command.

“You.” 

The word was quiet—barely a breath—but you might as well have screamed it. Rex’s reaction was immediate and overwhelming. The hand that still held your breast released you, and his arm clamped around your body. His fingers tightened on your waistband and pulled you hard against him as he finally, finally kissed you. Lips, tongue, teeth descended on your shoulder, worked up your neck and across your jaw, leaving a trail of heated sensation in his wake.

When he reached your lips, he devoured you with all the passion he’d been holding back with such meticulous self-control. His kiss was everything you’d imagined for months. It swept over you like a wave, scattering your thoughts and making your head spin as his tongue slipped between your parted lips. He released your waistband and glided his hand beneath your camisole, up your bare abdomen, to palm your naked breast as he kissed and kissed and kissed you, until there was only one coherent thought in your mind: Is this really happening?

You clung to him, fingers gripping plastoid. You’d wanted Rex for so long, and now that you had him, it almost didn’t feel real. The thought galvanized you. You broke away just long enough to yank the camisole off over your head, dropping it to lie in a crumpled heap on the floor as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him back into your kiss. His armor bit uncomfortably into your exposed skin, but you didn’t care; you were practically climbing him, frantic for contact.

“Wait,” he rasped. 

“Seriously?!”

He laughed at your impatience. “Seriously. I haven’t waited all this time to rush it now.”

Your breath caught at the implication: he’d wanted this just as much as you had. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Why didn’t you?” he asked pointedly.

“You’re my captain—” you began.

“And you’re my lieutenant,” he replied.

Ah. Solid point.

“You’ve—you’ve been waiting for me to make the first move?” you asked. “This whole time?”

“Since the minute you came aboard.”

“Damn,” you said, struck. “Are you sure I should be working in intelligence? I completely missed the signs.”

“In fairness, stealth is one one of—”

You cut him off abruptly with a kiss. You slid your hands over the back of his head, stroking the soft, velvety, close-cropped blond hair. His groan of pleasure rumbled against your lips, sending a jolt of arousal through your entire body.

“Captain?” you whispered.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” he murmured, nuzzling your face gently.

“Permission to remove your armor, sir?”

“Kriff, don’t call me that,” he begged. “But also yes. Please.”

You went to work quickly, helping him unbuckle and strip off the heavy plastoid.

“Not a fan of being called ‘sir’ in the bedroom?” you asked curiously.

“Just don’t need to be reminded that we’re breaking about forty-two regulations right now.”

You shot him a look brimming with mischief. “We’re going to break a lot more before we get to Coruscant.”

[drabblesandimagines]

Under The Weather

Clive Rosfield x female reader For @ladycry19, the winner of my 500 followers celebration, who requested some fluff with Clive cupping reader's face in their hands. Thank you for your support! <3

You roll over in your bunk, flinging the blanket aside as another hot flush coursed through your body. You know in a moment you’ll be reaching for it again, pulling it right up to your neck - you seemed to be alternating between freezing cold and boiling hot, with no middle ground to be found. 

What you thought was a mild cold from a night caught out in the rain from surveillance on a Bearer master has turned into something far more nasty. The infirmary was full of the liberated Bearers from said master, in a far worse off state than you were, and so Tarja had, albeit very reluctantly, allowed you to stay in your bunk rather than a make-shift bed on the floor. Her and Rodriguez would alternate and visit you every few hours to check on your condition, salves and foul-tasting medicines in hand.

Your throat felt like you'd swallowed handfuls of sand, nose stuffed up, face throbbing and a horrible chesty cough that grew worse if you lay too flat on your back. You were lucky to have a bunk room to yourself, a small nook of the Hideaway that is entirely yours, a small square cut in the wall as a window – the sun now having long set. The rest of the room comprises of a mattress atop a basic frame and a small dresser and a heavy piece of stained fabric acting as a door.

You shiver and reach over for discarded blanket and break into a coughing fit, your whole body wracking with the effort. It takes a few moments for you to catch your breath and you reach for the tankard of water Tarja left on her last visit, heave yourself up a little bit more against the pillows, and sip slowly. You catch sight of the small bouquet of dried flowers atop the dresser and can’t help but smile – a gift Clive had given you at the very beginning of your courtship, prompted by a throwaway comment of how you’d never had flowers when you’d seen the flowers begin to grow in the Backyard. He’d foraged it for you especially, searching the fields around Martha’s Rest and presented it to you so bashfully, the stems held together by twine. A green-fingered Bearer had shown you how to dry them out so you could keep them always.

Thinking of Clive, you are thankful that he is currently away with his uncle and that he won’t see you in such an unsightly state – hair worse than a chocobo’s nest, still a little feverish, snuffed up and a voice so hoarse it could’ve rivalled the dulcet of Cid’s back in the day.

You’re miserable, fed-up, tired – suffering from broken sleep as you wake to cough and wrestle with the blanket, or when another tonic was brought for you to drink. Tarja assured you that you were now over the worst of it, but it was going to take a few more days for everything to clear. Staring up at the wooden ceiling, you can’t help but think about how lucky you are that you are here, within the Hideaway, where you are being cared for and allowed to rest. When you were sick as a Branded, your master had still expected you to fulfil your duties. You’d seen your fellow Bearers work until collapse, and then your master would debate whether it was worth the gil to send for the healer or just wait and see if they pulled through on their own.

There’s a knock on the wooden panels to the side of your doorway – it must be time for another draught.

“Come in”, you call, your voice cracking a little.

The curtain is pulled aside, but it is not Tarja, or Rodriguez or even Jill who steps in, but one Clive Rosfield.

“No.” You shake your head and pull the covers up and over your head, embarrassed.

“I… I thought you’d be pleased to see me, my lady.” You can hear he is pouting through his voice alone.

“I am glad you are back safely, but you have to leave.” “Tarja said you’ve not been well - I’ve got a draught she’d like you to take.”

“If you put it down, I can take it after you leave. Please.” Going under the blanket is proving to be a mistake, it’s stuffy and hard to breathe.

“Why are you hiding, sweetheart?”

“I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” You erupt into a fit of wracking coughs, so violent the blanket falls off your head as you attempt to catch your breath. Your eyes are closed, coughing into the crook of your elbow, when you feel a warm palm rub your back in soothing circles.

As the coughing subsides, you open one eye, reluctantly, to see that Clive is knelt down besides you, draught in hand, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Here – drink, please.”

You nod and take it, holding it up to your lips and down it in one. It’s better that way, considering how bitter it is from past experience. Once you are finished, he exchanges it for the tankard of water and you take a deep sip, clearing the taste.

“Thank you.” You keep your eyes downcast.

“You should’ve sent word that you weren’t well.” His palm remains on the small of your back. “I would’ve been back sooner if I’d known.”

“No, it wasn’t necessary – I wasn’t on death’s door by any means.”

“Then can you look at me?”

You shake your head. “Please can you go?”

“Sweetheart, why would I leave? You’re sick – I want to look after you.”

“I look as horrible as a Morbol.”

“Impossible.” He places a hand on your cheek, cupping it and gently tilts your head to meet his eyes.

“Clive,” you huff. “I haven’t combed my hair, or bathed and I’m feverish and…”

His other hand leaves your back and now he cups your entire face in his palms, staring into your eyes.

“You’re beautiful – inside and out.”

Your cheeks burn hot but you know it’s not from the fever that time, but the sincerity in his words and in his eyes. You’d accused him of lying, but he’s never been any good at it.

“I don’t feel like it right now.”

“Then it is my job to remind you,” he presses a long, sweet kiss on your forehead, your face still held in his palms so you can’t even move away.

“You’ll get sick.” You say, pathetically.

“No - I believe I mentioned to Tarja before that I never seemed to get ill with such things in my time in the Imperial Army.” He lets go of your face then, though takes your hand in his. “She wondered if it is a quirk of being a Dominant.”

“You must have missives to deal with.”

“I can respond to them here.”

You look around the room in disbelief. With him knelt beside your bed, nearly all the space is already taken up. “There’s no room for a chair at the dresser, and that’s not large enough for the ink and quills you’ll need and-”

“Then I shall bring you to my chambers, where I can keep an eye and complete my work.”

You open your mouth to protest further, but you’ve swiftly run out of reasons as to why he can’t.

“I’d feel much better knowing that you were being taken of, and I know Tarja is under enough strain with how busy the infirmary is.”

Clive Rosfield is not a man to be swayed once he has an objective in mind – you’ve seen that out on missions with him enough times.

“Don’t ask me to go. I love you, sweetheart.”

 You pout, he knows that always makes you concede, not helped by how weak you already feel. “I love you too.”

“So, you’ll allow me to take care of you?”

You nod, feeling exhausted.

He lifts your hand to his mouth, presses a kiss across your knuckles and then smiles. “I am glad we are in agreement. Here.” He pulls the blanket off your lap for a moment and drapes it around your shoulders. “We’ll have to cross the loading dock and I will not have you catching a further chill. Ready?”

You nod again, pulling your knees up in preparation of getting to your feet when Clive slips an arm under your thighs and another around your back, lifting you up before you can even blink.

You don’t even attempt to fight him on it, say you can walk, instead you simply wrap your arms around his neck, nuzzle your cheek against his chest, breathing in his scent and feeling far more content than you have in days.

“I missed you.” You say, softly.

Clive smiles, kisses your crown once more as he steps through the curtain to take you to his chambers. “I missed you too, my lady.”

--

I am under the weather atm - can you tell? Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

[windsweptinred]

OK I had to do these for Corinthiel cause they're the pinnacle of crack prompts.  

who controls the netflix account and what have they dominated the suggestions with by watching 

Well, since Danny has every streaming service living rent free in his mind, it's got to be Cori. You've got to have all the modern luxuries when out doing your Lord's bidding in the Waking, including the best streaming has to offer. His watch list is full of the usual you would expect for THE nightmare paramount. A chocolate box of horrors so psychology damaging, one wonders who or what the director had to fuck to get it green lit. His suggestions however, are curiously dominated by the suspiciously twee likes of the ‘The Great British Sewing Bee’ and the ‘The Secret Life of Cats.’ He blames Ruin… Everyone knows it's not Ruin.

who snores

Daniel, oh yes, perfect little princess face Danny boy with all the grace, poise and finesse of an expert geisha… Snores like an alcoholic sailor with severe sleep apnea when he's out. That ‘unique’ laugh of Morpheus's had to go somewhere. And it chose make a new home for itself in Danny's nasal passages. Eldritch horrors live in fear of hearing it, demons tell stories of it in hushed, reverant tones. It's the most horrific sound to ever take form. Cori adores it. 

who has an embarrassing ringtone that the other calls them in public just to get to go off 

Wait, you think Cori's phone blasting ‘Pour some sugar on me’ while his phone  flashes a salacious lockscreen photo of Daniel, isn't meticulously planned? For his own delight and everyone else's discomfort? He's purposely arranged callbacks from sales companies, just so he can stand there like a smug git while a Jpeg Lord of the Dreaming flashes his sugar tits. He's done it with Constantine, Hob, the archangel Michael… That one time with Destiny. He doesn't talk about that though… 

who sleeps on the top bunk if given the chance 

If by top bunk you mean the finely sculpted pectorals of one blonde nightmare.. It's an all out war between Danny and Madison about who gets to curl up and purr themselves into oblivion. Trust me, those catfights gets naaasty! They're the closest thing the Dreaming has to bloodsports. Trauma for the eyes in a flurry of white hair. 

who plays the piano at 6 in the morning to wake up the other 

Matthew once spent a month making Mervyn hit a piano repetitively with a heavy duty chain whip to get them out of their bed chamber. Does that count? Would you want to face an enraged librarian on the warpath because their peace has been heinously disturbed? Well neither did they. It was the only way to get them to put their pants on. 

who has accidentally set something on fire by attempting to cook a birthday meal 

Well, since Cori is the accomplished male wife he is, I'm going to say with no canonical proof ( but we all know it's true) his skills in the culinary arts could make Gordon Ramsey renounce swearing in euphoria. And Daniel should be able to pull from an encyclopedic dreamer knowledge of this stuff. So… Ruin did it. How did Ruin set fire to the deep fat fryer when making a romantic icecream  sundae for his Lord and mentor in all things night terrors? Well, let me tell you, he has a particular set of skills! 

[thecoffeenebula]

The Discomforts Of Food

Part One

Christopher Pike/Reader

Genre: angst, fluff

warnings: this story is about a eating disorder

You are struggling with your eating disorder. You have lost a lot of weight. As you have been getting weaker, the entire crew has become concerned with you. Captain Pike ordered you to go to sickbay, where nurse Chapel was all in ready to take care of you. Both Chris and Christine are by your side to get better.

This is the second week your commanding officer had to send you to sickbay. Another day of getting unwell at your station. In your eyes you did not need to go to sickbay. You were fine. You looked fine. You just had been having stress and that was affecting you. At least that is what you kept telling yourself.

Despite what you were telling yourself, you were pale looking. Your face all fallen in, the bones around your shoulders showing. Even when you stepped underneath the shower when you looked at the mirror you could see your ribs become visible. But sadly, there was not where your focus was.

Subconsciously you knew that something was going on. When you were helping out on a new colony an old man mentioned how thin you were and joked about how you barely ate, as for you, what you ate seemed like a normal portion. It made you really insecure, but still everything felt normal. Your eating felt normal to you.

For months you had been unhappy with your body. You had been overeating for no reason. You just felt like you could handle more than you could take. But the more you did it the more you had the feeling there was a permanent rock in there. Eating was not enjoyable anymore. So one day you were done with all of it, so you decided to eat lighter and smaller portions. Maybe that is where it went wrong, as the ligther portions might have been too light. You mainly ate crackers, yoghurt, fruit and some bread. Dinner you ate in really small portions as you thought that was all your body could handle. You finally felt happier in your body as you did not have that continuous bloating feeling. But eating that light, avoiding most of the fats that you needed, especially in your line of work as a security officer, you needed a lot more of that. Avoiding fats, heavy and unhealthy foods made you this. A thin troubled woman, who had no idea about how much she needed to eat to survive, and slowly killing herself in the process.

You enter your room. The instant the door shut you let out a scream and kick the table that is besides you. “Why?”

Your roommate looked at you, who was happily reading a book in the corner. They got snapped out of their zone and turned around to face you. “Hey, hon, what’s going on? Aren’t you supposed to be on duty?” She put her book down and turns toward you. She notices the look on your face. All pale. It looked as if you were about to faint.

“They send you to sickbay again?”

You nodded.

“And did you go?”

You scoff at her words. “No, what do you think? There is nothing wrong with me. I am just stressed and it sucks. I hate it that I am this sensitive and my body turns into this nauseating, dizzy mess.”

You walk to your bunk where you lie down and put your hand over your head. Irritation rushes through your body as if it is the blood that pumps through your veins.

“I know this is all frustrating for you. Maybe you like something to drink. Maybe something with sugar might help.”

You scrunch your nose. Sugar is the last thing you want. “No thanks, I am good. I just want to sleep. I am exhausted. ”

“Okay. Well if you need something just say so.”

You lift your arm a little to look at your roommate, standing in the middle of the room. You smile at here a little.  “Maybe some water.”

“Suer can do.” Alice, your roommate, walks up to the food synthesizer, types in what she wants and grabs the two appearing glasses of water. She walks back to you and sits down on your bed. She hands you the glass of water. You take it and take big gulps out of it. “Easy” Alice says looking concerned.

“Maybe you would like something to eat. Food can give you energy as well.”

“No, thanks.”

Alice hesitates and looks down at her own glass. You know when she has something on her mind. You roll your eyes at her. “Spill it.” The words come out harshly.

“Okay, well…” Alice nervously fidgets with her glass. “Maybe it is a good idea to go to sickbay.” She could already see you catch air to go into defence. “I know there is nothing going on, just stress. But maybe nurse Chapel can give you something or help you so you won’t feel shit all the time.”

You give her a look.

“It is just a suggestion. But this is the fourth time in two weeks that you get back here. If this keeps going captain Pike or Commander Chin-Riley might reassign you… you might never work as security officer again if Starfleet thinks you cannot handle this job. I don’t want that for you.”

You put your glass down, tired of listening to your worried friend and turn around to catch some sleep. Alice just looks at you and leaves you be. She cannot force you to do anything at all. But she hopes that you will come to your senses.

Another day has passed. Today was an easier day. You were not send to sickbay and you followed along every moment. Captain Pike organized a dinner for his crew. You were invited. You and Chris go way back. He and your father went to the academy together. Your father made Chris your godfather, so he always tries to keep an eye out for you. Chris wrote your recommendations letter to Starfleet and made sure you could serve aboard the Enterprise. He was proud to have you as security officer on his team. You mean a lot to him. He has not seen you a lot over the past few weeks as Chris has been really busy, so he wanted you to be at his bridge crew dinner.

The moment you got off duty you changed your clothes and raced to the captain’s quarters. You were a bit hungry and you missed the captain. You missed your late night chess meetings as Chris had to cancel them because he was so busy. Finally some time together again.

As you enter his quarters, everyone is already there, La’an, Una, Christine, Erica, M’Benga, Spock, Sam, Nyota and Hammer. Sitting there, sipping their wine. Erica instantly comes over to you with a glass of what appears to be water. “As you are always the only sober one, here you have your go to drink. A simple plain glass of water.” She says jokingly. You smile at her.

“Well, someone has to stay responsible on these kind of events and keep the crew under control.” They all laugh. “What must the rest thing if their senior officers walk around the corridors drunk?” “They join in.” Erica says with a wink. Of course, you thought. Instead of coming with a comeback, you take a seat next to Sam, and look at how Spock helps the captain cook, which is a hilarious sight. You never saw Spock in an apron. The happiness did not stay long for you. Your thoughts began to take over at the sight of the food. How there was a lot of it, and how much you needed to eat of it, and what would be too much for you and if there still was a dessert, how much you needed to eat then to have place for it, the thought of how the dessert would be way too much and unhealthy… you could not eat that… the thoughts made you cranky. Not only the thoughts of course, but the lack of food was also playing a part in your crankiness too.

Everyone was talking and enjoying themselves, but you just sat there, staring at your drink, looking at it quite concerned. Captain Pike had been keeping an eye on you. He did not say anything yet. When you walked in concern instantly took over him. Your roommate had been talking to him about you. About how you looked, about how you closed yourself off. She was pretty sure you were overthinking things to much due to the stress you had been having.

Captain Pike and Spock decked the table with food. Everyone took a seat and enjoyed their meal. You just took a little bit off everything. The voice inside of your head is telling you not to eat too much to avoid the feeling of being bloated.

Chris had something special prepared for dessert. He knew about your love for cheesecake. So he made his grandmother’s special New York Cheesecake. As he presented it on the table, something inside of you snapped. You felt full from the little bits you had been eating. You did not want something so unhealthy and mighty in your tummy. You just sat there very uncomfortable, staring at the cheesecake. As Chris wanted to put some on your plate you instantly refused. Chris’ brow is raised up, as he is confused to why you would refuse his famous cheesecake. “Okay” he said steadily. He served the rest of the crew present in his quarters a piece of cheesecake. Everyone seemed all too happy about receiving a piece, despite being all so incredibly full. You could not grasp to how they could be like that. How can you enjoy food even if you are so incredibly full.

Over time, chatting with everyone else, you noticed your hunger returning. It was quite a miserable feeling as everyone had eaten out. You did not want to feel hungry at all. You tried your best to be all nice to them. But you could feel your body become tense and faint. You just tried so hard to keep your focus onto the people around you. Chatting and laughing at stupid jokes. Drinking their wine as if it is Coca Cola. It made you so uncomfortable. 

After cleaning up, everyone left. It was just you and Chris in his quarters. Chris noticed you had a strange look on your face. He grabbed the last piece of cheesecake and easily slides it over to you. “It’s still yours if you want it.” You could feel the pressure onto your head.

You saw that lovely piece of cheesecake lying there on the counter. But everything inside of you told you not to eat it. It was unhealthy and it fills too hard.

You shook your head “I am good. You can have it.”

Chris pulls the plate aside, so he can lean his arms onto the bar.

“Okay, what’s going on?”

You look at him. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

Chris raises his brow at you. Not convinced at your words.

“You seem stressed.”

“No. I am not stressed.” You grasp for breath.

“(y/n), I have to be honest with you. You do not look good.” The irritation rises from your feet up to your head.

“I am doing okay. I have never been more fine. Everything is going well…”

“Then why do you look like a prisoner who hasn’t seen a meal in a month?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” You say deniably.

“So you have not looked in the mirror lately.” You must admit that every time you looked into a mirror you did notice your ribs sometimes. But you thought this was because of the morning, that you had not eating anything yet.

“I have. I am thin, so what?”

“Maybe a little too thin?” Chris looks at you hopefully. He sees your ever so hopefully eyes looking into his. He gets from behind the bar.

“Come here.” He says, and walks with you to the mirror that stands across the bedroom. He put you in front of the mirror.

“Can you recognize yourself?”

Before you dare to take a look at yourself you keep your eyes on Chris. “Don’t look at me, keep your eyes on you.” He says whilst turning your head to the mirror. You are staring into your own eyes. You look yourself up and down. You look small. You are as thin as a stick. For the first time you had a really good look at yourself. The concern radiates through your eyes. It makes Chris see in that you finally see it.

“What do you see?”

“I am a stick figure.” You say sadly. “I am not okay, am I?”

“Well you are as okay as you can be” Chris places a small kiss into your hair.

“I look like that guy from that old Earth movie you once showed me. What was it called again? Fantastic Beasts? There was this old guy looking just as dead as me.”

Chris chuckled. It was good you still had some humor in you yet.

“You knew all this time things were not okay, you just did not want to see it.”

“Yeah. I have seen the signs, I just, it did not seem real to me. But it is getting more real every day. With the tiredness and by the looks of my body.” You sigh “Chris I am afraid to eat.”

Chris stands in front of you. His soft gaze upon you.

“These thoughts in my head. I am afraid to be full, I am afraid to eat fat and unhealthy things. I am continuously afraid that my stomach will have problems. So I just eat in a way I think is good for me. Because it does not seem to upset my stomach.” Your eyes have become watery. Tears are almost beginning to flow out. The distress within you is high. Chris wraps his arms around you. It is okay.

“No, Chris, it’s not. I am too afraid to eat cheesecake. I am hungry right now and I do not want to eat. Especially not the cheesecake because it is too heavy and unhealthy. It’s not good for me…It’s only gonna give me problems…” tears are streaming down your face.

Chris shushes you. “I just don’t know it anymore.”

“I don’t know either. I am not in your situation, I have no idea what your going through. My mind is not racing about thoughts of food. Only how delicious it is. Like that cheesecake.”

“You are only making it worse.”

“I’m sorry.”

Chris’ sparkling concerned eyes gaze upon you. He looks down at you.

“I just want you to be okay. We can go to sickbay, together if it helps.”

You hesitate for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“Do it for yourself. Doctor M’Benga can help you. You can become better again.”

You nod along his words.

“Okay. I will seek help. But only if you come with me.”

“I won’t leave your side.”

“Thank you.” You say smiling at him.

[secretarysong]

thinking about Bunk Bed Junction & the trials and tribulations that come with living underground let alone IN THE SEWERS within a city which is outwardly stated 2 have worsening flooding problems ... aside from the water underneath the city, general rainfall seems to be a cause for concern as per zuke's dialogue when you examine the Street Water-Drainer:

(a bit more under the cut)

i'm not sure if Vinyl City is located in Malaysia or a Malaysia-adjacent place in the NSR universe (or neither) but if it is, that would also mean they experience monsoons and the heavy rains that come w summer and like...

it makes me wonder if Mayday and Zuke have ever suffered the brunt of Vinyl City's flooding issues whilst living underground together. it could be a reason why they have sooooo many heavy-duty-looking boxes in their storage room—boxes that might contain their belongings and such ... salvaged or otherwise

this might just be me overthinking their living situation or whateva but like i love to overanalyze

[masterjedilenawrites]

A Silly Thing Like Sleep

Tech & The Bad Batch | 1.7k words

Content: one curse word, hyperfixating, "brotherly love"

Inspiration (from @rosemarynightmares): And someone should tell Fixer Tech to go tf to sleep, I'm sensing that he doesn't do that *nearly* enough.

No one could burn the midnight oil like Tech.

There was simply too much to do. Too many ideas, too many questions that needed answers. It's what he was made for, trained for, and the movements of his hands as they tinkered and fiddled and created, in sync with his mind as it mulled and mused and imagined, is what made him feel like... well, himself. He was grounded this way. Soothed, even. How could he ever stop for a silly thing like sleep?

A little after 2000 hours brought the first of his brothers into their room.

"Tech," Hunter nodded as he passed by. The Sergeant's hair was damp from the shower; he must have just finished training. "Don't stay up too late. Big day tomorrow."

"Yes, of course."

Tech only responded out of respect, his eyes fixed on the project in front of him. To the untrained eye, it looked like he was fussing over a mere black box. But he knew it to be an old surface isotope oscillator, a rare find whose parts held potential for so many of his other projects, or potentially brand new projects he had yet to discover.

Hunter settled into his bunk, pulling a sleeping mask over his eyes and jamming in some earbuds. Tech only barely registered the lights around Hunter's bunk going out. The Sergeant would be unaffected by his tinkering so long as his custom mask and earbuds worked, which Tech knew they would because he had made them. Depriving Hunter of two of his sharpest senses would be enough to keep him asleep.

2100 hours brought the next brother, Echo, just as Tech had managed to carefully remove one of the oscillator's outer panels. The clone eyed him as he passed back and forth a few times in front of the workbench in order to get ready for bed. Echo, unfortunately, didn't have much space to call his own and had to make-do with keeping his things in various places throughout the dorm, much to the chagrin of his disciplined and orderly habits.

Tech hardly noticed, keeping his focus on the delicate nature of his work. There were some wires, some chipboards, and several high-voltage rods he had to work through to get to the good stuff. Though an experiment on the device's stress-points would be beneficial, he didn't want Hunter to put him on laundry duty for causing an explosion in the barracks. Not again.

"You uh, going to be long?" Echo finally spoke up, having finished his bedtime routine and ready to slide into his hammock.

Tech didn't respond; he was in the middle of clamping some tweezers on a little microchip.

Echo shifted to his other foot. "Well, I'm going to turn this light out now, if that's alright with you."

Still no response. So Echo shrugged and flicked the switch that controlled the overhead lights to the room. There were still the glowing lights in the bunks and the safety lights around the door to the hall. But otherwise there was a nice dim to the room that made it much easier to fall asleep in.

Tech didn't even react to the change in lighting, continuing to transport various parts via tweezers to a tray he had set aside. After setting one down, he clicked on the flashlight feature on his goggles and continued, not skipping a beat, as if that was a step he was going to perform anyway.

Echo shook his head before climbing into the hammock and settling himself in for the night.

At 2330, Wrecker dragged his heavy feet through the door. He clunked down one of his weapons kits by his bunk and the thud did catch Tech's attention, at least for a moment. He looked up at his hunking brother as if startled to see another being around.

"You're not going to be making noise all night, are you?" Wrecker asked through a yawn.

"I'll be quiet," Tech gave a dismissive wave. As if Wrecker cared about noise when he could sleep peacefully through a siren alarm.

Besides, Tech couldn't control what noises these experiments would or wouldn't make. He had now set up a complex array of other devices and systems in order to plug in the oscillator's pieces and see what they'd do. He switched from twisting things apart and together to typing notes furiously on his datapad. Sometimes they made noise, sometimes they didn't, but that detail only mattered when the noise indicated potential backfiring. Otherwise he didn't bother noting it.

Meanwhile, the thudding of Wrecker's movements also jostled awake the room's other occupants, most notably Hunter. The Sergeant often tossed and turned, thought Tech had never understood why. His mask and earbuds worked perfectly, got his brother in the perfect sensory stasis to manage a full night's sleep, but there were still periods of wakefulness he couldn't account for. Hunter usually said something about an overactive imagination, though Tech didn't like that answer since there wasn't much he could do with that sort of information.

While Hunter readjusted and tried to fall back asleep, Wrecker was already conked out in his own bunk. The lights on his side stayed on for a bit, until Hunter finally pulled him up to turn them off. He paused on his way back to his bed, addressing Tech.

"Start wrapping up and get to sleep," he instructed.

"I will, I will."

That seemed to be enough to calm the Sergeant down and he eventually drifted off again.

Tech was now making trips between the workbench and his own bunk, though sleep was hardly part of the reason. His bunk was less of a bed and more of... an area, to house additional parts and manuals, keep certain hand-drawn configurations he hadn't had the time to transcribe onto a datapad yet, and of course, his great mess of wires that he'd pulled from the ceiling.

It was these wires he was clipping from, returning to the workbench, finagling some kind of rig between various bits and bobs, and then analyzing the output of data that resulted on his screen. He was starting to generate more noise as a result, but he knew Wrecker would start snoring soon and his tinkering would get drowned out anyway.

Just before 0100 hours, the last of his brothers, Crosshair, finally slunk into the room. Though the sniper wasn't purposefully trying to be sneaky - he really was just minding his own business - he still was so quiet and quick that Tech didn't even notice for a while that a third bunk now had an occupant. Cross stayed awake a short while longer, quietly thumbing through a book of some kind, before fixing Tech with a stare. He didn't look away until Tech had noticed, and then he promptly rolled over and went to sleep. Tech knew what the stare meant, but he didn't have time to explain why he couldn't go to bed right now.

No right now, he was knee-deep in his work. Literally. Somehow the projects had spread to encompassing larger materials and machinery, such that they had to be stacked on the floor around him for ease of access. He'd have to crawl over the table if he wanted to visit any other part of the room at this point. But he was done with his business in his bunk with the wires, and was now locked into the tedious tasks laid out before him.

0100 turned into 0200, which then turned into 0300. Tech was like a machine himself... going, going, going. Was he making any progress? Hard to say; he wasn't measuring things like that. Progress implied a goal, an amount to get through, and right now he was still exploring. One piece put into one machine produced one result, which got noted and thought about, before ultimately being tried in a different machine, while a combination of different parts were put into the first machine, and continuous notes were made, and new ideas were brainstormed, and sometimes whole minutes would go by before Tech's eyes felt so dry that he wondered if he'd even remembered to blink...

"Go the fuck to sleep, Tech!"

The exclamation startled him. In part because he'd been so enveloped in his own world he'd forgotten other people existed. But also in part because the one who'd yelled at him was the last he would've expected.

The flashlight from his goggles illuminated a very upset clone trooper in a hammock. Echo was looking over his shoulder at him, his murderous stare cutting through the space like a laser. Tech couldn't help but gulp at the sight.

"Uh, apologies, Echo," he said, suddenly self-conscious, and for good reason. He could feel the eyes of his other brothers trained on him from all directions now. "I... didn't mean to disturb you."

"Go. The fuck. To sleep," Echo repeated himself, his voice a little lower this time, but still full of punch.

Tech nodded. "I will, I just have to finish--"

"Tech..." Hunter's drawl came from the shadows.

Tech stood for a moment, looking between the dozens of projects he was still in the thick of, and back up at Echo who seemed ready to fight him if he dared tried to ignore his request.

Order. It was more of a order, Tech acknowledged. Accompanied by a warning from his Sergeant. He nodded again, this time more in acquiescence than before. He clicked the light off his goggles, plunging the room into true darkness for the first time all night. He gingerly set down some pliers he was holding and made a few clicks on his holopad to turn it off. Echo was still twisted around to face him, and he was sure the others were tracking his movements as best they could too. Though, Wrecker did end up letting out a snore while he picked his way through the piles of machines on the floor, so perhaps not everyone was watching him after all.

Tech shuffled back to his bunk and made a show of getting under the covers and settling in. He debated whether he should call out goodnight when he heard the shifting of the hammock and rustling of sheets from Hunter's side of the room. They were turning back in for the night. He was off the hook.

Tech still let a few minutes go by before he stuck his head under the covers and pulled out his backup datapad.

~ ~ ~

Everything Tag: @damerondala, @dangerousstrawberrypie, @fallingforthem, @harleyevanstan, @imabeautifulbutterfly, @justanothersadperson93, @misogirl828, @itsagrimm, @error6gendernotfound, @theroguesully, @clonesimp, @techie-bear

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(Join my tag list here)

[cyllres]

Devil | JJK x Makima! Reader

Chapter 16

"The dorms aren't separated by gender?" you asked Satoru, raising an eyebrow as he showed you your room, which was—both fortunately and unfortunately—right next to Yuuji's. Most of the time you wouldn't mind that since after all, you and Yuuji share a room with a bunk bed. But right now, you're still mad at the decision your brother chose.

"They are," Satoru replied, leaning casually against the doorframe. "But I think it's nicer for the first years to be close, especially since we only have a handful of students. It helps build friendship," he added with a casual grin, as if that explained everything.

You nodded, though your mind was already preoccupied. The room itself was fairly big and comfortable, with basic furnishings—a bed, a desk, and a small closet. You could hear the faint sounds of Yuuji moving around in his own room, a reminder of your unresolved argument and the complex dynamics between you.

Satoru turned to leave, but you called out, stopping him in his tracks. "Wait—" He paused, glancing back at you. "Getou-sensei’s grave, where is it?" Your voice was soft but insistent, the question weighing heavily on your mind.

Satoru hesitated, a rare moment of seriousness crossing his usually carefree expression. "I dunno~," he finally answered with a shrug, making your polite smile falter, annoyance creeping into your features.

"What do you mean 'I don't know'?" you pressed, frustration seeping into your tone.

"I mean it," he repeated, nonchalantly. "I don't know. I wasn't the one who took care of his body. I just had a little chit chat with him before he... went to see God." His voice was light, almost dismissive, as if the matter held no significant weight.

You stared at him, incredulous. "So you're telling me you left Getou-sensei’s body out in the open? Where possibly a thousand humans, animals, or even curses could get to it?" Your voice was tinged with disbelief. "Isn't that reckless?"

Satoru’s usually carefree demeanor shifted slightly, a hint of something more serious in his eyes. "Listen, Itadori-chan," he began.

“Y/n” You corrected.

“Listen, Y/n-chan.” He corrected, his tone firmer. "I prioritize my students' safety over the remains of a mass murderer. Getou lost his way and caused a lot of pain. His body doesn’t hold much value compared to the lives I'm responsible for now."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of their meaning. It was a rare glimpse into Satoru's deeper sense of duty, a side he rarely showed. "Getou was my friend once," he continued, softer now, "but he made his choices. My focus has to be on protecting you and the others. That’s what matters."

You nodded slowly, processing his words. "I understand," You sighed, realizing you wouldn't get a more satisfying answer from him. "Alright," you muttered, the weight of the conversation pressing down on you. "Thanks anyway."

Satoru gave a small, almost imperceptible nod before turning to leave. "Get some rest, Y/n-chan," he said over his shoulder. "More importantly, we are heading out tomorrow! We're going to go pick up the fourth first year." He said enthusiastically.

-

"How are there only four first years? Isn't that too few?" Yuuji asked, taking a bite of his popsicle. The sweet chill seemed to do little to cool the curiosity burning in his eyes.

You ignored the conversation between your brother and Megumi, your focus entirely on the dog that had trotted up to you. Its fur was sleek, and its eyes sparkled with curiosity and affection.

"Are you lost?" you murmured softly, crouching down to its height. You checked the collar around its neck, fingers brushing against the cool metal. "…Baby?" you read the name engraved on the tag, a smile tugging at your lips as the dog responded with an enthusiastic bark, tail wagging furiously. "Cute," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the soft hum of the city around you.

Megumi, noticing your distraction, turned his attention back to Yuuji. "Well, have you ever met anyone who can see curses before?" he asked, his tone more matter-of-fact than curious.

"Nope," Yuuji replied, shaking his head.

"That just shows how rare jujutsu sorcerers are," Megumi continued, his gaze shifting to you briefly before returning to Yuuji.

“Sorry for the wait!” Satoru’s voice rang out, cutting through the air and causing the dog, Baby, to trot off towards him. You turned to see Satoru approaching with a cheerful grin. “Oh, both of your uniforms made it in time, I see,” he mused.

“Yeah, it's a perfect fit!” Yuuji responded, excitement evident in his voice.

You stood up from your crouching position, leaning casually against the railing. “Though ours are slightly different from Fushiguro’s,” you noted, your polite smile back in place. You wore an asymmetrical white jacket with high collars and pins on the left side engraved with the school logo, paired with navy blue pants that had a loose, almost flowing quality to them. Meanwhile, your brother was in a blue uniform with a distinctive red hood and slacks.

“That’s because the uniforms can be customized upon request,” Satoru explained, his tone light and easy.

“Huh? But I never put in any requests. Did you, N/n-chan?” Yuuji turned to you, his question catching you off guard. You stiffened slightly, surprised that he would address you after days of tense silence between you two. You shook your head slowly, still not meeting his eyes.

“I was the one who put in the custom order,” Satoru admitted with a smirk, clearly pleased with himself.

“Hmm, cool,” Yuuji said, seemingly unfazed.

“Be careful, Gojo-sensei has a tendency to do things like that,” Megumi warned, his tone carrying a hint of exasperation. “More importantly, why are we meeting up in Harajuku?” he added, changing the subject.

“Because it's what she asked for,” Satoru replied, referring to the newcomer they were waiting for.

“Text me when she gets here. I’m walking around,” you said nonchalantly, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jacket as you turned to leave.

“Imouto-chan, you might get lost!” Yuuji called after you, concerned lacing his voice.

You glanced back at him briefly, "I’ll only be there," you said, pointing towards a nearby animal shelter.

-

Inside the animal shelter, the atmosphere was filled with the soft sounds of barking and the gentle hum of a distant fan. You were immediately drawn to a black husky with striking brown eyes, its gaze meeting yours with a mixture of hope and eagerness.

“Ma’am, excuse me. Are you interested in adopting that cute dog?” A shelter worker approached you, a friendly smile on his face.

You glanced up at him briefly before turning your attention back to the husky. "I'm a broke teenager," you replied, continuing to pet the dog, which responded with a happy bark, its tail wagging even more vigorously.

“Too bad,” the worker said with a sigh. “This baby right here has been in the shelter for a few months now. He’s only two years old, but we’re having a hard time getting him adopted because he refuses to stay with his owners. It’s the first time he actually seems to like someone.”

You continued to pet the husky, your mind racing with possibilities. "Do I need to have an adult with me?" you asked, glancing up at the worker.

“Yes, but I assure you adopting here is easy. Just a few paperwork and we're done!” he reassured you, his enthusiasm making you feel a spark of determination.

Standing up, you decided to head back to where your teacher and classmates were waiting. "Wait," you said to the worker, your voice firm with resolve. "I'll be back."

As you walked out of the shelter, a man tapped you on the shoulder, his approach tentative yet persistent. "Hello, are you on the clock right now?" he asked politely. You ignored him, continuing to walk briskly towards Satoru and the others. "You see, I’m looking for potential models. This is who I am. Would you be interested?" he added, showing you a card.

"No, thank you. I’m in a hurry right now," you replied curtly, picking up your pace. The man's pleas faded into the background as you spotted Yuuji, now sporting a pair of ridiculous ‘rook’ glasses that made him look like a cartoon character.

"Gojo-sensei," you said, your voice steady and resolute as you approached. Satoru turned towards you, a curious hum escaping his lips as he noticed your determined expression.

"I need you to do something for me," you continued, not letting his playful demeanor deter you.

"Something?" Satoru echoed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I don't know if I could do something for you~"

"I want a dog," you stated bluntly, cutting through his teasing with your directness.

Satoru raised an eyebrow, his smile widening with amusement. "A dog, huh? Sorry, but animals aren't allowed inside the dorms," he said playfully.

You frowned, not buying his excuse. "But Megumi has animals in his dorm," you pointed out, gesturing toward Megumi, who stood nearby.

Megumi's eyes widened slightly as he deadpanned, "Those aren't real dogs. They're my Shikigami."

Ignoring his explanation, you pressed on, "Still, if he can have them, why can't I have a real dog? It's not fair."

Satoru chuckled, clearly enjoying the exchange. "Well, Megumi's 'dogs' are part of his curse technique. It's a bit different from having an actual pet," he explained, still with a playful tone.

"But I really want a dog," you insisted, a hint of desperation creeping into your voice.

Satoru's smile widened, and he finally relented. "Alright, alright," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "I was just messing with you about the policy. I'll get you a dog later. Happy now?"

Your eyes lit up with excitement. "Really? Thank you, Gojo-sensei!"

"Yeah, yeah," Satoru replied, still grinning. "Anything for my precious students~." You grinned a bit, clearly in a good mood as you stood right next to him and Megumi. A few moments later, Satoru pointed at a brown-haired girl wearing a Jujutsu Tech uniform, who was talking to the guy that approached you earlier.

“Are we going to talk to her? This is kind of embarrassing,” Yuuji muttered as the girl asked the guy to recruit her.

“So are you,” Megumi clicked his tongue.

“Hey! Over here!” Satoru called out, cutting the girl off mid-conversation.

“Damn, what's up with that blindfold?” she said as she approached the four of you.

-

The brown-haired girl placed her stuff gently inside one of the rentable lockers before glancing at you four. “Alright, once again!” Satoru said, his tone filled with enthusiasm.

“Nobara Kugisaki. Be happy, boys, there are now two women in the group.” She placed her hand on her hips, standing confidently.

“I’m Yuuji Itadori. I’m from Sendai!” Yuuji was the first to introduce himself, his voice full of excitement.

“Megumi Fushiguro.” Megumi was next, keeping it brief and direct as always.

“Y/n Itadori.” You offered her a polite smile. “I like dogs.” Nobara’s eyes twitched for a bit as she took in the introductions.

‘He looks like a potato,’ Nobara thought as she scrutinized Yuuji. ‘Definitely the type who ate his own boogers as a kid.’

‘And only a name here?’ she mused, glancing at Megumi. ‘I can’t stand high and mighty dudes. I bet he likes setting oil-slicked gulls on fire.’

‘Dogs? She looks intimidating but she’s so childish!’ Her gaze shifted to you. ‘And she’s related to the booger-eating kid?’

“I always get stuck with unfortunate circumstances,” Nobara sighed dramatically.

“She took one look and sighed,” Yuuji muttered, sounding a bit hurt. You only ignored him, focusing on Satoru.

“Are we going somewhere from here?” you asked Satoru, barely able to contain your impatience.

“We do have all four of you together. Not to mention, three of you are from the countryside. So, of course, we're going on a tour of Tokyo!” he said enthusiastically, causing Yuuji and Nobara's eyes to light up.

“Tokyo! Tokyo! Tokyo!” They chanted in unison. “We love Tokyo!"

-

The five of you stood in front of a seemingly abandoned building, its eerie presence a stark contrast to the bustling city tour you expected.

“You liar! This isn't Roppongi!” Yuuji and Nobara said, visibly disappointed.

“You were messing with us country folk!” Nobara added, crossing her arms.

“There is a big cemetery nearby. The double whammy of that and an abandoned building brought out a curse,” Satoru explained calmly, ignoring the complaints of your brother and Nobara.

“So they really do pop up more often around graves?” Yuuji asked, trying to understand the connection.

“The issue isn’t the cemetery itself. It's the fact that people associate cemeteries with fear,” Megumi corrected him, his tone matter-of-fact.

“Oh, it was the same for schools too, wasn’t it?” Yuuji asked, connecting the dots.

“Hold up. He didn’t even know that yet?” Nobara asked, incredulous.

“He swallowed a special grade cursed object. Now here we are,” you said, your smile wavering a bit as you glanced at your brother.

“Gross! Unbelievable! That is so unsanitary and disgusting! No way, no way, no way!” Nobara exclaimed, her face twisted in revulsion.

“What?!” Yuuji said, looking slightly offended, while Megumi only nodded in agreement with Nobara.

“I want to know what all of you are capable of,” Satoru said, refocusing the group. “Just think of this as a field test. Nobara, Yuuji, you two go to exorcise the curse inside that building.”

“But I thought only curses could exorcise curses?” Yuuji butted in. “I cannot use jujutsu yet.” Satoru glanced at him with a knowing smile.

“You are basically half a curse already,” Satoru pointed out. “There is curse energy flowing throughout your body. Though controlling that energy isn’t something you can learn overnight, so use this.” Satoru handed Yuuji a weapon. “It's the cursed tool: Slaughter Demon. It’s a weapon imbued with cursed energy. It'll work on curses, too.” He explained. Nobara and Yuuji started to head toward the building, the weight of the task ahead settling in.

“Oh, one more thing! Don’t let Sukuna out,” Satoru reminded. “If you use him, you'll get rid of all curses nearby in a flash, but you'll also drag everyone around into it.”

“Got it. I won’t let Sukuna out,” Yuuji gave him a thumbs up, determined to do his best.

“How about me, sensei?” you asked, pointing at yourself.

“You, Megumi, and I are going to fill out those papers!” Gojo said enthusiastically. Your grin widened at the prospect.

“Pass,” Megumi said as he sat down. “I think I’ll go too,” he added, his tone firm.

“Don’t push yourself; you are still recovering,” Satoru said, concern in his voice. “But suit yourself.”

“But someone needs to keep an eye on Yuuji, right?” Megumi insisted, looking between Satoru and you.

“True, but the one we are testing this time is Nobara,” Satoru said, considering Megumi’s point. “We're heading out. Y/n-chan, hold on tight while teleporting there.” Satoru said as he linked his arms with yours. Sharing his enthusiasm, you nodded eagerly, excitement bubbling up inside you as the anticipation of what lay ahead grew.

-

“What are you gonna name it?” Satoru asked, glancing at you and the dog.

“Sugu-,” You bit your tongue. “Sugar—” you answered without hesitation, a fond smile playing on your lips as you scratched behind the husky's ears. The dog's eyes sparkled, clearly enjoying the attention.

“Sugar, huh?” Satoru chuckled, his laugh light and infectious. “Fits well, doesn't it?” He reached down to ruffle the dog's fur before lifting the two-year-old husky into his arms effortlessly. “Me and Sugar are heading out first.” You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “I reckon you could teleport yourself back there?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

You nodded, confidence in your abilities clear. “Of course.”

“This time, however, you can't use rats,” Satoru added, his tone playful but firm. “Got it? It’s your own test.” He gave you a knowing look, aware of how you often relied on smaller creatures to aid your teleportation.

Smirking at the challenge, you only nodded. “Alright.”

“Good,” he replied, his grin widening. “I look forward to seeing how you manage.” And with that, in the blink of an eye, he was gone, Sugar safely cradled in his arms, leaving you alone to figure out your way back.

You glanced up at the nearby crows perched on a telephone wire, their dark feathers glinting in the sunlight. An idea sparked in your mind, and your smirk widened. Crows, after all, were clever and resourceful—perfect for your purposes.

With a deep breath, you whispered softly, calling out to the crows. They cawed in response, flapping their wings as they swooped down towards you. You extended your hand, allowing the energy to flow and connect with them. In an instant, the world around you blurred and shifted, the sensation of feathers and wind enveloping you.

-

Kape?

[ihathbenobiwankenobied]

madness

Summary: Obi-Wan shows up at Cody's quarters with an infected lightsaber wound. Cody, unfortunately, is forced to call Skull, the 212th's lead medic.

(Or, the follow-up to Skull's infamous run-in with the 212th's newest secret couple)

Word Count: 3,292

Read part one here on tumblr or on ao3

Cody, in a rare event, had three free hours to relax, let loose, just… probably sleep. 

Truthfully, he had requested that some extra time be carved out of his schedule while he was back on the Negotiator. Obi-Wan –the General– he often needed to remind himself, was away on a solo mission, one ordered by the Jedi Council. Without the General there, Cody was otherwise only filing reports away and waiting for him to get back.

Cody determinedly tried not to think about that exact fact. Typically, the Council’s missions were dangerous, often risky. Obi-Wan would usually admit later that he had to abandon his own sensical nature when it came to his recent Jedi duties. 

The thought made Cody’s hair stand up.

Deciding, against his own urges, that there was nothing he himself could do to trick his mind into thinking positively, Cody made a purposeful effort to lay down and not think. About anything.

He crawled under the sheets, which of course still smelled like Obi-Wan’s Coruscantian cologne, and forced himself to breathe deep breaths. Pulling the blankets up under his chin and rubbing his fists over he heavy eyelids, Cody redirected his thoughts away from his duties and shut his eyelids against the soft glow of light coming from underneath the door of his small quarters. 

Seconds –it seemed– later, he was blinking his eyes open to the sound of a hesitant knock against the heavy metal door of his quarters. Blearily, he blinked once or twice as he raised his head from the pillow to look at the door.

The knock came again, only slightly louder.

“Who is it?” He called out, his coarse tone coming out with the words. He hoped whoever was behind the door, particularly if it was Waxer, the little shit, would get the hint. 

The response was another, more urgent, knock.

Cody groaned, head falling back into the pillow before he threw off his covers. He pulled a loose pair of old blacks onto his legs and trudged to the door, hastily slapping the button by the door to slide it open.

The person at the door was not Waxer, but Cody immediately wished it was. 

“What the kriff happened?” 

Cody’s body went rigid as he asked the question and took in the image before him.

Obi-Wan stood in the doorway, a sheepish frown on his sweaty face. He wore a soiled tunic and ripped pants; he had one hand pressed against the side of his ribs. In the other hand, he held a rumpled pile of medical supplies in a sack made out of a medical gown. Cody could see gauze and unopened bacta patches hanging out of the sides of it. 

“I’ve made it back.” Obi-Wan said nonchalantly, though there was a nervous edge to his tone. “And nothing too serious; had a minor run in with Ventress.” 

Cody stared at him, eyebrows raised as his thoughts moved at the speed of light. He looked toward Obi-Wan’s side where his hand was clenched over the wound. Rather than coated in blood, the edges of his tunic, where it peaked out from behind his hand, were singed. 

Lightsaber wound. 

Cody didn’t need to ask for confirmation, it was more than obvious. 

“May I come in?” Obi-Wan looked at him expectantly, hardened facial features faltering for just a moment as he wobbled on his feet. 

Cody caught his arm, and pulled him gently through the door. “On the bed. Sit.” Cody said sternly, trying to keep the anger out of his tone, as he led Obi-Wan towards his bunk.

The General offered Cody a soft, apologetic smile as he sat down singerly on the bed, still clutching at his side. 

Cody’s heartbeat pounded heavily inside the walls of his chest as he took the makeshift sack of medical supplies out of Obi-Wan’s other arm and unrolled the contents on the floor. He noted a few small bacta patches, a couple rolls of gauze, several adhesive bandages, and one hypo filled with force-knows-what. 

If Cody had to guess, Obi-Wan had snagged a stim instead of a painkiller thinking he could get some paperwork out of the way once he’s been bandaged up. 

“You know, lightsaber burns aren’t minor, Obi-Wan…” Cody’s voice trailed off as he straightened up from his crouch and took a seat next to Obi-Wan’s injured side, medical supplies falling out of his arms and onto the course blanket stretched over his bunk. 

The look on Obi-Wan’s face said it all– he looked defeated, eyes cast toward the floor and lips curled into something of a terse frown.

“I’ve had enough time in the medbay recently.” He muttered and cleared his throat, “Skull would probably have more than enough to say about the last time I needed him anyway.” 

Cody barely held back a snort as his cheeks warmed a little. He had just gotten comfortable with forgetting about that force-forsaken night several weeks before. Cody had a reputation to uphold– one of strict adherence to procedures, never swaying from the books unless it was an absolute necessity– and yet, a simple visit from Skull had all but ruined that. 

He had yet to work up the nerve to talk to Skull about it. He knew the medic well enough to realize he was just as stubborn and equally loyal, but the teasing– 

That– Cody simply could not bear to endure if he didn’t strictly have to.

Instead, he dealt with the smug looks Skull repeatedly sent him from across the room during briefings. Once, he’d even overheard Skull call him loverboy in a conversation with Oxy at the mess hall. Though they pretended not to see Cody standing several troopers behind them, the Commander could barely handle the minor jab without the tops of his cheeks turning into an embarrassingly bright shade of red. 

Cody shook the thoughts out of his head as he pressed his fingers over Obi-Wan’s trembling ones that still remained over the top of the wound. “You think you can let go?” He asked the General. Obi-Wan glanced down and nodded once in affirmation, though he didn’t look so convinced of his own agreement. 

Cody was patient, his own fingers hovering inches away, as Obi-Wan gently pulled each of his shaking, bloody fingers away from the wound.

Immediately, Cody was hit with the stench of infection. The red, swollen edges of the wound all but confirmed that it had been there for days without even so much as a splash of water to flush it out. Cody swallowed, his protective nature kicking into high gear. 

“Obi-Wan, did you clean this out?” He asked as calmly as possible, voice barely wavering.

He looked up to find Obi-Wan staring straight forward, head shaking from side-to-side. He looked as though he himself didn’t want to see the damage. “I couldn’t find the time. Ventress is a capable competitor.” 

Cody tried not to imagine what Obi-Wan’s words implied, but his mind ran out of control against his will.

Was he trapped somewhere? Hiding for hours with no food or water? Barely able to stand but still fighting tooth and nail?

The thought of it made Cody sick to his stomach.

“We might need Skull afterall, Obi-Wan. This is– it’s bad.” 

“...bad?” Obi-Wan asked, eyebrows raised. He hissed as Cody pressed a gentle finger against the very edge of the red line surrounding the burn. 

“It’s infected, not a chance these bacta patches will be able heal this.” Cody glared at the fine print on the outside of the wrapper of one of the patches. They were only meant to treat minor wounds, ones sustained hours before nonetheless. 

Obi-Wan had severely underestimated the nature of the wound– the supplies he brought would barely make a dent on a papercut, much less an infected burn wound. 

“You don’t think we should at least try them? I would hate to waste his time, Cody. I’m sure Skull has more pressing–” Obi-Wan tried to resist, his dirt and blood covered hand coming back to try and cover the wound once again. Cody grabbed it before he could make contact with his exposed skin.

“No!” Obi-Wan looked momentarily alarmed, but quickly shut his mouth and put his arm back behind him where it had been before. “Listen– I have baseline medical training, but this– this is not good. This is why we have Skull anyway.”

Obi-Wan brought his other hand to rub over his beard and let out a shaky breath. He sat up a little straighter. “We’ll go to the medbay then.” He announced. Cody shot him a look of warning.

“Seriously? Not in a million rotations would I let you get up right now.” Cody stood from the bed and reached for his comlink where it sat on the table next to his bed. 

Growling under his breath, he messaged Skull with the bad news.

Lightsaber wound. Infected. Surface wound.

He paused before adding the last part and cursed under his breath.

My quarters. 

Skull was going to have a field day with that. 

Cody stepped back into Obi-Wan’s view and assessed the rest of his appearance searching for other undisclosed wounds or scrapes. Other than the slash across his side, he looked relatively unharmed. Sire, a few bruises lined the curve of his jaw and his cheeks, but that was barely anything new. Obi-Wan had a habit of putting himself in harms way regardless of whether it was really necessary or not. 

“Let’s at least get the tunic off of you.” Cody said gently and curled a hand under Obi-Wan’s jaw to try and force a moment of eye-contact. Obi-Wan looked at him with something like irritation on his face, then something softer. 

“Would you do the honors, dear?” He asked in just a whisper, eyes wide.

Cody, unable to help himself, pressed a gentle kiss to the edge of his hairline and offered up a muted smile. “Of course.”

He took the knife from his utility belt and cut through the beige layers of clothes so he could easily peel them away from Obi-Wan’s skin, gentle around the lightsaber gash. While he wasn’t nearly as soiled underneath the clothes, his ribs were clearly bruised and his neck appeared to have red marks crawling around the outside of it. 

Cody looked away, not wanting to imagine Ventress dangling Obi-Wan by his neck in the air.

“It’s rather cold here, is it not?” Obi-Wan’s voice broke him from his thoughts. 

Cody considered it for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t think so.” Concern grew in his chest. He reached to feel Obi-Wan’s forehead and was alarmed to find that the skin was scalding to the touch.

Kriff. Infection. 

Cody was medically trained enough to know that fevers with infections were never a good sign. For the first time, Cody silently wished Skull would get there faster. 

“You have a fever.” Cody said, breaking the momentary silence and brushing the rogue hairs off of Obi-Wan’s suddenly sweaty forehead. While his cheeks had looked gaunt moments before, now his face was stained red with warmth. He trembled even more, gooseflesh coating the skin of his chest. 

Cody opened his mouth to offer his reassurance, and maybe a blanket, when there was a knock at the door. 

Thank force. 

He stood and strode to the door in a few short steps before pressing the button to open the door. 

Skull stood there, arms full with both Obi-Wan’s personal medical kit and another large black bag presumably filled with additional medical supplies. He didn’t look quite as panicked as Cody thought he should, but then again, medical trauma was his everyday.

“Looks like shirts are optional in here. Noted.” Skull said, eyebrows raised as he walked into the small quarters. He looked between Obi-Wan and Cody.

Cody glanced down at his own chest and muttered a curse. Of course he was shirtless. Again. So much for napping shirtless anymore.

Cody didn’t have a chance to muster up his own snarky remark before Skull brushed by him and toward Obi-Wan’s shaking form still sitting on the bed. Cody followed him, annoyance fading immediately as he noticed the water collecting in the corners of Obi-Wan’s eyes. 

He looked overwhelmed all of the sudden, eyes flickering past Skull and landing on Cody’s own.

Cody wished he could scoop him up, hold him tightly in his arms for just a few precious minutes. 

“Sir, how long ago did this happen?” Skull asked mechanically, freshly sanitized hands pressing around the outside of the wound making Obi-Wan jump and suck in a deep breath. 

“Erm–” Obi-Wan swallowed, “Perhaps two days? Three?” Cody could tell the feverish haze was setting in; Obi-Wan was not one to confuse his timelines. 

Skull looked concerned at the time frame, eyeing the wound more closely. He didn’t look satisfied when he sat back on his heels from where he knelt on the durasteel floor. He motioned to Cody to step aside, away from Obi-Wan.

“When did the fever start?” Skull asked expectantly. “I’m assuming he’s been here for more than a few minutes?

Cody sighed. “Since he came here, I don’t know– twenty minutes ago? And he’s sick of the medbay– I don’t think he realized how bad it is.”

Skull rubbed an irritated hand across his face. “You know, Cody, if he’ll listen to you, maybe you can convince him to come to me next time.” Cody tried not to look sheepish, even pulling his lips into a hard line.

“I can’t make Ob– the General listen to me.” Cody corrected himself quickly. 

“Banthashit. That’s the only reason I’m actually here and he hasn’t already dragged his lifeless body to the medbay instead. Just own it Commander; the General is wrapped around your finger.” If punching a medic in the face wasn’t likely a decommissionable offense, Cody would have already done it. 

“Skull I swear to– I do not. It’s not like that–” 

“I’ve seen what I’ve seen, Cody. Your insistence is meaningless.” Skull said, the shook his head once. “Back on topic– bacta bandages probably won’t fully heal that monstrosity, but I think they can hold him over until we can convince him of submersion tomorrow. That– and shitload of antibiotics.”

The insurmountable anger Skull had incited in him just a couple of minutes before dissipated.

Submersion.

Cody knew Obi-Wan hated it. Cody had only endured it himself once before, and he had been equally as disenchanted with it, and that was without the added roadblock of claustrophobia.

“Are you sure? Full submersion?” Cody asked, looking nervously toward Obi-Wan who had since closed his eyes.

“It’s an infected lightsaber wound, not a kriffing scrape Cody.” Skull reminded him, and stepped back towards the bunk.

Cody watched silently, sitting beside Obi-Wan’s head in a metal chair, as Skull coaxed Obi-Wan to lie down on his side so the wound was fully exposed. The medic made quick work with a set of heavy, white bandages which were clearly more fit for the job than the tiny bacta patches Obi-Wan had brought from the medbay. 

Skull took a mixed painkiller-antibiotic hypo and gently pressed it into Obi-Wan’s neck before he began to slather on a generous layer of full-strength bacta gel, the kind that was only used when things were serious. Though the painkillers clearly took the edge off, Cody still cringed at the occasional tiny moans that escaped past Obi-Wan’s stony, rigid exterior. 

“Kriff.” Cody heard Obi-Wan hiss as Skull took a long strip of high-grade gauze and pressed down across the length of the wound. 

“Sorry, General. I know it stings; hold tight.”

Obi-Wan audibly cursed again when Skull pressed a long strip of adhesive bandage over the gauze. “That should do it for now.” Skull said, leaning back again helping Obi-Wan to roll onto his back, a more comfortable position. 

Cody noted the minor relief painted across Obi-Wan’s features. Whatever cocktail of drugs Skull had given him clearly worked, and his forehead no longer was coated in a layer of sweat. Without the large, gaping burn wound out in the open, Obi-Wan looked less like a walking corpse, and more like a human punching bag. Regardless, it was an improvement. 

“I’ve got two more doses of painkillers from your kit.” Skull said as he rummaged through the case he had brought with him. “Have Cody give you one every four hours, and I’ll send a med transport to come get you tomorrow morning.”

Obi-Wan blinked twice and furrowed his brow. “Oh that certainly won’t be necessary. Could you leave a few bandages behind? I’m sure I can change them myself.”

Skull raised his eyebrows again and turned to Cody with a smug, knowing smile. “Cody?” He asked, amusement lacing his tone. 

Kriffing Skull.

Cody drew both of his hands over his face and suppressed a groan. 

“General– Skull is right. You aren’t fit to walk, and I don’t think bacta gel is going to cut it.” Obi-Wan shook his head and sighed.

“If you insist, Cody.” He answered politely. 

And no, Cody hadn’t insisted. 

Skull’s shit-eating grin was almost too much for Cody to handle. 

“Well Skull, looks like your job here is done.” Cody said loudly and grabbed his closed medical bags from the floor as he headed towards the door. After exchanging his last words with Obi-Wan, Skull followed him and took the bags from his hands.

“So star-crossed lovers it looks like? A match made in heaven? The only type of relationship where The Obi-Wan Kenobi will listen to you over a medical professional. I told you, wrapped around your finger.” Skull said as Cody nearly punched the button to open the door of his quarters. 

“Oh fuck off.” Cody said, rolling his eyes, but his cheeks were still burning. “Whatever is going on here is between me and the General.” He finished as Skull stepped into the hallway.

“Oh I’m sure there are plenty of things going on between you and the General.” Skull said with a wink. “See you tomorrow, Cody.”

Fucking kriff. 

Cody was never going to live it down, was he?

He let out his exasperation in the form of punching the door just as it closed, which though painful, was enough to make him feel marginally better. 

Collecting his thoughts, Cody headed back to the bunk where Obi-Wan still laid on his back, eyes half-shut, and bloody hand resting over his chest. Cody leaned over him and he perked up a little offering a hint of a grin as his eyes blinked open.

“You know, maybe we should just accept that Skull knows; make it official.” Obi-Wan murmured.

“What? And admit defeat? Ruin my reputation?” Cody was mildly offended at the suggestion, but he still ran a gentle hand through the greasy, unwashed hair on top of Obi-Wan’s head.

“He already knows, dear.” Obi-Wan said with a mild chuckle that shook his chest, then a small hiss of pain. 

“That doesn’t mean I need to admit it to him.” Cody retorted, and stood to find some sort of cloth to clean Obi-Wan’s bloody, dirt-covered fingers. Obi-Wan just snorted.

“Always so stubborn, Commander.” He whispered as Cody gently wiped his hands and then gently rubbed in some lotion he kept in the drawer of the table by his bed. "Thank you for calling Skull- I'm not entirely sure what I was thinking."

"Always so stubborn, Obi-Wan." He repeated, smiling gently, "I'm just happy you're here now, with me."

They sat in silence, Cody still massaging the callouses on Obi-Wan’s hand and admiring the gentle curve of his jaw. He pressed a kiss to the middle of Obi-Wan’s chest.

Perhaps it didn’t really matter what Skull thought after all.

[mxanigel]

fic update: Cut to the Feeling

an Attack on Titan (Shingeki no Kyojin) fanfic

[Read on AO3]

An in-progress longfic that asks the question, What if they lived?

Chapter 25: Kiss My Scars

With assistance from Orvud's Garrison, Survey Corps forces defeat the massive Titan that was once Rod Reiss. Yet a rift remains between Shion and Levi. With Hange still hospitalized, Shion expects to face the night alone. To her surprise, she doesn't.

Rating: M

Relationships: Levi Ackerman/OC, Levi Ackerman & Hange Zoë, Hange Zoë & OC, eventual Levi/Hange/OC

Additional Tags: They/Them Pronouns for Hange Zoë, Hange Zoë Being Hange Zoë, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Friendship, Banter, Swearing, Lots of Cursing, Angst, Love and Loss, Asexuality Spectrum, Levi Ackerman Is Obsessed With Cleaning, Falling In Love, Literal Sleeping Together, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Canon Divergence, Nightmares, Torture, Blood and Injury, Demisexual Levi Ackerman, Bisexual Hange Zoë, I'm writing this because it's taken over my brain, I have spent so many hours on the wiki lol, Eventual Romance

----- preview snippet below -----

Shion throws herself into her duties for the next few hours—such as dismantling the unused set of explosives and interviewing soldiers for her report to Hange—stopping only when ordered to eat dinner. After the meal, she visits Hange’s hospital room to find them sound asleep. She leaves a scribbled summary of today’s battle with a personal note at their bedside before navigating a maze of halls and stairs to reach her assigned quarters.

Fuck, this room is excessive. Granted, this is one of the fanciest buildings in Orvud, but it’s surreal to experience that opulence, to think about how much money was wasted here instead of rebuilding Stohess or supporting refugees fleeing Titan activity.

Over a dozen candles burn in wall sconces, most of which she blows out to conserve them. A four-poster bed more than double the size of a captain’s bunk sits against one wall, far too many pillows piled on top of it. The oak dresser is as wide as she is tall; Zane would probably admire its construction. Situated on its polished surface is a washbasin, the softest linen cloths she’s ever touched, and an ornately gilded mirror.

Oh, she’s a terrible sight. She diligently brushes knots from her hair before braiding it again so it’s out of the way while she reviews her notes and begins drawing the grotesque not-face of the Titan per Hange’s request. When she can’t stare at her third sketch attempt any longer, she wearily flops backward onto the bed, exhaling as she drapes both arms over her face. She’s running out of distractions. Perhaps the best course of action would be to try to sleep, nightmares be damned—

Knuckles rap against her door. Who’d swing by at this hour? Hange wouldn’t knock. Historia’s a possibility, though her movements are likely restricted now, or it might be Sasha. “It’s open.”

Shion barely swallows a gasp when Levi steps inside. He slumps against the closing door, his head bowed, looking as exhausted as she feels. But he doesn’t speak. When she can’t stand the dead air any longer, she murmurs, “Hi.”

He merely grunts.

Distance yawns between them as silence returns. She doesn’t know why he’s here. She isn’t sure whether she wants him to be here. But it’s the first time he’s sought her out since their disastrous reunion after the Stohess ambush. This heavy atmosphere is better than being alone. Right?

-----

tag list (thank you~ like/unlike this post to be added/removed)

@poetikat @arendaes @captastra @outpost51

[freesia-writes]

Howzer + Aurelia Ch. 17

Beginning with his shiny days, this story follows Howzer's character arc through some heartwarming romance, action, adventure, yearning, angst, and growth.

Content/Trigger Warnings for Entire Work (individual chapters not labeled): wartime peril, injury, and death; sexual assault up to kissing; relationship passion up to making out and heavy petting; sexual relationship alluded to (smut is posted separately); pregnancy, birthing trauma, and stillbirth (chapters 30-39, can be skipped and still keep up with the story).

Master List of Chapters

Word Count: 1.2k

17. Tentative Curiosity

Howzer stretched on his bunk, rolling his head side to side, slowly working out the kinks of another night spent on a flimsy sleeping pad. He was replaying the conversation from the day before, relishing the complete and total shock on her face as the door closed behind him. He had felt bad about that whole situation for a long time, and it had eventually subsided, blending into the rest of his memories, swirling records of ambition and misdirection, triumph and failure. He certainly had never expected to see her here, however, and felt mildly resentful of the sense of regret that it stirred within him.

He sat up, swinging his knees over the side of his bed and getting up in one fluid motion. With a sharp exhale, he began getting ready for the day, resolving to leave this all behind him. It was in the past, and honestly felt like a completely different life. There was no point in dwelling on it.

Picking up his helmet as his final step, he looked at the teal accents he had added on either side of it. His mouth set in a firm line, he paid silent respects to Sprint, then pulled the helmet on and made his way to the exit of the barracks. Syndulla was off-world, so his duties were straightforward -- keep an eye on the Imperial activity in the capitol and summarize pertinent details to share upon Cham's return.

He took off for the main square at a brisk pace but hadn't gone more than a few steps when a hand touched his elbow. With a quick turn of the head, he saw Aurelia standing next to him, a smile on her face that looked like a painstaking attempt at casual politeness.

"Hi... trooper. Er, Captain," she said, pulling her hand back from his arm to give a self-conscious wave.

"Howzer," he said, stopping to face her, "What, you're going to pretend like you forgot my name now?" It was delivered lightly but his jab felt empty -- not at all like the boisterous playfulness she remembered.

"Why didn't you tell me it was you from the start?" Aurelia asked bluntly, "You knew the whole time?"

"I don't know; what would have been the point? I didn't want to impede your investigation," he said, with just enough emphasis on the last word to give it a slight tinge of condescension. She squinted, trying to figure him out, and he continued, "Plus, I didn't think you'd be dancing in the streets to know it was me."

"I mean..." she started, searching for a legitimate answer and coming up with none. "Yeah..." she finished lamely. "I guess we didn't part on the best terms."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Howzer said, suddenly removing his helmet and lifting his chin to meet her eyes with a serious expression. "That was... pathetic. And immature. I know you didn't want to hear my apology back then, but you still are entitled to hear it now. I don't expect anything, just wanted to clear the air... You deserved more than that."

She was taken back by his sincerity, dropping her eyes to the ground in response to his directness. His scars accentuated the solemnity of his face, and he stood with a self-assured maturity that was palpable. She had played the scenario out in her head many times, if she ever were to see him again, and this is definitely not how she had envisioned any of them. "It's okay," she said dismissively, "You were young..."

"Youth isn't an excuse for idiocy," he remarked, tilting his head.

"Well, it's not an excuse, but the two sure do seem to go hand in hand more often than not," Aurelia quipped dryly, trying not to focus on how the sunlight caught his eyes.

He chuckled, a short little exhale that was disproportionately rewarding, before shifting his weight to one foot. "Did you need something?" he asked.

"Oh, uhh," she said, looking down the street. "No, actually. I just wanted to see you, once I realized it was you... But I don't know why. I mean, not that there's no reason, but... Well no, there's no reason, but... oh kriff." Where was the wisecracking bartender that had been able to catch and return any jab anyone had ever thrown at her?

"Okay..." Howzer said, a little more softly. "Well, I'm walking to the square if you're headed that way."

Swimming with relief at his clever navigation out of an awkward situation, Aurelia fell into step beside him as he put his helmet back on and began down the street. Buildings rose on either side, bustling with vendor carts in front of them and various flags and clothing items flapping from balconies above. Species of all kinds roved here and there, but primarily the crowd was made up of the native Twi'leks and the occupying humans.

"What have you been doing here?" Aurelia asked, attempting a normal sort of interchange for once.

"I'm Cham Syndulla's Captain," Howzer answered, "So I do whatever he needs when it comes to managing all the Imperial activity. Before that, it was the Republic activity. Before that, it was Separatist activity. New day, new overlords, you know?"

"I see. I mean, the Empire is different, at least -- now we can finally have some sort of peace and stability for a while."

"Peace?" came the slightly loud response, and Howzer stopped in his tracks, facing her again. "Does this peace feel different from the 'peace' we had with the Republic? What were you just investigating? A weapons shipment... Why all the weapons? They were just supposed to put in the refinery, to 'bring economic prosperity'. Instead, it's a constant stream of troops and weapons. Doesn't look like peace to me."

"Ryloth is an Imperial protectorate," Aurelia answered, taken aback by his sudden vehemence. "They're bringing all of that in to keep you safe!"

He looked at her for a moment, gaze hard, a litany of responses swirling in his head. But he didn't even know what he believed about it anymore, and instead took a deep breath, grounding himself in the things he did know: "Well. My job is to keep the people of Ryloth safe."

"And that seems to be going well," she said, a genuine attempt to smooth things over. She was both confused and surprised by his suspicion; she would have assumed that he of all people would have been grateful for the Empire's attention to his planet and their desire to bring order where there had been chaos.

"Mm," he responded shortly, any further thoughts cut off by the arrival of a squat little man.

"Aurelia!" said Moss Gowden, smiling at her politely. "What are you doing out here?"

"Finishing my investigation," she said quickly... Almost too quicky. Howzer turned to look at her.

"What a good girl," Gowden crooned in a tone that made her stomach turn, "Wonderful. Why don't you bring your findings to my office and we can dive right in. Have you eaten?"

"No," she began, "But--"

"Perfect!" he interrupted, "Come on then." He placed a hand on her lower back, almost too low, and with an odd sense of ownership, Howzer noted. "If we finish early, I might have some other things we could do." He gave Howzer a quick nod and turned to steer Aurelia toward the street with him before she could get another word out.

.

Next Chapter

[rexxdjarin]

Just some Rex angst as he comes home from battle

Captain Rex x OC: Mari Vontas

Warnings: SFW, Angst, Brief mentions of battle, loss and PTSD

—

After a particularly hard mission, Rex comes home to Coruscant. Bloodied, bruised, dirty and dead tired. His muscles screaming, his lips dry and cracked, his head pounding and his chest aches as his heart breaks a little more inside it.

He trudges down the street, past his barracks, past the weapons depot and the shipyard, past the senate building and toward the senator’s district. The streets are cleaner here and more crowds line the walk ways. Street food carts and market stands waft smells of delicious food he’s never tried and can’t afford past him.

His stomach growls, hunger pain pricking at his perpetually empty insides uncomfortably. He can’t remember the last meal he ate. He wouldn’t have had the time. Searching the battlefield for survivors was how he preferred to spend his post battle time. He could recharge and refuel later. His men needed him.

There were too many gone this time. They were too late to provide any hope for them. As he rounded up his battalion onto their transports, he counted each life missing from their squads. He mentally kept record of each of their names, so they could remember them properly when they got home. So they knew which barracks bunks to clean and which belongings to divide up amongst the beings who loved them.

He counted each one in silence, as his remaining men recovered. Bacta gel was passed around the transport ships and ration sticks were donated from one brother to the next in order of need. Still, he didn’t eat.

He got uneasy and dissatisfying rest on the ship ride home. Each time interrupted by a memory, a battle scar replaying in his mind as it dug itself deeper into his soul. All he had done wrong, what he could have done differently, who he could have saved. It was all there.

When he checked in with the General and was sent home off-duty for the next rotation, his footsteps carried him here. Five districts over and three hundred floors up. He rested his head on her doorframe and punched his code into the keypad. At this late hour, she should be home.

The doors slide open and he practically stumbles inside. He removes his boots as she likes and pulls his bucket off to breathe in the smell of home. He avoids his reflection in her entranceway mirror, he knows how he’ll look. He needs to see nothing else but her.

Quietly, his bare footsteps pad across the marble floor. His toes stretch beyond the confines of his plastoid boots and onto plush carpet as he enters her room. The scents of glow lily and linen wash over him instantly. The ringing in his ears finally subsides as he focuses on the soft breaths emanating from the bed. He sees the gentle movement of her sheets, beckoning him closer with the promise of comfort he hadn’t known for months.

He exhales slowly, a low groan of exhaustion slipping past inadvertently. The bed linens rustle and a voice as soft as bird song and as soothing as rainfall calls out to him.

“Rex?”

He sets his bucket to the floor where he stands, unclipping the rest of his armor to follow suit. Dead-tired and now cold as he stood in his body glove, he approached the comfort of her bedside. He hummed once to respond to her call and peeled back the corner of her blanket to reveal her.

Freshly roused from her slumber, her sleep-heavy lids blinked her awake. Dark eyes sparkled up at him with a mixture of delight and relief. She cooed, sitting up to reach out for him. Dimples dotted both her cheeks as she smiled at him, scooting aside to make room.

He crawled in beside her, absorbing her warmth and collected her into his side with one stroke of his arm. She nuzzled into the span of his chest, her much smaller, more delicate hands clinging to the fabric that covered him. She pressed the softest, featherlight kisses at the top of his collar and cried out little whimpers of relief of her own.

“Missed you.” She mumbled, kissing up his neck and along the length of his jaw. He closed his eyes and tightened his hold on the small of her back. He missed her too. More than anything. Her eyelashes fanned over his cheeks as she left her trail of kisses. Her tenderness, her care, how she touched him so softly when the rest of the galaxy did not. He relinquished himself to her. She would care for him, when he couldn’t do it for himself.

Her hand cupped his cheek and she rested her forehead on his. Her thumb sweeping dust and debris off his cheekbone. He blinked away his exhaustion to gaze up at her gratefully, trying his hardest to find the words to tell her how much he had suffered. Her eyes connected with his, searching through them to find the pain that had silenced him. Her brows furrowed with worry, but her hands held him steady with their fervent caresses.

Their noses brushed, their hands wandered and their lips connected. They kissed slowly, almost endlessly, with all the urgency and affection they had been feeling since their absence from each other. Each time they broke for air, he suffocated without her. Longer and slower their tongues entwined. Just long enough for his pain to begin to subside.

She whispered, her lips just inches from his, “are you alright?” Her big doe eyes impossible to deceive.

“No.” he admitted, grabbing on to her tighter to comfort himself.

She nodded in understanding, just like she always did and pulled her blankets up further to cover him. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked so softly he could barely hear her.

He glanced down at her and felt his chest crack, like all his pent up feelings were ready to erupt from him. Her hands cupped his cheek again and her legs tangled with his, grounding herself to him no matter what was coming for them both.

He sighed, the memories flooding back to him, but her presence keeping him steady, “Ok.”

[theinkvendingmachine]

ink demonth day 17th : sailor

tw : mentions of uss indianapolis, ww2 and mention of the shark attacks on the uss indiapolis survivors.

march 8th 1942 the us had entered ww2 a few months ago after the bombing of pearl harbor henry was skimming through the mail he grabbed a letter and opened it,

it was a letter from the us navy.

Henry read carefully for a moment before he realized what the letter was. He had been drafted into the Navy. His stomach dropped to the floor as he read the words. Join the US Navy today!

"I'm being sent to war..." he whispered to himself as he sat down at their kitchen table, letter still in his hands, staring at it blankly. Linda walked in to see him. "What's wrong Henry?" She asked.

henry spoke quietly, his voice betraying his

feelings. "The Navy's drafted me." He muttered, looking back down at the letter.

Henry put the letter down with a shaky breath. "They want me to report at the base tomorrow morning.." he said.

-the next morning, henry put on his navy sailor uniform that was sent to him through the mail, he

Henry packed a small bag and, after giving a final hug and kiss to Linda.

he spoke lovingly.

" i'lll be back as soon as i could....i love you very much...."

linda looked up holding back tears.

" i love you too sweetie... i'll be here waiting for you " linda said.

henry soon got on

headed to the base, leaving her at home.

He had to do his duty, even if that did mean fighting in a deadly war .

Henry reported to the base and soon began his training. He learned how to use and maintain equipment, how to respond quickly to orders and various other things that came with the job. He began to bond with the other navy men around him as he went through the training.

soon Henry was assigned to the USS Indianapolis, a heavy cruiser with a great reputation for her service. He was sent to this ship with many of the men who went through training with him.

linda would work in a factory during ww2 to not only help with the war effort but help pay the bills, henry would write to linda as much as he could

Henry would sit and write in his bunk, on his bed with other sleeping men around him. He would write letters to Linda almost every night, telling her of what had happened each day and how much he missed her and hoped to return to her soon.

he would list the many battles and missions the Indianapolis had been in, detailing all the events that went on. He explained how he and his comrades had formed a strong bond and looked after one another, and just how difficult the battles could be.

soon on july 16th 1945, the USS Indianapolis and Henry we’re on a vital mission. They were transporting an important element for the construction of an atomic bomb, which would be used later in the war

The whole ship’s crew was on high alert, the job was extremely important and there could be no mistakes. it was carrying cargo and This cargo was a classified secret, as the atomic bomb had not been announced and used at that point. The Indianapolis would travel to Leyte Gulf and begin preparing to deliver the cargo, unknown to the crew of the Indianapolis as to what exactly the cargo was.

-Once arriving at Leyte Gulf, the crew spent most of the time working on and off the ship to make any last minute preparations to deliver the important cargo, with many not understanding the true importance of this specific cargo.

-By the time August was already a few days underway,

but then... Linda had not received a letter since july 27 . This worried her, but she could only hope that he was fine and that he had been unable to find any time to write.

By the time the 15th of August rolled around, she had not received any letters from Henry, and would read the news paper and learn of the Indianapolis's sinking, her eyes widening in horror.

she soon got a letter,

Linda's heart skipped a beat as she read the letter. Henry had survived, but was badly injured, with several issues that he was being treated for. She was thankful for the fact that he was alive, but at the same time worried about the severity of his injuries.

henry was hospitilized at the

Naval Base Hospital No. 20 in Peleliu,

henry had suffered deyhydration, salt water poisoning, starvation and inffected wounds, and shark bites, The letters described the struggles that Henry faced, including the many times that he'd nearly been killed by the sharks that attacked him. He had tried to fight back, punching and kicking at the sharks' gills to try and get them to release him, but he had suffered many injuries in the process, though he still managed to survive.

-Henry spent 11 days in the hospital, being fed and given fluids to help with his dehydration. His wounds from the sharks' bites and the sharp metal pieces that had injured him were cleaned and bandaged, and he was given medical care to help him recover properly.

once he was declared well enough, Henry was discharged from the hospital and the Navy. He was awarded the Purple Heart for his bravery and for his efforts in saving the other sailors from the sharks' attacks.

With his time in the Navy now over, Henry finally returned home to Linda.

but Henry found himself suffering from the effects of the ship being torpedoed, the ship sinking and the five days spent floating in the shark-infested water. the shark attacks He was plagued with PTSD, trauma, and many other issues from the incident.

Henry's experiences had left him with numerous phobias, including a fear of sharks galeophobia, a fear of deep bodies of water thalassophobia and a fear of explosions ekrixiphobia, He also developed a fear of loud noises phonophobia as well, The memories and the sounds of the other sailors screaming, thrashing in the water and being pulled under by the sharks were seared into Henry's mind. The image of the torn and bloodstained life jacket bubbling to the surface remained a vivid reminder of the horrors he had endured. -Due to his phobia of sharks, Henry found it very difficult to visit aquariums, especially those with large shark exhibits. The sight of a shark would trigger strong negative reactions and memories of the traumatic experience he had endured.

Linda would comfort Henry whenever he struggled with the memories and phobias that his experience had left him with. She would do what she could to calm him down and make him feel relaxed and at ease, helping him cope with the traumatic memories that still plagued him.

In January of 1949, Linda discovered that she was pregnant with their first child. The news brought joy and excitement to the couple, who had been looking forward to starting a family together, soon in october of that year their only daughter, jacqueline was born, which brought joy and happiness to both of them especially henry, Henry saw his wife and newborn daughter as a source of comfort and healing from the trauma he had endured. The sight of his family and the love they shared helped to soothe his memories and fears, reminding him of the good things in life and giving him a reason to keep moving forward.