#need him stirring up my guts 😊😊😊😊😊😊😊

[touyaz]

h he when you aaandbthe Yeah.👍👍👍

[heystovepipeboys]

Heyo!! ‘🥰’ and ‘😍’ for the writers ask game please!! Hope you’re doing well 😊

Thank you for the ask!! Looking at this I realise I like don't write just fluffy stuff that often... But here is a little baberoe snippet I have in my drafts:

In the Austrian sunshine, Babe dozes with his head pillowed on Gene's thigh. His cool fingers comb absently through Babe's hair, sending pleasant reverberations through his body from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. The air smells sweet and everything is quiet. It's over. It's hard to believe, now. It feels like a dream. Except…  Babe thinks of soft blue cloth wrapping firm around his wounded palm. He thinks of Gene's arm around his back when he told him about Bill and Joe. He thinks about Gene after Landsberg, how he'd dazedly let Babe wash his hands and face clean, how Babe had wrapped around him on the little bed and held him until he slept. He thinks about Philly, the streets of his childhood, how different they're going to look after everything he's seen and done.  “Hey, Gene?” “Hm?” Gene sounds like he was dozing himself, or lost in thought.  “Come home with me.” It's not a question or a demand, but an offer, an extended hand. Babe keeps his eyes shut as he says it, not wanting to put Gene on the spot by looking at him thinking it through.  Gene's fingers go still in his hair, tangled sweetly there. His thumb strokes reverently over Babe's temple. It's a long, long moment before he speaks, his voice a soft rumble.  “Anywhere you want, Babe.”

And for the section that I loved writing here is a section from the fic I wrote for my wife for the Heavy Artillery Holiday Exchange in your dreams, whatever they be. I just always enjoy Dick grappling Nix's mortality and how it would devastate him if he died:

Dug in for the night, Dick knelt in the dirt at the bottom of their scraped-out hole in the ground. Nix was opening a can of something unappetizing, watching his own hands rock the can opener up and down, up and down. “I can feel you looking at me,” Nix said, not glancing up. Dick shifted, a stir of sticky guilt in his gut. Quit looking at me like that, he heard again. He felt exposed, like an ant under a magnifying glass. “It's just a scratch, Dick. Barely touched me.” “You need a new helmet.” Dick felt his eyes drawn to it, the punched-in entry point and the ragged exit pulling his attention. It felt like bad luck, as superstitious as that sounded. He wanted it gone. He wanted, irrationally, to scoop it up and toss it out into the night, as far away from Nix as he could. “Good thing I was wearing it, huh?” Nix’s eyes flicked up then, and he offered out the can. “Here. Eat something, would you?” Chagrined, Dick took the can and ate.

Ask me for WIP/published fic snippets in this ask game here!