#my heartburn is slowly going away

[heartz4shauna]

okay it’s after 3.07am i am okay i didn’t commit guys r u happy!!

[asdfghjklmals]

CRAVINGS✩༶‧˚

GENRE + T/W: sfw, fluff. mentions of sex and suggestiveness at the end. WORD COUNT: 2.9k words. TAGS: satoru gojo x fem!oc, dadtobe!gojo, pregnant!oc, established couple.

SYNOPSIS: oc gojo girlfriend’s pregnancy cravings keep her up at night and she ends up waking up satoru because of it. AUTHOR'S NOTE: this all started because i was craving fried chicken. i love writing for pregnant oc gojo girlfriend. she is just so funny. 🤭 consider this my late happy birthday fic for satoru. REMINDER: if you want to imagine yourself in oc gojo girlfriend's character descriptions instead, please do!

toss. turn. toss. turn.

you felt satoru’s arm twitch as you kept tossing and turning in his embrace. the half-asleep sorcerer opened his eyes as they adjusted to the dark to look at you.

“you okay?” he asked as he murmured into the crevice of your neck.

he brought your body closer to his chest, stroking your cheek gently. you sighed, embarrassed to tell him what was running through your mind. your emotions have been all over the place during your pregnancy, so you were feeling vulnerable. pregnancy hormones were no joke.

you pouted your lips at him, “if i tell you, will you promise not to laugh at me?”

“why would i laugh at you?” satoru scoffed in disbelief. he reassured your feelings like he always did, “i know it’s been getting harder for you to sleep since baby gojo is growing so big and strong in your belly… so, tell me what’s wrong sweetheart.”

you pursed your lips and hesitated before leaning towards satoru’s ear to whisper to him. this was normal… right?

“satoru, baby gojo is violently craving a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

and you had to have it now.

satoru laid back down on his back and dropped his head on his pillow, he turned his head to stare back at you. he then glanced at his phone on the glass nightstand beside him, checking the time. all he knew was that it was an ungodly hour of the night.

3:42 am.

“right now?” he asked, “like… baby gojo doesn’t want it for breakfast instead?”

you frowned at your baby daddy and gave him your best puppy dog eyes that you knew he couldn’t say no to.

“yes, right now. for like… a midnight snack.” you replied with a twinge of guilt, “—but it’s okay, babe. i can make it myself. i know you have work in the morning.”

you turned away from satoru so you could roll over on your side of the bed to attempt to sit up. you could feel baby gojo kicking your side, happy that you were moving around at this time of night. your baby had always been extremely active while you were supposed to be sleeping.

“no, babe—” satoru interrupted you as he grabbed your arm, “i’ll get you—i mean—baby gojo a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. you stay here.”

you smiled sweetly at him and caressed his cheek, giving him an appreciative kiss.

satoru gojo would do anything for you, even if that meant he had to get out of bed at 3:42am to make his pregnant girlfriend a peanut butter and jelly sandwich when he had to wake up for work at six in the morning.

satoru took a deep breath and swung his long legs out of the warm and comfortable duvet. he rubbed his face with the palm of his hands before hopping out of the bed and into the kitchen.

even though you really wanted that peanut butter and jelly sandwich, you did feel bad that you woke satoru up on a work night. ever since shoko told him that all your cravings needed to be satisfied since that’s what his baby wanted to eat, he was always at your beck and call.

this wasn’t the first time the white haired sorcerer had to fulfill a ridiculous craving of yours. you’ve asked for extra crispy fried chicken in the middle of the night, finished large tubs of lactose-free ice cream, and would make the world’s spiciest noodles even though your heartburn was amplified tenfold during this pregnancy. you told satoru that you were going to eat whatever you wanted if you were gonna be having his baby.

you got up slowly from the bed, feeling your baby shift in your belly. small kicks attacked your left side as you laughed at your active baby. you opened the door of your bedroom to peek into the kitchen.

satoru was standing in front of the fancy digital toaster that megumi had bought him (with your credit card) for father’s day this year. satoru loved high tech gadgets, and knowing him, he always had to have the best in everything… even toasters.

you watched as your sleepy and shirtless boyfriend popped two pieces of whole grain bread into the toaster, grabbing the smooth peanut butter from the pantry and the sweet strawberry jelly from the fridge. your household had two types of peanut butter on hand at all times, one smooth and one chunky. satoru and megumi liked the chunky while you and tsumiki preferred the smooth.

you wrapped yourself in your robe and stepped out into the kitchen. you walked over to satoru, who’s cheek was resting in the palm of his hand, his elbow supporting him on the kitchen counter. he was waiting for your bread to finish toasting.

you snaked your arms around his bare chest, your belly preventing you from hugging him as tightly as you actually wanted to. you rested your cheek on his back.

“what are you doing out here, sweetheart?” satoru asked softly as he peeked behind his shoulder, “i was going to bring the sandwich to you.”

“i don’t want crumbs in our bed.” you replied innocently, “—and i just wanted to watch you.”

satoru turned to you and grinned, “a little creepy, but i like that.”

you glared at him playfully as he snuck a kiss on your cheek. you clung to his side as you watched him spread the peanut butter and jelly onto the perfectly toasted bread. he cut the sandwich into triangles, just how you liked it.

you sat across the kitchen island in the barstool, admiring your boyfriend’s shirtless figure. you laughed knowing that satoru would definitely be considered a ‘dilf’ once your baby was born.

he slid the plate to you and watched as your eyes lit up. he could practically see the stars dancing in your eyes. you were drooling over the sandwich that you were craving so violently just a moment ago.

you took a bite as the peanut butter, jelly, and toasted bread married flavors into your mouth. you swore you haven’t had such a delicious peanut butter and jelly sandwich before this moment.

“is it that good?” satoru chuckled. he was honestly curious. you could be a peanut butter and jelly sandwich spokesperson with the way you were eating that sandwich.

you licked your lips and your strawberry jellied fingers, replying with a mouth full of sandwich, “yes, thank you. baby gojo is so happy, babe. they’re doing somersaults in my stomach right now.”

satoru laughed at your ridiculous reply before swiping crumbs off your bottom lip with his thumb. he turned around to grab an empty glass cup from the kitchen cabinet and filled it with water. he slid the glass over to you.

“thank you.” you said with a smile before downing the glass of water.

satoru had always been an attentive boyfriend, but ever since he found out you were pregnant, he did all he could to be there for you in any way, shape, or form. he was present and involved, you couldn’t ask for a better partner. you couldn’t wait to see him be a father to your baby.

satoru patiently watched as you finished your last bite of your sandwich. you pushed yourself off of the barstool and took your plate to the sink, washing away the crumbs from your hands and plate.

he leaned against the kitchen counter, satisfied with himself, arms folded, “anything else before we head back to bed, sweetheart?”

with no hesitation, you blurted out, “baby gojo wants a hot chocolate.”

satoru blinked twice. at this moment, his baby was craving the most random things. he couldn’t even believe it. this was worse than when he went to buy you fried chicken in the middle of the night. you made sure you put the emphasis on ‘extra crispy’ and if it wasn't extra crispy, he couldn't come home.

“really, babe?” he asked, “you really want a hot chocolate? when was the last time you drank hot chocolate?”

you gave him the puppy dog eyes again, “it’s not me. it’s the baby—can you use the lactose-free milk?”

he stood in front of you and bent down to eye-level with your belly and pointed at your belly button.

“you—baby gojo—are asking for a lot in the middle of the night.” he said to your belly, “it’s a good thing i’m insanely in love with your mommy.”

you felt two kicks from baby gojo. you smiled at the sight of satoru talking to your stomach. he loved to speak to baby gojo as if they were already born. you were certain that your baby recognized yours and satoru’s voices because baby gojo would kick, twist, turn and throw punches when they heard satoru’s voice after he would come home from work or when he would stop by your office to escape his students. your baby loved his voice just as much as you did.

you sat back down in the barstool and watched satoru grab a mug from your mug collection. he recently added a pregnancy mug that he was very proud of.

“this is probably the most accurate mug you’ve bought yet.” you giggled. in a bright sparkly pink font, this one read ‘beware, due to the influence of pregnancy hormones, i could burst into tears or kill you in the next two minutes’.

“sometimes, i worry about you,” satoru teased as he poured your lactose-free milk into the mug and stirred a hot chocolate packet into it. “one minute you’re climbing me like a tree and the next you don’t want me to touch you. is that also because of your pregnancy hormones?”

you laughed shamelessly, “yes, sorry, the libido is off the charts some days.”

the white-haired sorcerer thanked god every day for your increased sex drive during your pregnancy. nowadays you were the one who initiated intimacy… and satoru gojo was not going to complain about that.

satoru put the mug of hot chocolate into the microwave to warm it up for you. he turned to face you as you both waited for the microwave to beep.

once the hot chocolate was done being warmed up, he guided you to the living room with the mug in his hand. satoru sat down on the plush white couch and patted the seat next to him, motioning for you to sit with him.

you obliged and made yourself comfortable. he grabbed your legs to put on top of his and handed you your hot chocolate. he draped a blanket on top of your laps. he placed his hand on your thigh and admired the pregnancy glow on your face in the warm and dim living room lights.

a sweet cup of hot chocolate, a handsome man cuddling you, a comfortable couch and warm blanket? what more could you ask for? you enjoyed any quality time with satoru as you got older and busier. quality time was something you’d keep near and dear to your heart, especially knowing that you weren’t going to be alone with him anymore in a short couple of months. baby gojo was going to be joining the circus soon.

“you know what i just realized?” satoru said out of nowhere as you blew on your hot chocolate.

you looked over at him, cocking your head to the side, “what?”

“we didn’t read week 22.” satoru stated. he was always on top of reading the ‘what to expect’ app with you. you watched as he stood up from the couch to quickly grab your phone from the bedroom nightstand for you.

once he returned to the living room, he made himself comfortable next to you again and swiped open your phone to find the app that you used to track baby gojo’s development.

“baby gojo is as big as a papaya.” satoru read, “baby gojo hit a huge milestone and is weighing at a whopping 1 lbs and is measuring 11 inches in length.”

“that’s our big and strong baby.” you cooed, caressing your belly with your free-hand, taking another sip of your hot chocolate.

“baby gojo’s grip, vision, and hearing are all getting stronger now! you might notice a protruding navel—” satoru lifted the blanket to check your belly button. you laughed to find a non-protruding one at the moment.

“—and possibly even bigger feet.” he finished reading. he peeked over to look at your feet.

“they’re just a little swollen.” you frowned.

“at a glance, even though baby gojo’s eyes are sealed shut, they can perceive light and dark now. shine a flashlight on your tummy and see if your little one moves—oh, babe, we have to try that out.”

you watched as satoru got up from the couch again to dig in the kitchen junk drawer for a flashlight.

“you need to clean out that drawer.” you nagged.

satoru brushed off your comment as he returned to your side, “yeah, yeah. i’ll do it later.”

he turned on the flashlight and pointed it directly on your belly. you immediately felt baby gojo move away from the light, surprising you and making you laugh out loud.

“did you feel anything?” satoru asked curiously. unfortunately, he still hasn't been able to feel baby gojo kick yet, you had hoped that he would be able to soon. only you were able to feel movement at the moment.

you nodded with a toothy smily, “yes. seems like our little one doesn’t like the flashlight.”

satoru grinned back at you. he sat back down and continued to read enthusiastically, “baby gojo is starting to hear and process sounds from inside your body so watch what you say… and baby's nervous system is sharpening the five senses, which means little fingers are learning to grab those tiny ears, nose and umbilical cord.”

you watched satoru’s slender fingers scroll slowly through the app. you gasped. your eyes started to well up with tears. you seemed to cry more easily now with the pregnancy hormones.

“satoru… it says my feet might not go back to normal after pregnancy.”

satoru knew exactly what question you'd ask. 'satoru would you still love me if my feet don't go back to normal after i give birth?'

“babe, it’s okay.” satoru wiped your crocodile tears as he comforted you, "and don't worry, i'll still love you."

“—what if i can't fit my shoes anymore?” you continued to frown, taking a sad sip of your hot chocolate.

satoru stroked your head before placing a kiss on your temple. leave it to you for the theatrics, you were his precious drama queen.

“sweetheart, if your feet don’t go back to normal, i’ll buy you every single pair of shoes you own in a new size.”

and satoru gojo could definitely afford to do just that.

you continued to pout as satoru continued to read the app.

“it says you might start experiencing braxton hicks. they’re like practice contractions.” he hummed, “and the app advises to take more magnesium and to work out… and that’s all for this week.”

you nodded, “i’ll call my doctor and ask about the magnesium. that should help with my leg cramps—and about the working out…”

“—we’ve been working out.” satoru commented slyly.

you glanced at him and sipped at your hot chocolate. even though satoru was keeping you company on the couch, he was probably exhausted. you thought that maybe he could call out of work tomorrow… guilty thoughts of keeping him awake filled your head.

“okay, baby gojo—” satoru leaned over to ask your belly, “is that all you’re craving for? last call in the kitchen. daddy wants to go back to sleep now.”

“yes,” you hummed, “—but mommy is craving for something now too.”

satoru squinted at you and booped your nose playfully, “mommy and baby gojo are the same at the moment. if you’re craving it, i’m sure the baby is too.”

“no, this one has nothing to do with the baby, satoru.” you told him confidently, hoping he’d understand.

he cocked his head to the side, wondering what else you could possibly be craving for at this time of night.

“what is it?”

you looked up at satoru with needy eyes before mumbling, “i want you.”

satoru stared at you for a couple seconds before he registered at what you were hinting at.

“oh. ohhhhhhh—i see where you’re going with this—” he grinned before replying to your sly innuendo of a request, “—well, how can i say no to that?”

you laughed out loud as satoru sat up quickly from the couch, taking you by the hand to lead you back to the master bedroom. you sat down on the edge of your bed, satoru towering over you to lean towards your ear.

he whispered, “you have some interesting pregnancy cravings, babe.”

© 2023 ASDFGHJKLMALS — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK.

DIVIDERS PROVIDED BY @/ANLIAN-AISHANG

[chiaraswritings]

Unexpected.

Disclaimer: I do not own DC or their characters, or their settings. This is certainly not canon.

Warnings & Topics: Suggestive themes, emotional distress, physical exhaustion, pregnancy. 18+.

Word Count: 3.9K words

Summary: Batmom! reader finds out she is pregnant a short time after marrying Bruce Wayne, not in the most pleasant of ways. Telling him won't be easy, but Alfred gives her some encouragement.

Author's note: After four hours of work, I deem my first fanfiction suitable for posting. Thank you for all the support. I hope you enjoy.

It'd been two months since that beautiful, blissful, romantic day. Actually, two months, two weeks, and one day. But who was counting, right?

The newspapers were. Headlines of gossip news, huge block letters in bold, depicted that I had been spotted at the gym alone again, also describing their support for my "weight loss journey" since I had been "losing my figure". I had been reading this article over and over for about an hour. Damn. I inspected the black and white photo of myself in leggings and a tank top. The worst part about, well, everything, is that they were right. I was losing my figure, noticeably. 

I didn't even notice Alfred behind me until he spoke. "No matter how many times you read them, the words are not going to change, ma'am."

I jumped slightly. I hadn't been sleeping or eating well at all, my back and chest ached too much to relax, and heartburn hit me like a batarang after meals. I think I had gotten thirty hours of sleep in the last week, and maybe one meal a day. "Thank you, Alfred. Do you know when dinner will be ready?" 

"In a half hour, ma'am." The butler moved to the other end of the kitchen table to face me. "Those words in the paper are words that all who love you disagree with."

Alfred's words touched me if only a little, and I set down the paper. "Thank you, I think I'm going to take a walk." 

He looked concerned, but just for a moment. "Alright, ma'am. Try not to be late, the chicken may be devoured." 

Chuckling, I stepped out into the early evening light. I would not be late for dinner, living with five hungry men teaches you a lot. The sunlight embraced me, bathing me in its gentle rays, glimmering over my face. I felt positively glorious. Closing my eyes, I soaked it in. My husband would soon be home to kiss me and keep an arm around my waist. The simple thought of his touch made my mouth stretch into a smile. Five more minutes, and I'll go in. 

Five minutes turned into twenty. Being amongst the blooming flowers and the busy insects kept me occupied. Not only that, but a sudden headache had overtaken me. I sat in the grass, unladylike, watching the bees collect their last supply of nectar from the flowers for the day. Grass stains never bothered me anyway. I knew time was getting away from me, but I couldn't seem to bring myself to focus on anything. I didn't want to go inside because I didn't want bedtime to arrive. It was too painful to even think about. My head and back reminded me of that even now. 

My vision blurred slightly, I could only focus on a single flower on the bushes before me, bees continuing to fly around it. This was nice. I couldn't focus on a single thing, or think about anything, or worry.

I felt myself fall, sort of, to the ground. Fall was the best word I know to describe it. I was already sitting on the ground, but my muscles suddenly felt like pudding. My head bumped to the grass and laid to rest. Terror gripped my heart and throat for a single second before everything just... relaxed. My vision went next, but I was okay with that. This was so relaxing. I wanted to stay.

...

"Madam. Madam (Y/N)!" The voice came from... maybe a mile away. Maybe. Maybe ten miles. Maybe a hundred.

"(Y/N), madam (Y/N)!" Something cold was on my face. Ugh. I don't like that. The wind bit and stung at where the cold wetness was on my cheek. Ouch.

"Wake up, madam!" No. I don't want to. Go away. But the voice sounds scared.  

I slowly, slowly, with great effort, opened my eyes. Instantly they closed again. My friend the butler was hovering over me. What was his name again?

"Mom!" New voice. Go the hell away. I open my eyes again. 

"I'm here, I'm fine." Sitting up took much more strength than opening my eyes, but I managed to do so. Dick and Alfred worriedly stare at me. "I was just taking a nap."

"That wasn't a nap, it looked like you passed out." Dick was the one with the cold wet cloth. He put it to my head again. I gave him a withering glare, and he pulled it away again, looking apologetic. 

"It was a nap, of course I didn't pass out. Now let me return to it," I waved my hand in no particular direction, trying to shoo them away like mice.

"I am afraid I cannot allow you to sleep on the cold ground in nothing but your loungewear, ma'am." Alfred took the cloth from Dick and put it to my forehead. 

Lord, they were being so annoying, I just wanted to go back to sleep. My eyelids drooped and my words slurred. "Bed hurts too much right now... just come back later..." my head finally dropped forward as vision began to diminish again. 

I couldn't really tell what they said next. What I could remember was, "Inside now... call the... when they can see her..." and "...got her... go and tell him... I've got it..." 

The sensation of being lifted did not startle my dozing. Neither did the shouting, nor the feeling of hands on my face. I had earned this sleep, and I was going to... enjoy... it...

...

I was awake, but I didn't want to open my eyes. It wasn't time. Please don't let it be time. I peeked a glance at my watch. Eight in the morning on a Sunday? Yeah, back to sleep we go. 

Before I could return to my dreamless sleep, I became aware of unidentified breathing beside me. Was that Titus? Or maybe Alfred. Maybe I had been kidnapped. Did I care? Hell to the no. All I cared about at this present moment was slumber. If I was kidnapped, I could sleep all I wanted while I waited for them to rescue me.

Then, like a train, uninvited and on its own, the back pain hit my lower body. I couldn't help the moan of discomfort that tore from my throat.

Instantly, a hand went to my forehead. It felt so cold against my warm head. I'd better see who this person with the cold hands is and tell them to go stick their fingers in a campfire before touching me again.

 When I opened my eyes, I realized I wasn't even in the garden anymore. Alfred, I told you I wanted to stay on the ground. But it wasn't Alfred who had put freezing digits on my forehead. It was my husband, my dearest Bruce, my wonderful partner in... crime didn't seem like a good choice of words. His worried blue eyes bored into my sleep-deprived (Y/C) eyes. Ouch, that gaze made my headache come back.

"Hello. Go warm your hands up," I told the love of my life before closing my eyes again. The light from the window seemed to be penetrating my very brain. 

"My hands are warm," replied the bearer of freezing fingers.

"Please, feels like your hands went to the Artic circle for winter vacation." My stubborn retort took a lot out of me, but I could practically hear his small smile. 

"There's my girl," he murmured. I opened my eyes again to smile at my wonderful... freezing... man. 

"Yeahhh, your girl's going back to dreamland. Night night." I grunted at the pain stabbing me in the back, the throbbing in my head, and the emptiness in my stomach.

"Not yet, sweetheart. Stay right here. The doctor's going to be here at ten, you should freshen up a bit." 

I opened one eye to glare unhappily at him. "Don't need a doctor. Need a nap."

His chuckle annoyed me to the very core, almost scaring away the shooting pains in my back. "I'm sorry, but this needs to happen. Do you know how worried we all were when we heard you had fainted in the garden? The boys hardly wanted to go on patrol, they wanted to look after you."

"The boys didn't want to go on patrol? You didn't want to look after me?" I glared playfully at my handsome knight. "And I didn't faint... just took a nap."

"On the cold hard ground?" His questioning gaze made me open both my eyes.

"Yes, it felt nice on my back." 

"Does your back still hurt, sweetheart?"

"Yes, it still hurts." 

"And you didn't feel like sleeping in the bed?"

"The hell is this, an interrogation?" 

"Maybe," he grinned.

"Go away," I retorted, closing my eyes. "I have to go to work, no time for doctors."

"I called and told them you can't come in this week."

"This... this is why I married you."

It didn't take long to fall back into blissful, painless paradise. Bruce left me alone, but I knew he was close by, watching over me. The mansion was so quiet and peaceful, I knew the boys were fast asleep.

Much too soon, I was being kissed awake. 

"Darling, Doctor Thompkin's here. It's time to wake up." Bruce's forehead kisses were, for the very first time in our relationship, annoying. 

"Ugh." I rolled over to escape, my back cracking. 

"Upsy daisy." He stroked my back, gently massaging my painfully aching muscles.

Sitting up took all the strength I had, and yet I had to find more to answer the questionnaire the doctor was springing upon me. Bruce stepped out mid-examination to answer a phone call, leaving the woman to observe my body and take into consideration my answers to her questions. Her questions seemed endless. "Have you been out of the country in the last month?" 

"No."

"Have you been feeling depressed or hopeless?"

"No."

"Are you on any medications?"

"No."

"Do you or any family members have history of scoliosis?" 

"No."

"History of heartburn?"

"No."

"When was your last menstrual cycle?"

"It's marked on the calendar, couple pages back." 

"Do you know what year it is?"

I gave her a funny look. "Of course I do, what's wrong with you?" Now I feel bad for saying that, but I certainly didn't in the moment.

The doctor chuckled, her friendly eyes had laughter lines around them. "Just wanted to make sure you're still with me. Are you on birth control?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been on birth control?" 

"Couple months. I went on it during our honeymoon."

"During?"

"Yes, we realized condoms and plan B weren't as convenient as the pill."

"I'm going to need a blood sample and then we're done here. I'll be in touch with the results. You don't seem to be suffering from scoliosis, but I'll contact you about x-rays to confirm. I haven't made a house call in a long time, or practiced family medicine, but I'll do everything I can to make sure we get to the root of this."

"Okay." 

The blood draw seemed to take longer than I remembered blood draws taking. The prick of the needle didn't disturb the haze of sleepiness that still surrounded me. The woman's departure signaled another wave of sleepiness to wash over me. Bruce and Alfred were showing the doctor out as my head hit the pillow. Pain shot up my back, but sleep had already captured me. 

Tomorrow turned into today, and then today became yesterday. It felt like I slept the whole Monday, skipping work and family dinner. Tuesday morning came with sunshine and kisses from my darling husband as I slowly opened my eyes. 

"Hi," I smiled at him. One of Bruce's arms was holding me almost loosely as he lay next to me in the white sheets. He looked worn and tired from a long night of patrol. I sniffed him. Good, he had showered. 

"Hello." His tired kiss on my lips was slowly waking me. "I love you."

"I love you too," I told him. My smile was getting bigger and my world was waking up. I traced the shape of his exhausted eyes. "Close your eyes. Sleep." 

"Mmph." His eyes closed and his body relaxed under my touch. Normally, Bruce was the one to hold me tight and kiss me to sleep, to caress my body and keep me safe. Looking over his body, I realized that he had been through a difficult night of patrol. A stitched gash across his back, an unhappy bruise on his jaw, scratches on his forearms. Worrying about my "condition" probably hadn't helped him stay alert out there in the dangerous night of Gotham. Guilt washed over me. My arms protectively wrapped around my dearest husband, my lips pressing to his forehead. Today, I was going to keep him safe, I was going to comfort him through his slumber.

...

Bruce's snoring wasn't exactly a lullaby, so I was up and about after a few hours. The boys were crashed in their rooms and Alfred was busy baking something that smelled like chocolatey deliciousness. I was looking over the morning paper, again, skimming for any mention of my family or I. Unhealthy habit, you could say. I was curled up in an armchair next to the bed, keeping the rustling of the newspaper pages to a minimum.

Vibrations of Bruce's cell phone made me look up. As silently as I could, I leaped up and grabbed the phone from the bedside table on Bruce's side. My husband's sleep was important to me, and if I had it my way, nothing at all would disturb it, not even nightmares. 

I carried the cell phone out of the bedroom and glanced at the caller ID. Doctor Thompkins. Results. Yes. This wasn't the first time I had answered my husband's phone, so I wasn't going to feel guilt over finding out my own test results. "Hello?"

"(Y/N), hello. I'm calling with your results."

"Tim's been telling everyone in the family it's yellow fever, please prove him wrong."

"Hah, no, it is not yellow fever... I'd say it's something a little more... serious."

I stiffened. My aching back didn't like that. "What's up?"

"We spoke about your history with birth control, but we need to talk about it again. It would seem that there was some window of time where you and Bruce were not using protection."

My backache must've hit my brain, because looking back, I can't believe I didn't catch on. "Bruce gave me a disease?"

"Not a disease. You're pregnant, (Y/N). I can't make an estimate on how many weeks you are, but I'm going to give you the contact information for an OBGYN. Make an appointment as soon as you can. Congratulations, Mrs. Wayne."

...

When Bruce woke up, I had to apologize to him for his cracked cell phone screen. I told him the truth, that I'd dropped it, but I didn't explain that it was from shock. He told me it was alright, that he'd pick up a new one, but he wasn't quite sure why I looked so very upset over dropping his phone. That would explain itself in time.

I didn't eat a thing at dinner that night, despite my full plate and coaxing from my family. Even the finest cut of steak is unappealing when something like that is on one's mind.

Who wouldn't overthink a thing like this? Pregnant, after a literal two months of marriage? Pregnant, while caring for four boys that you saw as your sons? Pregnant, after your husband had told you he didn't want anymore children? Pregnant, after you had both tried to be careful? Pregnant, to one of the greatest vigilantes and most successful businessmen in the world? Pregnant. I am pregnant. I might have my husband's baby.

"Mom!"

My head jerked up and I was greeted by five concerned faces. 

"Ma, you look like you're in another world," Jason forked a piece of potato. 

"Maybe I am in another world, Jay-Jay." I smiled slightly before standing. Ten eyes observed my every move. 

"Ummi, where are you going?" Damian, the one who I expected would be the least concerned, watched me with huge, worried eyes. 

"I think I need to sleep more. I will see you all tomorrow morning." I kissed every head at the table, my lips lingering on my husband's forehead. He rested his hand on the back of my neck, pulling me down for a gentle kiss. I think he noticed my hesitance, but I didn't stop to think about it or explain. My back only permitted me to walk up the stairs, but if I could've run, I would've.

Once Bruce and the boys had left for their night of patrol, I breathed again. Laying on the bed, clutching my pillow to my chest, trying to rehearse how I would address the situation to Bruce, it took a lot out of me. "Bruce, I need to tell you something," I mumbled. "No... Bruce, we need to talk." 

"Madam, I am not sure if you have noticed, but Master Bruce is not here." Alfred's voice startled me for the second time this week.

"I wish he was. I'm sorry, I'm... practicing." I tried to give my friend a reassuring smile but it came out as a grimace. 

"Good luck, madam," Alfred set down a cup of tea on my bedside table and gave me a genuine Alfred smile. Before he was out of the room, he turned back and looked me dead in the eye. "Master Bruce loves you very much, Madam (Y/N). He would not have married you if he was not ready to take on the unexpected. He will not turn you away when you tell him, so try not to overthink." 

I looked straight back into this wonderful gentleman's eyes. "Thank you."

...

I tried to sleep through the night, I really did. When dawn and my boys arrived, I was still wide awake, not having slept a wink. I trotted down the stairs to the batcave, taking extra care not to trip. Once on the floor, we went through our post-patrol routine of inspecting each one of my boys. First Damian, who shrugged me off several times before allowing me to look over him, then Tim, who accepted my worrying for what it was, then Jason, who pretended to be annoyed for show, then Dick, who looked over me as carefully as I looked over him, then finally Bruce, who would not stop kissing me, barely giving me a chance to check him for injuries. 

No one was truly hurt, but all but one were tired as they pulled off their suits. The boys trudged upstairs to their rooms, but my husband carried me valiantly up the stairs to our place in the master bedroom, like a knight carrying his princess.

Once the bedroom door was shut and he had set me down, I was instantly on my back laying on the bed, Bruce's lips showing affection to my neck and collarbone. A soft, throaty moan left my mouth as my husband kissed me, his hands working their way over my body. I was clothed in my favorite outfit of a tank top and leggings, and I knew they were at risk of being torn from my torso and limbs if I allowed this to continue. Besides... I had to tell Bruce. 

"Darling..." the word I said was half-moaned. "Darling, please, you need to shower."

"I thought you liked my scent?" Bruce chuckled, looking up at me, his hands working their way up my shirt. 

"Mmm, I do, but you are going to dirty our sheets that Alfred worked so hard to wash." 

"You have a valid point, but I don't like it." Bruce grinned and pulled off the little clothing he wore. I chuckled and rolled my eyes, watching him make his way to the shower. If I hadn't had such a burden on my mind, I would've joined him. I could hear him muttering insults at the slippery bar of soap that his large fingers always seemed to have trouble grasping, and it made me smile. My hand absentmindedly rested on my stomach and I wondered if his child would have the same troubles as their father.

Bruce's shower was shorter than usual. Much shorter than if I had been in there with him. Chuckling, I made room for my knight in the bed. He hadn't bothered to put on clothes, or dry his hair. Bruce climbed on top of me, drops of water falling from his hair to my chest. His lips reattached to mine, devouring the kiss like a wild man. I knew what he had on his mind from the way he caressed my body, and I had to put a stop to it. 

"Bruce... Bruce, wait." 

Concerned eyes met mine. "(Y/N)?"

Alfred's words replayed in my mind. He would not have married you if he was not ready to take on the unexpected. I stared into the beautiful blue eyes I had grown to take comfort in. "Bruce, Doctor Thompkins diagnosed me."

Instantly, his desire was forgotten. Bruce sat back on the bed and pulled me onto his lap. "Tell me, darling, what is it?"

His arms made me feel so safe. He will not turn you away when you tell him, so try not to overthink. "I... you need to expect the unexpected."

"So I'm guessing it's not yellow fever, since that's what Tim expects," Bruce smiled. The gentle attempt at humor didn't lift the worry in his eyes. 

"Heh, no... not exactly. It's... it's a baby." The last three words were much quieter than the others. 

Bruce looked at me quizzically. "I don't think I heard you correctly." 

"A baby," I honestly voiced my diagnosis, somewhat fearfully looking into his eyes. "I'm pregnant."

Bruce's glare pierced mine. He gently slid me off his lap and set me on the bed before standing and walking to the window to silently stare out of it. His breathing had changed, his body was stiff, everything about him seemed cold and hardened. 

My worst fears bit and tore at my heart, anxiety gripping my throat like a murderer. Oh Lord, he doesn't want me anymore. I didn't know whether to go to him, or leave the mansion, or stay in the bed, or cry, or speak. So I just waited, for a full two minutes, staring at my husband's scarred back. After waiting that long, tears began to prick at my eyes. I finally laid down and curled into the cold sheets. "I'm sorry."

I heard him turn. "What are you sorry for?"

"Not paying attention to my birth control. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," my tears left wet spots on the pillowcase. I closed my eyes tightly. 

Then I felt his weight on his side of the bed, he was laying beside me. Bruce collected me into his arms, tilting my chin up, asking me silently to look at him. I opened my wet eyes. 

"I'm not angry with you. I'm thinking about it. Just let me think." Bruce's rough, calloused fingers brushed against my peach soft cheek.

"Okay." I closed my eyes to fight back angry, hot tears. He pulled me to his chest, holding me to himself. I could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. 

He must've held me like that for an hour before he finally, finally spoke. "Well, this isn't what I thought two months into our marriage would look like." 

My tears had left stains on his chest. Only a surge of bravery made me look up at him. "Yeah."

He looked down at me, smiled, kissed my lips, and I felt my husband's love course through my body. He may have turned me away physically, but he had never turned me away emotionally. I sat up on his lap, straddling him, my forehead resting on his, my hands on his cheeks. "I love you."

"And I love you," Bruce's fingers brushed against my waist. He seemed hesitant, and his eyes met mine. "May I?"

I was confused for a moment, but then I realized and nodded, beaming. "Yes."

His large hand rested on my stomach. The wheels in his head were still turning, but they had calmed, and they were only turning in the name of love. 

"Expect the unexpected." 

[arcane-vagabond]

Ok so I just saw a TikTok about a woman who found out she was pregnant with their first child a few weeks after her husband left for deployment and she’s like 8 months pregnant now and he’s coming home from deployment finally. I was wondering about Jake in that situation. Like how would he react? I know he’s be devastated to miss most of the pregnancy and not being able to give you a hug when you guys found out. He would have been so attentive and doting during the pregnancy normally, but now he would be SUPER doting to try to make up for lost time. What do you think?

(Feel free to ignore this💕)

Pffffft as if I'd ignore this gold mine.

But like, imagine though.

You waited anxiously in the parking lot, leaning up against your car in a futile effort to ease some of the comfort. It wasn't easy being eight months pregnant. And it wasn't easy having to go through it alone while your husband had been shipped off to god only knows where just before you had found out. And it certainly wasn't easy keeping it a secret from him for that entire time.

You still weren't sure you had done the right thing by not telling him. On one hand, you hadn't wanted him to worry while he was an ocean away, and you definitely didn't want him to worry about you when he was operating a multi-ton machine thousands of feet up in the air. No, the very thought made you sick with worry of your own.

On the other hand...

You opened up the passenger side door, carefully dipping down to grab your water bottle that you had flung in the seat and some Tums for your heartburn. You had just found the bottle of Tums when a pair of strong legs stopped in your peripheral.

"Well, hi there gorgeous."

You jumped, turning to face the man beside you.

"Jake!" you cried, smiling reflexively at the sight of your husband. He beamed down at you as you straightened, tummy still hidden by the car door. Jake leaned in to plant a long, slow kiss to your lips. One turned into two. Two turned into three. Finally, you pulled away from him with a hum, and a pout settled on his lips. "Missed you, baby."

Your heart stuttered. "I missed you too," you replied, cursing at the nerves that made their way into your tone. Jake's brow furrowed.

"You okay, darlin'?" he asked. You shifted your weight as you tried to figure out the best way to tell him. Before you could, Jake rounded the door, stopping when he finally took in your full form. His eyes widened, and his jaw nearly fell to the ground. "What?" he trailed off.

"I wanted to tell you," you rushed out, feeling tears prickle at your eyes. Damn hormones. "I just didn't know how, and it didn't seem like the kind of thing you say over the phone, and I didn't want to worry you, and it's not like you could just up and leave, and-"

Jake didn't seem to be paying attention to your rambling as he stared down your stomach, his gaze full of quiet awe. Slowly, he reached a hand out to place it on your stomach.

"We're having a baby?" he asked quietly. You felt the tears roll down your cheeks before you could stop them.

"Yes," you sobbed. "Oh, Jake. I'm so sorry."

That caught his attention. His eyes snapped up to meet yours. A confused frown tugging at his lips. "What on earth do you have to be sorry for, sweetheart?"

"I should have told you before now," you cried. Jake shook his head, reaching up to cradle your head to his chest as much as your stomach would allow.

"None of that, mama," he cooed, rocking you gently from side to side. "It's me who should be sorry for leaving you here to do this all by yourself."

"It's not like you had a choice," you muttered, nuzzling into his chest. Jake ran a soothing hand over your hair.

"Doesn't matter now," he hummed, pulling away just far enough to see you. "I'm here, and I plan on making up for lost time. Now, let's get home so I can pamper and spoil my beautiful wife that's carrying my baby."

Jake helped you into the passenger seat, making sure you were buckled in securely before jogging over to the other side.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" he asked excitedly as he drove the speed limit home, something completely out of character for your husband.

"A boy," you smiled, rubbing your stomach affectionately.

Jake grinned. "A boy," he breathed with a shake of his head. You were sure his cheeks were sore from how hard he was smiling. "Have you decided on a name?"

You shook your head. "Wanted to wait until you came home so we could decide together."

"What about Jake Junior?"

"Absolutely not," you snort. Jake's smile never faltered as he let out a chuckle.

"That's okay, mama. I've still got a whole month to get you to come around."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Overtime 5

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss, Mr. Hansen, runs you ragged but you find solace in an unexpected friend.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, Jake Jensen.

Author’s Note: This one is dedicated to my dearest @thezombieprostitute

Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself����

The new clothes arrive quicker than you expect. As you unpackage it all, you’re surprised at how much you ordered. You didn’t remember putting that much in your cart. Still, it’s nice to have them. They’re all so pretty and bright. Next to your usual neutrals, the fabric is loud. 

Several days pass before you find the courage to try one of the dresses on. It’s that same cherry red dress with the little tie along your side, cut to wrap around your figure. It doesn’t look so bad. Not bad at all. You find a hair bow to match and pin it in your hair. You feel a little ridiculous but you don’t think anyone will notice. Not more than usual. 

You drive the old puttering car into the office, stopping on the way to get Mr. Hansen his usual. As you pull in, you don’t get out right away. Carrie and Gina pass through the front doors before you make yourself face another day. 

You sweep through, scurry as your boss would say, and stop at your desk to put down your bag and hang your jacket. You swallow a yawn and carry his cup to his office. You knock as a precaution but he’s rarely there before you are. 

You leave the coffee on his desk and quickly flee. As you come out, you see a blur flap through the door and hit your desk. Hansen’s jacket once more scatters your pens across the floor. 

“Critter,” he greets with a scowl and barely a passing glance. 

You step out of his way and slowly approach your desk. His office door opens and slams in his stead. You take his jacket and hang it with your own then go to clean up the mess on the floor. Stomping footfalls storm towards you and draw your eyes above the wood. 

“Critter,” Hansen’s brows furrow, “stand up.” 

You obey, your hands tight around the pens, and he angles his head as he looks you up and down. He squints and hums.  

“I thought so.” 

His cryptic words follow him as he spins away and strides once more into his office. Another slam makes you jump. You shove the pens into the cup and sit down. 

You focus on getting started. You boot up and settle in with your thermos. You don’t waste the extra money at the upscale cafe. Their coffee gives you heartburn. 

You drift into your routine. Fingers clacking on keys, index clicking on your mouse, shuffling through tasks, hopping up to run around the halls or fight with the printer. Amid it all, you forget about the change. The dress didn’t make much of a difference after all. 

“Hey,” Jensen’s voice draws you over as you mark the white board on the wall with Mr. Hansen’s last client update.  

Your skirt twirls, a new sensation, as you turn and approach your desk. Jensen’s lips slowly part and his cheeks pinken. You suddenly feel very self-conscious. Do you look bad? 

“Hi, what’s up?” You ask. 

“Wow, uh, oh, er,” he looks down at the box in his hands and clears his throat, “oh, you know, I...” he closes his mouth to wet his tongue and seems to choke. “Aha, sorry, I... is that a new dress?” 

“Ah, yeah,” you look down as you brush your palms over the soft fabric. 

“It’s nice. Really nice. I mean, you look nice,” he stammers. “What I mean—you always look nice, you know, but it’s... I like the colour.” 

You smile, amused by his rambling. “Thanks, I like your tie.” 

He looks down at his Tetris themed tie and his brows rise. He peers up at you and chuckles, “really?” 

“Yeah, I love that game,” you say. “So, did you need something?” 

“Um,” he stares at you then flinches as he looks down at the box. “Right, muffins.” 

“Muffins,” you nod. 

“I bought muffins,” he says. 

“Right, that’s... good?” 

He gulps and smiles stiffly. “I--” He shifts the box and opens the lid, “you get to pick first.” 

“What? You... for me?” 

“I figured I’d offer before I left them in the lunchroom,” he says. “People around here are like vultures.” 

“That’s so nice of you. Wow, is this carrot?” You point to one. 

“Uh, I think,” he peeks over the lid. “Whichever one you like.” 

“Is it... is it a special occasion?” 

“Not really. Just wanted to brighten things up around here.” 

“Well, that’s sweet,” you take the carrot and pull a tissue from the box on your desk and set it down neatly beside your mousepad. 

“What’s this? Special delivery?” Mr. Hansen interrupts and struts up with hands in his pocket. “Thought I heard a weasel.” 

Jensen’s face falls and he turns to face your boss. “Hansen.” 

“Jerk Off Jensen,” Hansen greets with a snicker, “what is it this time? How many times do we have to have this conversation?” 

“I bought muffins for the office, want one?” Jensen offers. You're impressed by his kindness in the face of your boss’ rudeness. 

“Keep your fucking Dunkins,” Hansen snarls as he steps up, posturing as he pushes his shoulders back. “Nice fucking tie, Sheldon.” 

“I can’t tell,” Jensen narrows his eyes, “is that an overgrown nose hair or is your stache having a bad hair day?” 

Hansen grimaces and smooths his mustache, “at least I can grow something. What the fuck is that skid mark on your face called?” 

“Um, sir,” you interject softly as they seem to step closer to each other. “I got you booked into the golf course--” 

“Doing your fucking job like you should? Wow, congratulations, critter,” he snarls without looking away from the other man. “You got all that done while you’re wasting breath on this keyboard warrior?” 

“Mr. Hansen--” 

“Let the men talk, honey,” Hansen waves you off. “Listen here, I don’t want to tell you again, fuck off.” 

“You can keep saying it,” Jensen retorts. “It’s funnier each time.” 

“You don’t want this smoke.” 

Jensen scoffs and Hansen pulls his hand from his pocket, punching down into the box and sending it to the floor. The muffins roll out as Jensen steps back and looks at the ruin of his generosity. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“You’re a fucking douchebag but I’m sure it’s not the first time you’ve heard that,” Jensen snaps. “And the one person who would never say it to your face, you treat like shit.” 

“Don’t worry about my fucking assistant and go back to your cubicle and play with your joystick, boy.” Hansen growls. 

Jensen shakes his head and rolls his eyes. He bends and drags the box over to gather up the spilled food. You go around the desk to help but Mr. Hansen blocks you with his arm. 

“My office, critter.” 

[munsonkitten]

read on AO3 | rated T | sick fic

Eddie groans on the other side of the room. He’s curled up on the recliner with a pillow hugged to his chest. Beside him, a half eaten bag of chips and an unopened Mountain Dew can sit on the side table. He groans again and shifts in his seat, drawing his knees up higher to his chest like he’s trying to crawl inside himself. 

“You okay, baby?” Steve asks from the couch. 

A quiet grunt comes from the mess of curly brown hair covering his face. He unravels himself slowly, crawling out of the chair without bothering to put down the foot rest. The pillow gets left where it is, and the chips and his drink lay forgotten where they are. 

“I’ll be back.”

Eddie disappears from the living room, and the bathroom door clicks close. He’s gone for a little while, and Steve’s about to get up to check on him when the bathroom door opens again, and then he hears Eddie step out and the bedroom door clicks shut instead. When Eddie finally comes back, he’s replaced his jeans for sweatpants, and he has one of his blankets wrapped around his shoulders. 

“My stomach hurts,” Eddie says, his voice sounding miserable. 

It’s a common occurrence at this point. Steve’s used to Eddie being so up and down — he has good days and bad days, and he eats too much junk food for his stomach to handle. Most days something hurts, and Steve wishes he could wrap Eddie up and keep him safe and away from the pain forever. 

In the few months they’ve been together, and the year before that they were friends, Steve’s seen more stomach aches, headaches, painful periods, heartburn and other various ailments than he can count. And he knows Eddie can feel completely miserable over the smallest things — he doesn’t handle any of it very well, moaning and groaning and sighing while he looks for tums and ibuprofen and whatever else he needs. 

Steve hums empathetically, sitting up in case Eddie wants the spot where he’s laying. “Can I get you anything?”

Eddie shakes his head.

“Is it period cramps?”

Eddie shakes his head again. 

“Good old fashioned tummy ache, then,” Steve says. 

Eddie shrugs, wrapping his blanket tighter around himself. He turns around and goes into the kitchen, and Steve hears glasses clinking in the cupboard, and then the sink running. Eddie comes back with a glass of water, taking small sips as he comes toward Steve.

He places a damp hand on his forehead, and then his cheeks, cooling his pink skin. He might have a fever, too, Steve thinks. Something’s been going around, and it’s knocked out each kid one after the other this week — it was only a matter of time before Eddie or Steve caught it too. 

“C’mere, kitten,” Steve says, opening up his arms.

He lays back down, gesturing for Eddie to come lay with him on the couch. 

Eddie fits himself half on top of Steve, the rest of him slipping between Steve and the back of the couch. The blanket covers them, and Steve can tell Eddie took off his binder when he left the room, too. It’s rare for him to take it off during the day, even if it’s just them at home with no other plans, so he knows Eddie must really not be feeling good. 

“Are you sure you don't want a ginger ale, or something?” Steve asks. He slides his hand up and down Eddie’s back, trying to soothe away the pain. 

“Don’t have any.” 

“I can run to the store.”

“No,” Eddie says. “Only cure is cuddles.”

“Is that so?” Steve snorts. 

“Don’t make fun of me. I’m being attacked by my immune system. I’m sick, Steve. You would make fun of someone for having an illness? Shame on you.”

It’s obvious Eddie’s heart isn’t really in it. The teasing doesn’t feel like it usually does because Eddie just sounds tired. He burrows his warm face into Steve’s neck, and sighs, a quiet groan slipping out along with it. 

“I’m sorry you don’t feel good, baby,” Steve murmurs. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers. “Always so sweet to me.”

“Just say the word, and I’ll go get some stuff for you, okay?” Steve offers again. 

Eddie just hums noncommittally and curls impossibly closer to Steve’s body. He’s snoring softly within the next few minutes, and Steve just turns his attention back to the TV, allowing Eddie to get some rest. 

They lay there together for a long while, and Eddie comes in and out of consciousness ever so often. Sometimes he mumbles out quiet words of ‘don’t feel good,’ or laughs at jokes on the show they’re watching, and falls back asleep again.

There’s a warm swell of love in Steve’s chest. The fact that Eddie’s comfortable with him, even when he’s miserable like this, makes Steve fall in love with him even more.

Each nuzzle of Eddie’s warm face against his neck, and each curl of his fingers in Steve’s shirt, or each slide of his leg over Steve’s hip as he gets more comfortable — it all makes Steve feel like the luckiest guy on earth. 

The afternoon slips away into evening, and Eddie dozes in and out for most of it. By the time Wayne’s about to leave for work, Eddie’s awake again and groaning in discomfort each time he shifts on the couch.

“I take it someone’s not feeling well,” Wayne comments as he leaves his bedroom. “You need anything before I go, bud?” 

“No,” Eddie says, lifting his head just enough to talk to Wayne. He drops it back down with a heavy sigh when the fatigue decides he’s done enough. “Steve’s taking care of me.”

Wayne lingers for just another second, probably waiting to see if Eddie changes his mind, and then he says his goodbyes and tells them he’ll be back in the morning, like always. 

Eddie mumbles out a goodbye and a ‘see you later,’ just as Wayne walks out the front door. 

He uncurls himself from Steve’s body, then, and worms his way into a sitting position. Steve shifts to give Eddie more room, and raises an eyebrow at him. 

There’s a sheen of sweat on Eddie’s face, his forehead glistening and his cheeks a rosy pink. He pushes the blanket off of them and sighs, head lolling back against the backrest of the couch. 

“It’s too hot,” Eddie bemoans. 

And it’s not, really. It’s winter, and there’s a chill in the air, even inside. Eddie’s like a furnace, though, and his forehead is warm when Steve lifts his hand to touch it. 

“You might be really coming down with something,” Steve says. 

“You should probably go home,” Eddie says. “Don’t wanna get you sick.”

Steve frowns and shakes his head. “I’ll take care of you.”

Eddie sighs, loud and long. “You shouldn’t have to.”

“I don’t feel like I have to,” Steve says, simply. “I like taking care of you. Figured you’d have noticed that by now.”

Eddie drops his head down to Steve’s chest and moans quietly in his throat. His fingers curl around Steve’s shirt and he holds on, curled in on himself. 

“Fuck,” Eddie grunts after a few seconds. “Sorry. Just had, like, a wave of nausea.”

“At the thought of me taking care of you?” Steve jokes.

“Shut up.”

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed, baby. You’ll be more comfortable.” 

“Give me another second. Please.”

“Take your time,” Steve says, rubbing a hand up and down Eddie’s back. His shirt is damp with sweat, and he’s radiating feverish heat. 

Whatever Eddie has is coming on quick because he was fine this afternoon when Steve first came over. That’s why Steve thought it was just a regular junk food induced stomach ache earlier, and that Eddie would be fine after some tums or a nap, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. 

He’s been around for headaches and stomach aches and other little ailments, but he’s never seen Eddie sick. Not like this. 

Eventually Eddie uncurls himself from Steve, and unsteadily makes his way to his feet. There’s exhaustion in his movements, and Steve is quick to wrap an arm around his waist to help him. It might not be necessary, but Steve can’t help it — he wants to take care of Eddie in any way he can, and making sure he doesn’t pass out in the fifteen feet from the couch to his bedroom seems like a good place to start. 

He gets Eddie situated in bed, fluffing up his pillows and making sure his blankets are within reach. Eddie takes one and pulls it up to his chin, rolling over to lay on his side. If he didn’t look so miserable, Steve thinks this would be really cute — Eddie being all cozy and cuddly always makes Steve smile and want to take a picture to save forever. 

“I’m going to the store,” Steve says, regretting that he has to leave Eddie alone, but knowing he needs more than they currently have to get through this. “I’ll get you some soup and some ginger ale, okay? Anything else you might need?”

Eddie shrugs. “Just be quick.”

“Of course, baby.”

He bends down and presses a kiss to Eddie’s sweaty forehead, running his fingers through his damp hair, and then he finds his shoes and keys and leaves. 

At the store, he picks out a few cans of soup and some ginger ale. He tries to remember what his mom would do for him when he was sick as a kid, and thinks of long nights with a cold towel pressed to his forehead, and a regularly refilled cup of ice for him to chew on. He doesn’t know how much ice Eddie has in his freezer, so he decides he’ll just buy a bag instead of worrying about finding ice trays or how long they’ll take to freeze.

His basket is full by the time he gets to the check out, and he knows he’s been gone for a lot longer than he meant to be. 

He gets back to Eddie’s, and finds him still curled up in bed where Steve left him. Steve gives him a Gatorade and a cup of ice before leaving to put the rest of the groceries away. 

“Here, try eating something,” Steve says gently, watching as Eddie’s big eyes give him a look that says he wants to do anything else. “Just a few crackers, okay? And I’ll make you some soup in a little bit.”

Steve leaves him to it, a napkin of saltines on his nightstand, and goes to wet a washcloth from the bathroom. He folds it a few times and moves Eddie’s bangs so he can lay it over his forehead. 

“Thanks,” Eddie whispers, bringing a cracker to his mouth to take a few small bites. He finishes it and moves to lay down on his side, now holding the cold washcloth to his forehead. 

“Do you need anything else while I’m up?” Steve asks. 

Eddie takes a few small sips of his Gatorade, and then a few more before answering. “I’m okay.”

With that, Steve climbs into Eddie’s bed, settling between his boyfriend and the wall. He pulls a magazine out of the crevice between the bed and the wall and flicks it open to where he left off the last time he was here. 

“You’re supposed to be cuddling me,” Eddie huffs, looking over his shoulder at Steve with as playful a look he can muster. “It’s the only cure.”

“How could I forget?” 

Steve puts his magazine back, and turns on his side so he can spoon up behind Eddie. His hand settles gently on his stomach, rubbing up and down in a way he hopes is soothing for him. 

It’s pretty likely, Steve thinks, that he’s going to get sick soon, too. This stomach bug has wiped out most of their friends at this point, and being this close to Eddie means it’s definitely going to jump to him next. 

He finds that he doesn’t really care. There’s no place he’d rather be right now, and there’s no way in hell he’s leaving Eddie to ride this out on his own. 

“So sweet to me,” Eddie murmurs sleepily. It isn’t the first time he’s said it today.

Steve presses a kiss to the back of his warm neck. “Get some rest, baby.”

“Mhm,” Eddie hums. “Tired.”

Sleep tugs at Steve, and he lets himself succumb to it, Eddie held safe in his arms.

(please leave kudos on AO3 <3)

[bitebitesnap]

Take a Moment, Lead My Hand (Ingo/Reader)

A moment of reprieve gives you second thoughts.

(Notes: Fem Reader, Emmet/Reader/Ingo suggested)

(A/N, I sat on this long enough. This was supposed to be short but here we are.)

word count: 4900

“Ingo?”

He hums, pen scratching across a document. His eyes are on the page, reading each line carefully, yet his head tilts away from the page just so, towards you.

You fiddle with the strap of your bag sitting between your legs. The dim glow of Chandelure reflects in the black plastic buckles as a faint purple glow while she hangs above your head. A soft aura of whispers mutters sweet nothings into the air as she sleeps. She'd hung herself in the dip where an old chandelier used to be, removed a long time ago before the twins arrived. It was a favored sleeping spot of hers whenever she waited for Emmet to take his shift.

Your own Ghastly had made himself comfortable, resting behind your head in the shade of your hair. The cool lick of phantom flames rolls through your skin, flickering dim shades of violet through thin slits in your hair. Used to it, instead you focus on your hands as they twiddle nervously.

The silence seemed to finally catch his attention. The scratch of ink slowed to a stop as you roll and unroll the woven piece in your fingers, twirling it around a digit and pulling it loose. The question of your name lifts your eyes.

For a moment the two of you lock eyes. He stares at you, frown pulled down further and brow furrowed-a deep shadow coats under the brim of his cap, his silver eyes stark against the near black strip. Your face is no better, pensive, strap curled around your fingers as a bracelet of nerves.

Finally you sigh, dropping your gaze to your hands, “So..” You start with a hard swallow, “You know that I'm going into the champions road tomorrow, right?” You glance away to sit up straighter, rubbing the unwrapped hand under your nose before going back to fiddling.

Ghastly stirs as he rolls around your neck. A lick of cool violet haze grazes up the side of your neck as the pokemon rolls itself upright. He's still not quite awake yet and instead chooses to prop his face up against the back of your head.

Ingo's eyes narrow in thought as he hums, “Yes. If I recall correctly you'll be off to your destination in the morning. Is there something wrong?“

Your eyes flick to him for a moment before dropping back to your hands, ”It;s…well.“ The strap tangles up in your fingers, wrapping too tightly before you sigh sharply and tug it loose, ”I've gone through the single and double lines a lot. Don't think I'll be needing to do it again.”

“Yes you have. In fact you've also gone through the multiples line quite a few times too. A disturbing amount when I think about it.“ One of his hands raises to press his fist against his chin as he glances towards the file cabinets behind his desk, ”Last I checked, you've gone down the Singles 23 times, Doubles 19, and Multi line at 15 times. The only reason you stopped the multiple was due to conflicting schedules.“ He looks at the clock on the wall, ”Because of tomorrow, even.“

You nod, ”Yeah. Yeah sounds right.“ You swallow, palms slick on the belt. It starts to twist more around your fingers as your attention drifts more inward. You aren't looking at the straps of the bag, you're not feeling the slow cold chill rising up your neck. You're not noticing anything beyond the curdling in your stomach slowly rising up into your chest and turning into a bad case of heartburn.

The champions road. The final stretch of your journey as a pokemon trainer. It's been a long time coming, over a year counting today. By this time last year you started as a rookie, collecting your starter from the professor to head out into the world. It was odd how a young woman like you hadn't at least tried to be a trainer in your youth, but you simply couldn't find the time. School, moving and the struggles of adult life filled the days and any free time you had was spent trying to calm down before going back in to start all over again. Becoming a pokemon trainer had just slipped right by.

And then-

Your name rumbling in his low voice snaps you out of your thoughts again. Startled you look up with a sharp, “Huh-?”

Ingo had left his desk. Instead, he now kneels just before you, hand over a thigh as he sits on one knee. The persistent frown is tilted down further into a concerned scowl as he looks you over, “You seem to be unable to remain on your tracks. I have been trying to speak to you for the past few minutes but you haven't answered. Is there a complication on your rails?“ His head tilts, silver eyes flickering over your face carefully.

It takes you a moment to decipher exactly what he meant but once you do your eyes immediately flit away, ”Um, yeah uh, just distracted.“

Those deep, intense eyes narrow, ”Are you sure? That seems to be an understatement, given you have been tangling your hand into your bag strap for the past half hour now.“

You look down at your hands. He's right-your hand is firmly entangled in the strap to the point the pressure is cutting circulation to your fingers. The numbness makes you cringe as you tug at the knots that somehow formed despite you having been wrapping it around your palm in circles, ”Oh I did not want to do that-shit it's on there, isn't it? Crap-shit-ack! How does it knot up like this when I wasn't trying to make it do that!?“ You angrily mutter to yourself while trying-and failing-to unknot the betraying piece of woven polyester and plastic now knit right into your flesh like a tumor.

While you flailed about in attempt to finagle the thing off Ingo sighs. A larger, warmer hand takes the one trying to dig into the knots and pulls it away, ”Stop your gears, you're making it worse. Pulling on it haphazardly isn;t going to unravel a tangle this bad.“ He takes your wrapped up hand in his free one, the other rubbing his thumb into your palm before letting go to pull on a particular loop in the knot, ”You must start where the loose string leads into the knot. There you can find where it pulls out, then repeat until the tangle unravels itself.“

He spends some time tugging you loose from the tangle you'd placed yourself in. You couldn't look him in the eye-he'd only been watching from the side recently, you were the one who got yourself into this mess. It was your inattention, your lack of control that forced him to intervene. He could be doing his work but you had dragged him into your mess instead.

Was this how your battles went? Is your control that bad? Were you so lacking in such a basic skill that your own team had to step in to fill in the blanks? So many times had your Ghastly acted without your command, your Hypnos firing moves before you could speak. Was it because they knew how useless your skills were and they were acting in your stead-?

The sharp bark of your name rips you out of your thoughts and you look up directly into silver eyes. Ingo had leaned in closer, the brim of his cap brushing over your forehead at his proximity. A rush of his scent hits your lungs-something warm, refreshing as a summer's day, sparking with a heat like a spiced dish that could only be whatever soap he used to shave that morning. Yet it retained a soothing undertone, calm as rain, something you could only describe as Ingo.

Once he was sure he had your attention he sighed, looking back to the knot on your hand, ”It has been quite some time since you started this track, hasn't it?“

You blink, ”Huh?“ Is all you can say-the sudden tone shift had you reeling again, already off kilter from your own mental spiral, “W-What do you mean?” You try to collect yourself, focused on how his fingers worked the strap around your palm.

“The Championship. You've been building steam to this destination for a long time, correct?” At your dumbfounded nod he continued, “Your efforts resulted in you completing the other gyms within a year, building your team, all during your routine career at the post office. Am I correct?“

”Um.“ Your eyes flit around, trying to figure out why he was bringing this up, ”Yeah. I-uh-had a lot of trouble since the post office always had other trainers around sending letters out, so I had to-um-do my training late at night-“

“After hours. Usually in the dark, with only Ghastly as your lantern, yes?” He interrupts you as he unravels your wrist, “I may not have trained one myself, but I know their light isn't as strong as a Chandelure's or Lampent's. It must have been a struggle to see what your pokemon were doing with such poor lighting conditions.“

Your face scrunches in confusion, “No it wasn;t, but Match did his best to keep the light going. It took a lot out of him to make sure that I could see out there so late.” Matchstick must have finally been awake, as a cool lick of flame rolled up your scalp in the way he used to pseudo-pat your head. You glanced over while he rolled over a shoulder with a yawning wail.

Ingo watched the pokemon unfurl himself from your hair with a slow blink. The shadow over his face heightened the depth of his eyes, making them pools of silver in blackness-like stars in the night sky. A fervent lavender glow flickered in his gaze as the pokemon hovered closer, insatiably curious of all manners human.

You too watched your teammate bobble up to the subway boss with interest, ”Is…Why are you asking me about that? Didn;t I tell you about it a while back?“ You ask, nibbling your lip nervously.

”Yes. You did tell me once, a long time ago now. Before we officially linked cars, even.“ If he noticed you blushing he didn't say anything about it as he finally unwinds your hand. With the strap now safely removed he sets it aside and turns his attention to the ghost putting around his shoulder. A glint of lavender bathes his pale features in it's ghostly glow as his hands come up under the ghost as if to hold him, just below his spectral flame, ”You also spoke of Harken, how his psychic abilities keep him the main offensive car on your track. Is he still training with Haxorus? I have yet to see him in combat recently.“ He relays the whole of his thoughts while running gloved hands underneath Match's flames, as if inspecting their intensity.

You glanced at the bag now sitting on the chair beside his desk, “Yeah, well, I don't use him much for the battle lines. I don't want him distracted-not that the battle lines aren't good for training!” He raised a brow at your frantic waving, not pulling his gaze away from the fire for a moment, “I-it's just, well, I can't have him being too worked up for the championship. Because, I mean, you've seen how he gets when facing Haxorus. Sometimes I'm worried he's going to tear the train apart.”

He hums, “Yes I have. But I wouldn't put so little faith in him to lose control like that.” He turns Matchstick over in his hands, the pokemon rolling around like a queuball with little murmurs of enjoyment, “He wouldn't dare destroy your house if he was training in the backyard, would he?”

You blink, pausing the nervous scratch on your neck,“No? He's-He's never done any damage anywhere he wasn't supposed to. Why are you asking-“

”And what of Switchblade? Has he still decided to revolt against you or did he gain control over himself once he understood your intention? I've heard Bisharp are difficult to control once they evolve, and I am sure you aren't a weak trainer and can correct his course from that track, yes?“ Ingo simply ran over you with his words. He wasn't even looking at you, intent to study Matchstick's flames as if he was a crystal ball.

An annoyed puff blows away a strand of hair, "Yes, of course he did. I'm the one who told you he gave up last year and even started training with Havok." Why was he even talking about this? It was old news, half of it he even knew before you did so why was he talking like you were too stupid to figure it out.

"Speaking of, Havok hasn't been giving you trouble anymore has he? Banette are notorious for being troublemakers, no doubt you've struggled to keep her in line during battle before." His voice was insufferably patient. He didn't look at you at all, still inspecting Ghastly like he'd find something wrong, a fracture in his core or flicker in his fire.

Frustration welled in your chest. He was a master of ghost types in his youth, most of those skills he'd passed onto you when you met. It was him who inspired you to grow after a chance encounter during his disembark of the Singles line. The crowds had been especially dense that day, but they parted like an ocean tide as he passed you, grey eyes flicking to the erratic dance of your Ghastly while you stood in the middle of the crowd like an idiot trying to get him to stop circling you. He spoke with you about how Ghost types were an unruly group that needed special care and training, too little would leave them with too much energy.

He did admit later that he was a bit uncouth with how he simply butted into your affairs without warning, but you'd embraced it-though you did get mad at him for calling you out. He was right, you weren't training him because he was your first pokemon, a gift from your grandfather after he passed. You had no idea what you were doing, barley able to keep him in his ball without a fight. It was Ingo who'd taken him aside for one moment, seemingly listening to his rambling whispers before he turned to you again to say that he simply didn't like his pokeball.

The way Ghastly looked at you made you more mad. Of course even a placid grin could look at you like you were the idiot here.

From there he'd introduced you to his twin, then the battle lines. He helped you understand your partner better than anyone else-not through words or guidebooks. but action. While he didn't make you take either battle line, he did give you his number and schedule you to meet up with him later for a mock battle. He didn't have more than one pokemon on him then and he didn't even have to try to knock out your own.

But he didn't just move on. He stayed. He helped you figure out how to use your pokemon in battle, what his moves meant, how to assess the battlefield. Your continued meet ups meant more time together, leading into him helping you catch Havok, a Hypnos that had decided to battle you before he'd gotten there. It was him who told you why Havok attacked you, that pokemon sometimes attacked trainers because they recognize their strength and want to become stronger themselves.

Without him you wouldn't have been convinced to even try to be a pokemon trainer. He'd given you everything to start working on your confidence to even begin wondering how to conquer his line let alone the trails of a pokemon trainer.

Now he was acting as if you knew nothing again. Like all the progress you'd made was gone in the instant you sat down, that if he looked hard enough he'd see the dimness in Ghastly's flames showing a lack in power only a poorly maintained Ghost type would have. He was acting like you were some child he'd just met who didn't even know their own pokemon's abilities outside of strength.

Frustration boiled into anger. You spent so long getting to this point. All the hours, the days spent in the rain out on trails looking for pokemon to spar with, the nights where you'd let them pummel each other under cover of darkness to vent out their frustrations. Years battling your own self worth until it somewhat looked presentable enough to be blown into a facsimile of confidence-now here he was trying to pull it down from the bottom like a house of cards. You'd heard of the subway bosses being cruel, and Emmet you could see, but never would you imagine that Ingo would stoop to this level of meanness.

Rage boils and boils until it has nowhere to go. In your anger you knocked your pokemon right out of his hands to make him look at you, ”What are you even talking about!? I'm not stupid, I know how my pokemon work! Why would you even say that!?" Worked up as you were a flush of heat rolled up your neck, straining over your eyes like a migraine ready to pop as you jabbed a finger into his chest while he just stared at you blankly, "Do you think I can't control them?! Do you think I'm still some wannabe trainer who's barely got her feet wet?! Is that it-!?”

He snatched your hands in one of his own before you could continue, “Then why do you have such little faith in your team? You trained them, as you said, what makes you think they're incapable?” He holds your wrists together with a forefinger and thumb like a shackle to him, brow raised as he sharply leans into your space.

You startle at his gall. Deep, intense silver eyes glare from beneath the brim of his cap, cutting you to the bone and robbing you of your anger, “Um. I-I'm not-”

“You believe they aren't able to accomplish the goal you set. To ignore the efforts they take to complete their training to give you the best they have to offer, working in the dark with dim light, fighting against stronger opponents-is an insult to everything they do for you." His voice is like a sharp cold wind, shoving you towards the drop off the cliff you'd made from false bravado. With each word he tugs you closer to the edge. A sea of doubts and fears laps at your feet, coalesced from years of bottling and tossing them to the deepest reaches of your soul until this moment.

“But-I-” You floundered, struggling to hold onto the precipice he now dangled you off of, “I-I'm not doing that! I just don't think we're ready! If we don't make it this year then next year I'll-”

“And have all that you worked for mean nothing?” Again he shakes you by the wrists, gently but firmly enough to return you to the present, to his biting words that shove you closer into that deep abyss, “You drive them to train in strenuous conditions and retake our battle lines. What is the effort for if not to take them to the destination you've shown them? If it's not in their reach, why have them chase it? I will tell you, it is not from lack of training.“

And he leans in further, face stern, eyes narrowing as his voice drops to a mutter, “The very station you set to reach is out of your grasp, not because your pokemon are not ready, but because you simply are too afraid to leave the one you've come to.”

You balk. A cold flush dropped into the pit of your stomach as he pushed you off the cliff you'd failed to grasp. He was right-how long had you been at this? How many days had you driven them to train until none of them could stand anymore-how many of those days were you worn out yourself? The amount of times you'd taken the battle lines would make even the most seasoned trainer blush in embarrassment by now. How would anyone think they weren't ready for the challenge?

You could. Years of bottling up insecurities, ignoring the painful sting of defeat with the lie of maybe getting better-the consequence of paranoia it caused. Sure, you could grow as a trainer, strengthen your bonds to your pokemon-but it couldn't wash away the growing panic inside as the possibility of Champion drew closer and closer.

And now it was almost reality. All the fears, little paranoid dreams of failure and mockery were at the surface. You covered the water's mirror face with as much bravado and excuses as you could find. It would be easy, just a few more rounds to be sure. The training was almost done, but one more train ride would be just enough to finish it. Just one more day, one more training session, one more battle line win.

Everything-anything to avoid the reality that you might fail. And everything you worked for would be for nothing. Years of training, wasted on the truth that you were and always had been a failure.

It was too much. His intense eyes, his frown deepened. You couldn't look at him any longer, bowing your head while biting your lip. And you stayed like that, him staring at you while you simply sat there like a scolded child from overthinking yourself into a stupor.

Matchstick warbled in the air beside your ear. Wherever you'd smacked him to he must have just now got back, being a slow flier and all. Your gaze shifted to him while his black eyes seemed to study you silently. He wasn't even phased from your smack-he'd always been real sturdy. Whatever conclusion he reached his cold flame crackled into your hair as he tilted his face into your cheek with a soft murmur.

Tears threatened to fall. The tight ball in your chest unraveled just a bit. Ingo lets your wrists go as you reach up to hold the ghost closer to you, ”It seems Match has heard what you were worried about. Not a subtle thing, is he?“ The light amusement in his voice slowly pulls you out of your self contained misery.

It was really stupid when you thought about it. He was right-you had worked with them for years now. Maybe you hadn't meant to get into the championship initially, but hard work had gotten you this far. They gave you everything they had, breaking themselves to pieces to become what you needed.

He was cruel about how he worded it, perhaps, but he wasn't incorrect. It was just his way of reminding you of what really mattered-making the attempt with everything you had. Even if you didn't win, would it really matter if your team had given you their all? Would it matter if you'd spent so much time fighting, training, growing together just to make it here?

You can feel his stare on your face before he softly sighs, ”(Y/N),“ He mutters, voice gentle, ”I know you are afraid. This is quite the large step in your tracks and many have fallen before they reach it, but you have. You spent so much time training, learning and befriending your pokemon until they oiled their gears as a team. Their cars are linked to yours as you lead them into a bright future, one where they can stand at the highest peak and be the best of Unova-if only for a while.“ The edges of his hard frown lighten, turning upwards just a bit, ”Without you, they'd still be wild. Fighting on their own with less of a chance to evolve. Yet here they are, at the top of their game and able to break Emmet's record of losses-something I still hear about.“

You stifle a snort as he laughs under his breath. The image of Emmet grousing to his twin about losing is always a spectacle-last time he complained for an hour straight. Mostly because you'd won more than three times in a row and he was still sour, which he told you to your very smug face.

His smile softens as he sets a hand on your knee, ”(Y/N), as subway bosses we are aware of one singular truth, we cannot be the best in every battle. To win every time is to lose everything-one cannot learn to grow stronger by accomplishment alone. Avoiding loss is to avoid crucial knowledge that could send you to your next destination on the track of your life.“ He reaches back to your bag as he takes your hand, setting it at your feet ”So please, don't be afraid to fail. This is an important accomplishment to gain, but, it isn't a crime to lose either.”

You look down to the strap he sets in your hand. You rub your thumb into it in thought-maybe you had been overthinking it for too long. Was it the championship? Sure, but who else besides you had tried it, who else had been in the same place as you? Probably plenty of other people had won or lost, but in the end it didn;t matter, did it?

Emmet said it once. It's just a title on a piece of paper.

You snort a bit, “I guess you're right. It's just-well,” A bit of redness warms your cheeks as you fiddle with the strap again, not wrapping it around your hand this time, “I'm just stupid for worrying so much about it.”

“It's not stupid to be concerned of a challenge ahead. You're not stupid for worrying about it either, so don't let your tracks take your thoughts there again.” He gets to his feet, heading back to his desk before pausing, “Erm, and I…well.” Now it was his turn to be bashful as his eyes flicked to you for a moment before darting to the side, “I do apologize if I came across as too much, then. You just worry me when you go down these destructive tracks.”

You try not to snicker as you watch him study his twins desk with forced interest-clearly trying to take notes on organization from Emmet and not to avoid your gaze, “I know. Thank you for worrying. And I'm sorry for losing it on you, I know I've got anger issues.” He hums in acknowledgement as you let Matchstick squirm out of your hand before you stand up, hoisting your bag over your shoulder, “In that case I should probably start stocking up on potions and sprays before it gets dark. The pokecenter closes in a few hours and I'd like to have everyone ready for tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes. That's likely your best option for today.” Ingo adjusts his cap while sitting down, then looks up just as you pass, “But before you go tomorrow, please make a stop at our apartment. I will have something ready for you to take to the championship.”

You turn to him just as you reach the door, “Is it cookies? Did you bake again?”

A small twitch threatens to break his very serious scowl he aims at you, “Very funny. I'll be sure to include your astute review of Emmet's cooking skills in the morning-after he stops complaining about another loss.”

Your grin is smug as a Purrloin, “Can you give him a kiss for me~?”

“You can give it to him yourself when you get there in the morning. Now shoo, I have paperwork to finish and you're distracting.” He waves a gloved hand in your vague direction as he turns his attention back to the papers he'd left behind, clearly a little irked again by what he was reading.

A wheezing laugh whistles through your smile, Match hissing with you just over your shoulder. But before you open the door you make a quick jaunt back to his desk, grabbing his cheek to peck him on the temple, “Later, Ingo. Enjoy all of that.” You wiggle your fingers in the direction of the paper reading 'Time Schedule' while he grumbles under his breath, but you catch the start of a beautiful pink flush over his ears as he tugs his cap down over his face just before you depart with a bounce in your step.

In the morning when you knock on their door you're accosted by a frustrated younger twin who bullies you into the kitchen while the elder hands you a bag of revives and poison cures. His cap aside, button up shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he convinces you to stay just long enough for breakfast. Meanwhile his twin argues that no, a Mold Breaker trait isn't a fair way to battle and is verry much cheating-a leering smile directed at his not at all ashamed brother who just shrugs and tells him to do better.

When Emmet finally is shut up by you pulling him into a kiss, his twin standing silently by your side until you give him the same you set out on the final leg of your journey. Come Hell or high water, you were at least going to try.

~~affiliated with @pixelcafe-network ~~divider from @k1ssyoursister

[coltrainbat]

Part 2 of bubba? Would love to see more of protective!chris 🥺

Bubba Part 2: Bump

A/N: Everyone grasp your loins i'm back... lol and a funny update after being bullied by my roommates they found this account and followed it to "keep tabs" so everyone say heyyy to my inner circle who I recommend sleep with one eye open 🥰

"Stay beside me yeah?" Chris held you tightly, staring at you intently as he helped you out of the car.

"I can barely walk, you don't have to worry about me pulling a runner." Chris gave a small smile at your light hearted joke.

At this stage, you were 6 months pregnant and HUGE. The last thing Chris wanted to do is shove you in front of a thousand cameras and screaming crowds but you insisted you two go. You desperately wanted to get out of the house and do yourself up after living in sweatpants.

Chris couldn't deny despite the heartburn, oily hair, night sweats and cankles you were glowing and looked absolutely stunning tonight to the point he had to hold himself back from giving you another baby.

"We can go home at anytime." He rubbed the small of your back lightly, fidgeting with the top layer of your dress.

You two approached the interview platform, Chris easing you gently yet forcing your whole body weight on him as he helped up the short 2 inch step.

You smiled at him endearingly as you approached the report. He wasn’t necessarily a bad reporter he just was a bit too enthusiastic for you and Chris’s liking not to mention a little invasive both figuratively and physically.

Chris knowing this placed himself between you and the reporter, hand encasing yours between you two.

“And here we have Chris, Y/N and the bump..” He outstretched his hand, verging towards your bump but not before the ever alert Chris, pushed his hand away promptly

“Absolutely not.” Chris said sternly, eyeing the report with challenging eyes.

He laughed nervously, moving his hands back into his pockets.

“Well do you guys know the gender yet?”

“We do!” You both said proudly, at the same time.

“Well how about giving us a W News exclusive huh?”

“Yeah no we plan to keep that information between us and our family for the time being.”

“Oh come on is Captain America having a strong boy or beautiful girl… let it out.”

Chris was getting annoyed at this point, so you gave his forearm a soft squeeze.

“I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl and either can be beautiful and strong at the same time. I’m just grateful for a so far healthy baby and wife. Thanks for your questions.”

You smiled up at him as he led you off the platform, reaching his limit on stupid questions.

Moving off the platform you let out a groan of pain. Chris’s eyes shot to your face concern written all over his;

“What’s wrong? You hurt?”

“No no.” You waved him “My feet are killing me.”

“I did tell you not to wear them.” You glared at his hindsight for now was not the time to play the “I told you so” game.

“It’s called an OUTFIT Christopher.” You spat at him through gritted teeth.

“Sorry sorry… here take ‘em off.” He crouched down, pulling up his slacks slightly to get on one knee.

“I can’t just do that in public!”

“You’re pregnant, you can get away with anything.” He brushed you off.

Chris lifted up the skirt of your dress, slowly easing your foot out of the shoes.

You sighed with relief as he gave your feet a quick massage in his large hands.

“Better right?”

“So much better. Thank you.” You gave him a quick peck on the lips.

Holding the heels in his hands, you walked the rest of the event barefoot and in way less pain.

[ramsayxme]

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / AO3 Link

TW - reader has paranoia, postpartum rape, murder, violence, manipulation, emotional abuse, sexual abuse, physical abuse, ramsay bolton.

Chapter Nine: The Night Is Dark

Life without Ramsay seemed too far away to remember, and a future without him seemed unbearable and impossible; you would miss him too much. Your son was born in the dead of night during a harsh winter storm only 3 short weeks ago. Maester Wolken was positioned on one side of you, Ramsay loyally guarding you on the other. He was careful with you that night, gently stroking your hair as you pushed out his heir, his eyes twinkled with obsession as he examined your face. Your son had his fathers eyes, blue and piercing. Ramsay decided to call the child Ramses, obviously after his own name.

One afternoon, you were holding your son in your arms as you walked through the Dreadfort alone. Ramsay had been out on a hunt with the dogs for a few days, searching for yet another traitor of your house. Snow fell heavily as you strode through the courtyard, you inhaled deeply, the freezing air felt good in your lungs. You didn't flinch in the cold as much as you used to, now it felt somewhat comforting. The women and men of the Dreadfort nodded their heads at you as you walked past, recognizing their Lady and future Lord.

You reached your chambers just as Ramses was falling asleep in your arms. You entered your chambers and set your child in his bed, fluffing the blankets around his body so he could feel secure. You stretched when standing up, feeling grateful that he had fallen asleep. You went to the table to grab a cup of wine to loosen yourself up, but you found your wine jug empty. You tapped your foot in annoyance as you huffed, realizing this meant you'd have to go fetch your own from the barrels near the dining hall.

You disappeared through the door, your luxurious cloak swinging gracefully behind you, flashing your own flaying knife that you carried in a sheath at the small of your back; it was a gift from Ramsay after you assisted him with Reek. You reached the barrels down the hallway and dunked your jug into the deep red, filling it with the bitter wine. You allowed the drips to stop after a few moments, not wanting to soil your outfit or leave a mess in the hallway. You walked back to your chambers, eager to pour yourself a cup and sink into a chair by the fire and perhaps even read a book. You smiled at the idea.

You noticed your chamber door was ajar slightly, which was absolutely not how you left it. You quickly pushed the door open and saw one of your servants holding your son who was now awake, cooing in her arms. You felt your jaw clench as you slowly set the wine jug down. The servant smiled at you, but her smile quickly faded when she saw your facial expression. "My Lady, I apologize, he was squalling as I walked past your room. I wasn't sure when you'd return, so I thought I should comfort the little Lord."

She wore rags that stunk of sweat and spilled blood. They hung off her tiny frame, making her look even more scrawny and pathetic than she really was. Her filthy hands wrapped around your son in a way that was much more possessive than you liked. She clung to him, pressing him firmly against her chest. You felt a boiling in your gut; a bubbling heartburn fueled by anger, jealousy, insecurity, and fear. Your jaw tensed stiffly as you wandered towards the servant.

"I did not give you permission to touch my son." You hissed through your clenched jaw. A wild wrath rose even higher as you felt your cheeks flush red with rage. "Put him down. Now." You raised your eyebrows at her. She grasped Ramses even tighter against her shoulder, adjusting her grip around his little back. You couldn't handle seeing another woman hold him this way, and you hurried forward to grab your child. She winced, pulling him closer to her.

"Give. Me. My. Son." You breathed, moving even closer to her. Her back was against the stone wall now, and she had nowhere to go. You swiftly reached behind your back, your grip finding your flaying knife. In one flowing motion, you stepped forward and plunged the knife into her side, directly underneath her ribcage. It slid in rather easily, your hand feeling the warmth of her blood as she gasped and loosened her grip on your infant.

You twisted the knife that was hidden inside her flesh as you pulled it out and quickly put it back in its holder behind your back. You reached out, taking Ramses from her grasp. She pressed both of her hands on her wound in desperation, blood gushing from her side. You felt no remorse, as she had just proven herself to be an enemy by disobeying your orders. It was only in this moment that you realized Ramses was screaming and wailing. You quickly soothed your infant son as you began to breastfeed him as you stood over the woman, her life slipping away from her. You brushed your fingers over his wisps of dark hair as you watched his pale eyes flicker shut.

Just then, you heard a rather guttural chuckle break out from behind you. You turned around and prepared yourself to take on another enemy, but instead you saw Ramsay standing in the doorway. He was grinning wildly. You blinked, letting your anger die down inside yourself. You held Ramses pressed to your breast as you walked over to your husband. Ramsay held his strong arms out to embrace his family. "I see you have been busy protecting my son." He said, pressing his warm lips to your forehead. You hummed in response. "Yes. She was a threat... and was your hunt successful, my love?" He pulled his lips from your skin. "Yes. It was. And the hounds are quite full." He smiled, wrapping his arm around your son. "Let me hold my boy."

You slowly unlatched your infant from your breast and passed him to Ramsay and he smiled at his small child. You tucked your exposed chest back into your dress, but noticed Ramsay's eyes scanning your bare skin before it was hidden away. The white glow from the sun reflecting off the snow illuminated Ramsay's pale skin and you drank in the sight. His hair loosely drooping over his eyebrows as he lovingly stared at his heir. His ears peeking out through his dark curls, and the fur from his cloak cushioning his cheek as he tilted his head and admired his son. Ramsay was the only person in all the seven kingdoms that you trusted without a doubt when it came to the safety of your child.

Ramsay walked to the fireplace, sitting down on the chair with Ramses and began cooing him to sleep. You allowed your mind and body to return to you following the adrenaline high, the realization you had just murdered a woman in your own chambers began seeping into your consciousness. You pulled the knife out from your holster and walked over to the woman, kneeling down to wipe her blood off your blade with her own filthy rags.

"You did the right thing." Ramsay's voice interrupted your thoughts. You looked over at him, you were still knelt down next to the fallen woman. He nodded at you, his eyebrows raised as he cradled your son. He spoke softly to you. "She was a threat. It was the right thing to do." He turned his gaze back to the child. You realized that you hadn't even hesitated to kill her. You didn't try to take your son from her with your own hands, you instead decided to drain her of life. You furrowed your brows, reaching down and brushing the woman's hair from her lifeless face. You gingerly tucked her hair behind her ear and shut her eyelids for her. You were slammed with a sudden fear that sent a wave of goosebumps through your body.

Am I becoming a monster, just like Ramsay?

You shook the thought away, almost beating yourself up for thinking such a thing. You scolded yourself. Even if you were becoming just like your husband, it would be a good thing. The more time you spent with Ramsay, the more you realized that he was the smartest man you had ever met. Yes, he hurt people for fun, but it was deeper than that to him. You felt sick at the idea that you thought your husband was a monster; you had spent countless weeks training yourself to believe that he wasn't. He couldn't be. You loved him. You wouldn't love a monster, would you?

His claws are in your brain, My Lady. There is no turning back.

Reek's passive and recognizable voice echoed through your head. You looked around the room, startled and assuming you'd see the ragged boy standing somewhere. Impossible. You killed him. He was eaten alive. You swallowed hard as you convinced yourself that you were just very tired, possibly having some sort of hallucinations from being up all night these past few days with the baby while Ramsay was gone. It was nothing but sleep depravation.

You got up, deciding to ignore the uninvited thoughts that had just appeared in your mind. You swayed over to Ramsay and placed your hands on his shoulders. He looked up at you, a soft smile spread across his lips. "He's sleeping." He mouthed to you, your gaze shifting to Ramses. He looked so angelic, his soft cheeks were fat and his lips gently suckled as he slept. Ramsay exhaled as he stared at the baby. He slowly stood up and walked the sleeping infant to the bed that he was snatched from and laid him down. Then he turned back around and sat on the chair again. He patted his thighs and raised his eyebrows, a request for you to come sit on his lap.

You unclasped your heavy cloak and let it fall to the floor as you straddled your husband's lap. He groaned as you sat down on him, pressing against his body. He unlaced the top of your dress, your enlarged breasts falling out. They were larger than usual and Ramsay liked to admire them. While he kissed and suckled at your chest, his hands slid underneath your dress. Ramsay had thankfully not yet touched you since you gave birth, but it had only been 3 weeks. Maester Wolken suggested to wait at least 6 weeks or longer. You remember Ramsay chuckled at the request but you had foolishly assumed he would follow the directions of the Maester.

You were still swollen, sore, and bleeding frequently. You grabbed his arms as his fingers climbed up your thigh. "I don't think I am ready yet." You whispered. Ramsay looked confused. "My love... Forgive me, but I don't remember asking if you were ready?" Your stomach churned in a familiar way when you realized the dark determination in your husband's eyes. "Take off your clothes and lie on the bed. Now." Ramsay grinned, as he kissed your breasts and squeezed your hips, pushing you off of his lap. You took a deep breath, knowing that you couldn't argue with him.

You let your dress fall to the floor and pool at your feet before crawling in the bed. You were still somewhat insecure about your body since having the baby changed you so much. Ramsay didn't seem to mind as he pulled his trousers off and revealed his hard erection. You rolled over to lie down on your back, waiting for Ramsay to join you. There was no use in arguing, although you were very concerned for the pain that was certainly incoming. You had trained your mind and body to enjoy Ramsay's usual antics, but this was something much different and new. You were still horribly sore and the idea of Ramsay fucking you relentlessly was quite a painful thought.

Ramsay purred as he crawled on top of you, kissing your stomach and his hands caressing your swollen breasts. You were embarrassed about breastmilk leaking from your nipples, but Ramsay clearly could care less as he moved up to suck on your nipples. You braced yourself as he leaned back on his heels and began to stroke himself while positioned between your legs. He reached down to pet your cunt with his two fingers, and the pressure of those two fingers alone made you cry out in pain. "I don't know if I can do this..." You winced as he pressed them inside you. Ramsay snorted an exhale through his nose. "Shall I go find some other woman to please me, hm? I am sure it wouldn't be too hard for me to do..." he raised his eyebrows at you, testing your possessiveness.

"No!" You hissed as your envy bubbled over, leaning forward and pulling his body down closer to you with your fingernails. You were a very jealous woman, you didn't want Ramsay fucking any other women while he was your husband. He was yours and you were his. "Good. Then I don't want to hear you complain." He whispered as he pressed the tip of his cock against your sore and throbbing cunt. You let out a whining objection as he slowly pressed himself inside you. It felt like a fire was tearing through your lower abdomen, your body screaming at him to stop. You let out another cry and Ramsay harshly clamped his hand over your mouth.

He raised his eyebrows, shifting his eyes over towards the sleeping infant before bringing his gaze back to your face and darting from each of your eyes. "You don't want to wake him up, do you?" He leaned down and began kissing your neck as he started pumping in and out of you. It felt nearly intolerable, you knew you had torn during birth and it felt like he was just ripping you open all over again. Your pain was extreme, your eyes filling with tears. "It feels so good," Ramsay groaned between forceful thrusts. "You are swollen and warm. I have missed being inside you." Your eyes fluttered at your husband's words although your body was begging to reject him. You squirmed underneath him but found no success. He was always stronger than you and always would be.

Your eyes overflowed with tears as you screamed internally, Ramsay's hand still clamped to your jaw and mouth as he fucked you into the bed. Tears began to stream down your cheeks. Your hands were digging into his arm as an attempt to dull the pain, you noticed you started to draw blood on his forearm. "It really hurts, doesn't it?" He cooed, not slowing his pace as he leaned forward to press his forehead against yours. "Good." He grunted. You didn't want to admit that you were pleased to be abused by him. You wanted to be special.

He came quickly, thank the Gods. It had been 3 weeks of abstinence for Ramsay which is longer than he had ever had to wait with you before. He came hard inside you, his breath catching in his throat. He let go of your face so he could kiss you while he filled you with his seed, his sweat dripping on your forehead. After he finished, he smiled as he pulled himself from you, fresh blood covering his now soft cock.

He rolled over and promptly fell asleep, you assumed he was exhausted from the hunt. You curled up next to him, your body pulsating with pain, your lips quivering as you silently sobbed. Your cunt bled on the bed, even more sore and swollen than before. You winced as you tried to wipe off the blood before giving up and just letting your body attempt to heal itself before Ramsay could destroy it again. You felt broken and used but no matter what he did to you, you forgave him. You'd always forgive him. That's what love meant to you and Ramsay.

Final Chapter

[darlingsfandom]

Pregnant reader is glowing with her big round belly Steve is trying real hard to be respectful, disrespectfully.

"God ! I am fat and my tits hurt!" You sobbed as you rolled onto the bed.

"You're not fat ! You're having our baby!" Steve sat down next to you and rubbed your back slowly as you hugged your pillow tightly.

"No I'm fat! This baby is making me gain weight like crazy! I can't eat deli meat because of the heartburn and all the gas I've been passing is enough to kill an elephant Steve! I'm ugly and sweaty and I hate it !" You hit Steve with you pillow before he pulled it away.

"I know you're having a hard time being pregnant but pregnancy so different for all women! I think you look beautiful baby!" Steve kissed your forehead gently before helping you onto your feet. He held your hand as you waddled over to the mirror. "See! Look at your glow!" He wrapped his arms around you before rubbing your belly. "Our baby is in there!" His lips attached to your cheeks which in turn made you blush before he started kissing your neck. Steve's hands ran up to your boobs and slowly massaged them while he kissed your neck. You placed your hands over his while watching him in the mirror.

"I'd get you pregnant every year if I could!" Steve bit the side of your neck hard enough to leave a mark. You whimpered out his name before he took you back over to the bed, laid you down and got on top of you.

"You're beautiful and I'm going to remind you just how beautiful you are!"

[starlitangels]

Take Care (of My Little Brother)

The brotherly brain rot continues, lol 1.2k words One of my friends calls her little brother Bubba and that kinda seeped into this lol

—

2000

Thump... thump...

Not quite a knock, so much as the side of a hand tiredly hitting Aaron’s door. He looked up from his book. “Yeah?”

“A-Aaron?” a small voice asked. Aaron immediately dropped the book and rushed to open the door. Elliott didn’t use that voice often.

“El—what is it? Are you okay?” he asked frantically, bending over a little to meet Elliott’s gaze.

Elliott’s dark blond eyebrows were scrunched together. His dirty blond curls a mess all round his head. “M... my tummy really hurts. I don’t know why.”

Aaron leaned to look past his brother down the hall. Where their parents’ door was shut. He could hear shouting barely muffled through the door. That he’d been tuning out by reading for school.

Glowering down the hall, Aaron gathered Elliott to his chest in a hug and pulled his little brother into his room. “C’mere, bubba,” he said quietly.

Aaron shut the door to his room, muffling the shouting even more, and guided Elliott over to sit on his bed. 

“Where does it hurt, El?”

Elliott slowly pried his hands away from where he’d been clutching his stomach and pointed.

Aaron had no idea what to do, but he wasn’t going to tell Elliott that. 

“Okay. Wait here.” He left the room and went down to the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle out of the fridge, and a bottle of pink Pepto-Bismol from the cupboard. Then went back to his bedroom. He set the water bottle on the bedside table and measure out some of the pink medicine. Elliott’s eyes were watery, but their dark violet was unwaveringly trusting as he watched Aaron pour out a dose into the little cup that usually came with the bottle. “Drink this,” Aaron instructed.

Elliott accepted without question.

Then gagged.

“No. No. Don’t spit it out. You have to swallow it. I know it doesn’t taste very good but you gotta swallow it, Eli.”

Aaron put his hand over Elliott’s mouth. Elliott gagged again, but forcefully swallowed.

“There you go, buddy. It’s okay.”

“Aaron...” Elliott’s voice was weak.

“I know. I know. Here.” He handed Elliott the water bottle. “Wash it down. It’ll help.” Hopefully. Aaron didn’t say that part out loud.

Elliott drank from the water bottle while Aaron climbed onto the bed beside him and held him close, comfortingly. Rubbing Elliott’s back to try to make him feel better.

“Now what?” Elliott asked.

“Now we just gotta wait to see if it works.”

Elliott huddled against Aaron’s side, nodding. “Okay. Can... can I stay in here? I can hear Mom and Dad through the wall in my room.”

“Yeah. You can stay here.” Aaron gave Elliott a squeeze. “It’s gonna be okay.”

—

2006

Tears were streaming down Elliott’s face when Aaron burst through the former’s bedroom door. “El—what’s wrong?” he demanded.

Elliott’s hand was balled into a fist in his T-shirt over his heart. “It—it hurts, Aaron,” Elliott sobbed. “It burns.” He was on his knees on the floor. Aaron dropped to the ground right next to him. Twelve seemed pretty young for heartburn, but Aaron couldn’t fathom what else pain in Elliott’s chest could be. Certainly not a heart attack. Elliott was way too young for that.

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

“W—wait!” Elliott rasped out. “Don’t—don’t leave me!”

“I’m just gonna grab a Tums, bubba,” Aaron said. “Should help the pain.” He ran out of his brother’s room and downstairs to the kitchen. Mom was working late again and Dad was... probably at the bar again. Leaving Aaron his usual role of keeping an eye on Elliott.

He found the bottle of Tums and shook a purplish-pink tablet into his hand and filled a glass of water before going back to Elliott’s room.

“Here. Chew it completely before swallowing. Then I need you to drink this whole glass all gone, okay?”

“What... what does a Tums do?” Elliott asked.

“It’s an antacid. Your chest is probably hurting because acid from your stomach had worked its way up your esophagus. Which isn’t capable of handling the digesting acid. So it burns. The Tums will fix it. Put the acid back where it belongs and soothe your esophagus.” He handed the tablet to Elliott.

“Medicine always tastes gross.”

“I know, El. But you gotta do it if you want it to stop hurting. Now stop whining and just take the Tums.”

Elliott knew better than to back-talk Aaron when he used that voice. So he took the tablet from Aaron’s waiting palm and put it in his mouth. Chewing with a disgusted expression on his face. Once he swallowed, he guzzled the glass of water gratefully. Washing the taste out of his mouth.

Aaron sat on the floor next to his brother and drew Elliott in close. The four-year age gap between them never left them in similar life stages growing up, but Aaron still loved and cared about his brother.

Elliott’s crying didn’t slow down much, but he burrowed into Aaron’s side in search of some sort of comfort or relief. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered out.

“For what?”

“Bugging you. And hurting.”

“Oh, Elliott. Don’t apologize for that. You’re my little brother. And it’s my job to take care of my little brother.”

He wrapped an arm around Elliott and started to rub his brother’s back.

Neither of them knew that Elliott’s chest pain wasn’t heartburn. Neither of them would find out about magic or Cores for years. Neither of them knew that the Core activating and awakening could be painful.

—

2022

“So,” Aaron’s partner asked Elliott in the living room while Aaron brewed some coffee in the kitchen. “What was he like growing up?” They nodded toward the kitchen.

Elliott, still distressed from the drive with Aaron but grateful for the distraction, managed a weak smile. “Aaron was the definition of ‘a comforting lie,’” he said.

His brother’s partner cocked their head. “What do you mean?”

Elliott took a deep breath. “I bugged the hell out of him. Constantly. But he never really let it show. He always put up with me. Took care of me when I was sick or hurt. Always pretended that taking the time to comfort me was no big deal even if it meant he had to stay up all night to finish his homework. He’d get snippy sometimes, I guess, but not often.”

Aaron ducked into the living room with a mug in each hand. He passed a purple one with gold stars and a broken-but-repaired handle to Elliott, passing the vibrant green one to his partner before retrieving his own mug for himself from the kitchen. “I never lied, El,” he said. “It wasn’t a big deal to take care of you when you were hurting. You needed it—and like hell was Mom or Dad gonna do it. Sure it got irritating but I was always happy to do it. You needed me and it’s my job to take care of my little brother.”

Elliott smiled and sipped at the coffee. Just the way he’d always liked it. He looked up, meeting his brother’s intense blue-grey stare. “You remembered how I make coffee?”

“I made it for you plenty enough,” Aaron dismissed, sipping at his own coffee. “I’d be more surprised if I’d forgotten.”

Elliott curled in on himself. “Thank you, Aaron.”

That earned him a tiny smile. “Of course, El.”

[hey-michael-young-history]

Day 19: Hyperemesis Gravidarum

——

For Hanzo.

Kuai Liang sighed. He summoned as much strength as he could, reached up, and flushed the toilet.

For Hanzo. He deserves…

His stomach lurched as he pushed himself away. Smelling the thick bile was hard enough. If he had to see it go down, he wouldn’t be able to eat for the rest of the week.

Kuai Liang pushed himself back until he hit the wall, then rested against the cool tile. It felt so nice against his clammy skin. It felt so nice to rest. He only needed a moment. His throat was sore, his stomach felt watery and he was so tired.

He was so tired.

When he opened his eyes, he did feel a bit better. It was dark in the bathroom and there was a blanket over him.

Hanzo.

Kuai Liang removed the blanket and slowly rose. The room was saturated with his Alpha’s pheromones. While that usually soothed Kuai Liang, right now, it made him unsettled. Anxious. Dizzy.

Nauseated.

He just needed to get to bed. As apprehensive as he still felt about sleeping in a bed, he knew that if Hanzo found him sleeping outside of the bed, he wouldn’t let it go. Kuai Liang felt like enough of a problem already.

He entered their bedroom, where the smell of Hanzo only grew stronger, a bouquet of strength and tenderness and warmth and…

Too much. Too many different smells, making his stomach lurch.

“My treasure.” Hanzo’s voice was a heavy murmur as his arms came around Kuai Liang, guiding him to their bed.

Almost. He should have known. Hanzo’s omnipresence was something he'd never escape, now that they were bound together through a bite.

And this thing inside him.

“I am fine,” Kuai Liang insisted hoarsely. His throat ached with every vibration of his vocal cords and his stomach begged him to stop talking.

Hanzo’s frown deepened. “Yes, I know.”

He sat on the bed, easing Kuai Liang next to him. “I know that you can forgo eating for quite a long time. My concern is for our child.”

He pulled Kuai Liang’s face against his neck. “How long has this been going on?”

“A few days.”

“Kuai Liang.”

“If you know the answers, why do you patronize me with your questions?” The cryomancer asked, standing.

He wanted to be on the bed. Every day that he spent… like this… made him give in more and more to his desire to just be somewhere warm and soft.

But not in front of Hanzo. He was worried enough about this child. Kuai Liang could handle himself. He wouldn’t add to his Alpha’s troubles.

“I can prepare some tea,” Hanzo offered.

His brow furrowed in concern as Kuai Liang turned with his hand over his mouth. “Or perhaps we should retire for the evening.”

“Yes,” Kuai Liang agreed, fighting the heartburn crawling up his chest.

He clutched his throat and gave a low sigh. There was nothing in his stomach, but he couldn’t risk getting sick in bed. As comfortable as it looked… it wasn’t worth it. No one would bother him on the floor.

He touched the duvet. When he slept on the floor, he didn’t deserve to have such nice bedding. But there was a pull in his body. An itch at the thought of not having it that was irritating and confusing. He didn’t belong in the bed but Hanzo’s child deserved some comfort.

Hanzo watched Kuai Liang’s fingers move across the duvet. He needed sleep. He needed to eat, but the sour scent that clung to him explained why he didn’t bother. Hanzo could see his mind working. Kuai Liang was his Omega. His pregnant Omega, no matter how uncomfortable the adage made him feel. The only thing a pregnant Omega should concern themselves with was their child.

The sickness Kuai Liang was struggling with had gone on for weeks now. Chiyoko warned them of morning sickness but he was feeling ill at all times of day. His body was going into overdrive, trying to mask the acidity of his scent with a cloying perfume that got the attention of every Alpha he passed.

The looks told Hanzo that it wasn’t normal. He wasn’t allowed to be near Harumi during her pregnancy, though he obsessed over every stray whiff of her that he caught. He didn’t know much but he knew that his wife loved being pregnant. Kuai Liang refused to even say the word.

Another curse put on him by yet another Alpha.

Enough. Hanzo finally tore the duvet off the bed and tossed their pillows and sheets to the floor. Kuai Liang watched, though the bitter ash of anger was weakly emitting through his pheromones.

“Hanzo–”

“It is fine if you wish to sleep here but only on the condition that you nest first,” he insisted.

Relief touched the cryomancer’s shoulders as he lowered his crossed arms and took a pillow. His nesting still left much to be desired but Hanzo waited patiently as he established the area and set to work. His nest was large and empty, bare in some spots, overflowing with poorly folded sheets in others. He looked at Hanzo expectantly, yet another thing the Alpha was getting used to.

Nesting was an Omega thing. An Alpha’s approval in the matter should mean nothing to them.

“It’s perfect, my treasure.” Hanzo answered with admiration and love, as he always did. “May I enter?”

Kuai Liang nodded, as he always did, and allowed Hanzo to embrace him. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for building it for us.” He wasn’t sure if his Omega heard him; he was falling against Hanzo far too easily. He pulled Kuai Liang closer and eased them into a more comfortable position.

Getting him to eat would be his next task. But for now, rest would do them both good.

—--

Hanzo fell asleep to the drone of Kuai Liang purring against his chest, but it wasn’t long before the feeling was gone and the sound was replaced by a heavy coughing fit.

He opened his eyes and saw his Omega sitting up, doubled over with his hand over his mouth.

“Shh, shh, come,” Hanzo whispered. He tried to pull Kuai Liang along but he refused to budge. He thought for a moment, then pushed the coughing man down on his left side and rubbed his back. “This is your nest. You are safe here. If you need to make a mess here, it's fine.”

He waited for Kuai Liang to recover from the dry heaving before getting a damp washcloth and wiping his face and his mouth. The washcloth felt amazing and the opportunity to rinse out his mouth was one he hadn’t thought to take.

“Thank you,” he rasped.

“You're so ill that there is nothing to expel,” Hanzo sighed. “When was your last meal?”

Kuai Liang had no intention of answering that question. But then Hanzo pulled his head against his chest and started stroking his hair and he felt such relief that he would have confessed anything to keep it going. “I– I had a glass of milk some time ago…”

He wondered if Hanzo always smelled this good, if his pheromones were always so warm and enticing. He grabbed Hanzo’s waist and pulled him so close that he could barely breathe. Hanzo was his air. His pheromones were all the food Kuai Liang needed.

It had been so long since he felt such peace. He wondered why he ran from this.

Hanzo sighed again and kept stroking his Omega’s hair. Kuai Liang’s purr was almost deafening and it was lulling his Alpha into a sinking slumber. If this was how his family needed to rest, Hanzo would facilitate it.

For now.

—---

The sun invaded the nest and forced Kuai Liang to open his eyes. The canopy was too thin, he realized.

He wasn’t surprised that Hanzo wasn't there, but it didn't make the hollowness of sudden solitude any easier. He rolled over, preparing to stand.

But the entire room rolled with him.

But as quickly as the nausea came, it dissipated. And he smelled something new.

Something light. Sweet. Marshmallows? He immediately purred and heard a chuckle over him as someone rubbed his back and continued flooding him with these safe, sweet pheromones.

“You have hyperemesis, my dear. Likely hyperemesis gravidarum,” came the whisper of a familiar voice. “Hanzo told me that you can barely move without feeling sick. We just need to get you hydrated…”

Hanzo’s pheromones made him feel sick but Chiyoko’s were filling his body with simple joy and awarmth. A small smile. Short hair. He was small and she was so warm…

“You… smell…”

“I hope it is a comfort to you,” She said softly. “You and the beautiful child we’re all waiting to meet.”

“It’s… killing me…” he murmured.

“I’m sure it feels that way,” she said, helping him stand. “But I know you are much stronger than you credit yourself for.”

“My strength… is in fighting. Killing,”

“Your view of yourself will change once your little one opens their eyes and sees you for the first time.”

He didn't argue with her as she led him out of their room. Nothing that carried his cursed bloodline could be good. The very thought brought his stomach to his throat.

“You will recover.”

Kuai Liang looked up and saw Hanzo, as fierce, determined, and confident as ever. “And our family will be complete.”

Despite himself, Kuai Liang smiled. It was a dangerous thought, but one that settled his stomach at least for the moment.

My family will be complete.

[wonderlandleighleigh]

i’d love to hear more of the midge and lenny paparazzi at the stage deli debacle if you’d be up for it !!!

Hello Sunshine, February of 1964

At four months pregnant, Midge's baby bump is slight, but her pre-pregnancy wardrobe is a little tight, so she's started sporting slightly looser silhouettes. She loves this stage of pregnancy. The glow is nice, but she's not as tired, and she get still fit in the booth next to Lenny at the Stage Deli, looking over the menu and feeling the comfort of his arm around her shoulders.

"Are you sure you don't want to eat somewhere else?" Lenny offers gently. "Your heartburn has been shit, and they serve a lot of grease here."

"I'm fine," she assures him, kissing his cheek. "I like it here. And they have great soup."

He chuckles. "That they do, and it is cold as hell out."

Midge smiles and snuggles in, closing her eyes contentedly. "This is nice. Just you and me and some lunch. Only one, unborn child to worry about."

"It is nice to have a little calm," Lenny agrees, rubbing her shoulder. "We should make time for more of this. Fuck knows we're not going to get any calm once this kid shows up."

"You said it," Midge laughs softly. "Let's run away together for a whole week."

"You have the show, and I have the final draft of my book to finish," he reminds her gently.

She huffs. "Worth a shot."

"We'll plan a weekend," Lenny promises. "Just you and me."

"Excuse me."

they both look up, finding a man with a camera standing by their table.

"Uh...hi," Midge greets, looking confused.

Lenny lifts an eyebrow, looking wary. "Can we help you with something?"

"I uh..." the man huffs and holds out a little canister. "I was taking some photos, and I uh...I just felt...here. Here, take this."

Lenny frowns deeper, reaching out slowly and taking the canister. "You uh...were gonna sell photos of us?"

"I was," the man confirms. "But I just- y'know. Your wife is pregnant and I just- I don't feel right." He waves them off. "Enjoy your meal," he says, before walking off quickly.

"I'm not just his wife!" Midge calls. "I'm Midge Mai- fuck never mind," she grumbles. "Jesus."

Lenny sighs and kisses her temple. "Cheer up, Sweetheart. Maybe he got some good snaps."

She huffs. "I'm getting soup and pie."

"I support this decision," he promises. "Soup and pie it is."

[monstersinthecosmos]

September 28, 1973

Sometimes when Daniel was a kid, he’d play this game when he woke up somewhere unfamiliar—could be a sleepover, or family vacation, or weekends at his grandma’s house in Flushing. He’d keep his eyes closed, and focus on the feeling on the bed around him, and imagine if he could be home.

Things always gave it away. Like, this can’t be my bed, because I can’t feel the slope of the mattress from my uneven bedroom floor. Or, I can’t hear my dog pattering around, bothering Mom for breakfast. The traffic outside doesn’t sound like our neighborhood. It’s too sunny, even with my eyes closed. It smells different.

And sometimes, waking up in his own bed, more and more as he got older, he could do the opposite. Imagine somewhere else in the world. Wonder how far away he could be.

He breathes.

In, and hold, and out. Eyes closed, but he can feel the sun spilling over him from the window. He tries to keep his body still, feeling for the bed around him. The headache abates, just slightly, as he imagines his childhood bedroom. 

This bed is bigger. And there’s no slant to the floor. With each deep breath he gets hints of the hotel bleach in the pillowcase, not the detergent his mom uses. On weekends, when his dad was off from work, sometimes Daniel would wake up to his smoker’s cough coming from the kitchen downstairs, but there’s nothing like that here. Someone’s footsteps are too heavy, stomping by in the hallway, and there’s enough noise from the street outside that he knows he’s in a city. Not the quiet suburb where he grew up. 

No. 

But it’s okay. He takes the moment, anyway, breathing deeply, slowly, holding still util he can’t feel his limbs anymore. And he feels the hangover balancing there, depending on him, and if he makes one wrong move it’ll rush back to him. The headache and the heartburn, and the stomach cramp. Staying still, so still, breathing so slowly, helps him leave his body behind.

Maybe it’s not his own bed, or least not his childhood bed. Maybe it’s too obvious. But he tries to pretend, for a minute, and it makes everything feel close. Like someone would feed him if he went downstairs. Like he could go hang out with Ray. 

It’s not just about the bed, though. He wonders if he could pretend, even for a minute, that he could be that same kid. 

Eyes open. Blinding white for a moment as he squints against the sunlight, the  bright yellow wallpaper, the ugly curtains. Other features come into focus as he adjusts. The sailboat painting on the wall. The TV in the corner. For a moment he forgets that he’s supposed to be staying still, and he rolls over on his side to look out the window.

This isn’t unlike the game, really. The one where he pretends he could be anywhere. For once, he really could be. 

Pain throbs though his jaw as he yawns, as he curls himself tighter into the blankets. An ache in his hip, too, as he shifts his weight. And he thinks… he remembers getting in a fight? Had he fallen down?

The Moody Blues were playing on the jukebox, and his ears had been ringing when he he lost his balance. People around him had been saying things, speaking real words, and Daniel hadn’t really been able to understand, except he had.

He wants a glass of water but isn’t ready to get up. He wonders what type of hangover food he’ll need to track down, now that he’s this new version of himself. Isn’t sure what his stomach can handle anymore.

What types of food will he even find here, anyway? Still not positive where he even is.

There are no clues from where he curls on his side. Blue sky and a nondescript building out the window. He can’t see any of the hotel literature from here. He cranes his neck to see the alarm clock on the nightstand, but there’s only numbers on the clock face. They click as they flip from 3:59 to 4:00pm. 

Is that right?

He leans up on his elbow, rubs his eyes. The hangover comes back in a rush as the blood leaves his head, and he breathes through this teeth as he adjusts. Last night is a bit of a blur but he remembers noticing the 12:11am on the clock when he flopped onto the bed. His birthday.

So he’s hungover, and his face hurts, but he can’t remember the last time he got this much sleep. And he can’t remember the last time he felt this… clear?

Still in yesterday’s clothes as he pushes the blankets back, swings his legs over the side of the bed. Two weeks of stubble on his face as he feels for the cut on his lip. Hip creaks as he stands, and he definitely fell down last night, and he runs a hand over it as he limps over to the window.

The sun feels nice on his skin. He stays there for a moment, basking in it, and it almost feels like he’s waking from this last entire month, like he’s stumbled upon a tiny shred of himself that was left on the inside. 

Ever since he left New Orleans it’s felt like the floor was moving. Like he’s on a ship, or like he’s got the spins. Still, some semblance of a routine took shape. Wake up, and grab your shit, and run.

Go. Now.

It doesn’t seem so urgent today, though. Maybe it’s the sleep, or the hangover. Maybe it’s the fact that he survived the night at all.

He wonders if he could take a day off. 

Last night…

Armand could have found him. Easily. For the first time since this began, he feels rational about it. 

Or, maybe not so rational. It’s as if a part of him feels… disappointed?

He scratches a hand through his hair, and turns away from the window. Scans the room for his cigarettes, and a notepad. Considers making a list, writing some thoughts down to organize himself. And he should call the hotel desk, see if they have room service, or maybe they can suggest a place for dinner. He should stay another night, even if it’s just to do laundry. 

The hotel’s insignia is stamped in the corner of the little stationary pad, but he still isn’t sure where they are. Laid neatly on the nightstand, beside the phone, with a cheap green pen. He finds his crumpled, almost-empty pack of cigarettes on the bathroom counter, and lights one as he sits cross legged on the bed, laying the pad neatly on his thigh.

Okay, list, he tells himself, and can sort of picture it. All the usual stuff. Brush your teeth, take a shower, shave. Call the desk, figure out laundry, get food. He considers planning a flight in advance this time—maybe he can call the airport. Maybe he can look at a map, and strategize, because he’s not sure how long this will be sustainable.

The tip of the pen presses a little green dimple into the paper as he thinks, as he drags deep on his cigarette. The pieces start lining up in their correct spots as the nicotine hits him, as it smoothes down all the edges, as it opens up his brain. The butt of the cigarette sends a pleasant, warm throb through the cut on his lip, and he presses down to feel it even more. Slots the tip of his tongue into it.

Brush your teeth, he tries to write, but as the letters appear it says something else.

“I don’t want to die,” he reads aloud.

For a moment his eyes burn. Not that there are witnesses to comment on it, but he feels ready to blame the cigarette smoke. He pinches the bridge of his nose, hands trembling as he sets the pen down. 

“He’ll kill you,” he whispers to himself. Admitting it causes something to unfurl in his chest. It’s not something he knows how to identify. Something new, something deformed. Not quite grief, like when Ray died. Not the grief of homesickness, either. Not the confusion, or the restlessness, not really even the fear. Almost like arousal, except it fills him with disgust. 

More like loneliness, like disappointment. And like curiosity. Like hunger. 

Maybe it’s jealousy. 

And for what.

Daniel isn’t sure he believed Armand, that first night. Telling him to run. He hadn’t known what to think, really, except that fleeing seemed like the right thing to do. But he can find you. He can kill you. He could’ve done it by now. He could’ve last night. 

The hair rises on the back of Daniel’s neck. His breath hitches, and his heart races, and he rubs his eyes. He picks up the pen again and crosses out the note.

I don’t want to die.

His voice is soft in the empty room, gently slurring through his split lip.

“What do you want, though?” 

[previous day] | [next day]

[tams-writeblr]

SasuHinaMonth 2023

@sasuhinamonth

Today I have days 4 to 10 for you!

Knowing their favorite drink

Sasuke filled the shelves of the grocieries store he worked at. Wine, something he never understood. Why did people think it was sophisticated to get wasted with a drink that would give you the worst heartburn the day after. He just opened another box of wine, when he paused. Slowly, he took one bottle of rosé wine out. It was the same wine Hinata had had on their engagement party. And the same one he sometimes found in their fridge. Sasuke sighed and told his boss to check two bottles out for him. They would look great in their fridge.

Forehead touches

“Sorry Hitomi, maybe next time.” Hinata watched her daughter pout at her father. He was about to go to the office, the Hokage had called for him and so Sasuke coudn't attend Hitomi's training session. To Hinata's surprise, she saw Sasuke tap Hitomi's forehead. “Oi!”, Hitomi protested. “Be good”, Sasuke lectured, turning to leave. “Darling, wait!”, Hinata said and walked between father and daughter. “What was that?”, she whispered, sensing there was more to this gesture. Sasuke's mind wandered. “It's a thing, that runs in the family.” Repeating the gesture on her, he promised to explain it to her later.

If you fall, I will catch you

Pregnancy had been rough for Hinata. Nausea and circulatory problems haunted her. She hated being alone these days but Sasuke also had his job. She spend the majority of the day in bed but now she was thirsty so she shuffled towards the kitchen. She was just preparing tea, when she heard steps behind her. Turning around, she saw Sasuke smile at her. He opened his mouth to say something, but she couldn't hear a thing and the floor qickly came closer. Before hitting the floor, a strong arm wrapped around her. He would always catch her, when she fell.

Tying ties

Sasuke didn't dare to look at his bride, afraid he could never turn his eyes away again. He never noticed how beautiful Hinata actually was. Not that he cared much about looks, but Hinata was simply stunning in her white Kimono. He heard her say “I do”, in the most monotonous voice possible and Sasuke knew his entry was about to come. He also answered with “I do”, when the priest asked him. “You may now kiss the bride.” Sasuke gulped, they hadn't talked about this. So they just shared a quick, chaste kiss on the side of their mouths.

Playing with hair

Hinata loved Sasuke's hair, she loved it from the first time he fingers wrapped around it. She loved how it always stayed in the position she brushed it in. She loved it's color, a dull black, like black stone. She loved, that it represented Sasuke's personality, unruly and stubborn. While her own hair was prettier to most people, she hated how it always went back to it's usual form, no matter how she styled it in the morning. Sasuke turned to look at her drowsily. “Admiring my hair again?”, he groaned and rested his head right into her warm hand.

Cooking together

“God damned it!”, Sasuke cursed and threw the knife of the counter. He gave the cutting board for one-handed a sour look. Usually it was doing a great job for him but the carrot he tried to slice just not cooperated. “You all hate me?” “Everything alright?”, Hinata's soft voice appeared behind him. “Arg, it's just not my day today.” Hinata took the carrot and the knife from the counter and softly pushed Sasuke aside. “Let me chop the veggies. You can do the frying.” Sasuke didn't like being patronized but some days you just had to accept being helped...

Finding beauty in the ugly and broken

“I'm sorry I'm so flawed”, Sasuke whispered into Hinata's shoulder as she held him tight. Again one of his nightmares. He hadn't even been surprised when the nightmares started, after all that he's been through. At first he didn't tell Hinata anything but soon she noticed. She always noticed everything. “It's okay”, she whispered. “It's just natural. It's just who you are.” She paused. “Who we are.” Sometimes she also woke up dripping in sweat. They all had seen too much for their young age. “Are we visiting our brothers today?”, he asked calmly. Hinata nodded, hugging him even tighter.

[peachpixiebby]

I’m nearing 2 years without alcohol. I’m really proud of myself & my progress. Not too long ago I couldn’t even manage going a month sober.. or even a week. The cravings still come. I still think about “what if I just break my sobriety??”

I miss getting drunk. I miss feeling buzzed right before being drunk. I miss drinking on an empty stomach and it going straight to my head. I miss feeling my face getting flushed. Being giggly and smiley. Drinking in the shower (sad but fun tbh). Drinking while cleaning the house. Social drinking. But there’s far FAR more things I don’t miss and that’s what keeps me going in my sobriety.

I don’t miss the hangxiety. Getting to the point where I would blackout no matter how much I drank. Worrying “what did I do last night?” Feeling embarrassed. Spending too much money. Literally having the gas station attendant comment on how often I would come in for beer 😬 The shakes, the nausea, the splitting headaches, chronic heartburn, the bloated tummy, the random bruises, going to work hungover, having to eat lots of greasy food the next day to feel okay, the puking, feeling guilty bc someone else always had to be the D.D.. countless other things.

What helped me quit drinking:

I didn’t even intend on quitting. It’s overwhelming to go into something like “this will be for the rest of my life” My last day drinking I decided I was just taking a break. I had a really nasty bout of heartburn that would not go away. It felt like no other time before. Like I had done permanent damage to my esophagus and I got really worried. I could barely eat bc I was worried about flaring it up worse & it also gave me such a weird full feeling for nearly a week.

If you’re feeling sober curious my best advice is go into it like I did. Slowly without a huge & intimidating goal and just see how it feels. As long as it feels good, keep going. Another huge help for me was listening to sober podcasts. My fave: Sober Powered podcast. The host’s drinking situation was similar to mine and she inspired me. She also is super smart and provides really interesting scientific data to explain what’s going on inside your body while you drink and while you quit.

If you’re thinking about taking a break or quitting, here’s the last thing I have to say: