#i want to punch his face then cocoon him in a blanket

[jaira]

he’s so annoying jskfhsdjfgj

[ncroissant]

chilchuck tims x bimbo! reader x laios touden

summary: how your poly relationship with your little lock picker and blond himbo would start<3

wc: 1.6k

content warning: sfw (for once???), looottts of fluff

author's note: surprise!! i'm writing both lmaoooo bc i love writing sm u guys. also i saw @ququoquaw post about how they wanted more laios x reader and laios x chilchuck, so here's all of it combined teehee!! hope u enjoy !!

(alt nsfw ver. here)

it was a slow day in the dungeon today that you all decided to just set up the camp and retired for the night. you, laios and chilchuck were the only ones up, playing cards around the warmth of the fire.

"i won again," chilchuck chuckled, already anticipating his win. laios threw down his cards in defeat while you gave him a little applause, yawning quietly.

to be honest, you were already dozing off mid-game. chilchuck and laios were the real night owls. you just had fomo and didn't miss out on the fun with the "adults".

"you feelin' tired, (name)? wanna head to bed?" chilchuck cooed, pushing off his knees to stand up. he noticed the way you were eyes would close for a second to doze off every time you blinked.

"mmnn...i dunno," you yawned even bigger this time, cupping your mouth with both of your hands.

"c'mon (name)! you gotta stay up with us, we're gonna have so much fun!" laios chuckled, shaking you awake. you gasped, trying to keep your eyes as open as possible. but you only had the energy to slump against laios' shoulder.

chilchuck stifled a laugh. you reminded him of his kids when they tried to convince him they weren't tired. "no, i think someone sounds a little tired," chilchuck walked over to kneel in front of you, brushing away the hair that fell over your eyes with two fingers.

"nu-uh..." you whined, rubbing at your eyes. "'m awake, chi." you were so not awake right now. it was way past your bedtime and you couldn't even bother to open your eyes.

"okay, okay, we're bringin' you to your room, squirt," laios nodded, lifting you into his arms. your arms and legs were securely wrapped around his body, your face stuffed into his neck.

"'m not a squirt, jerk," you mumbled, landing a weak punch against his back.

they both laughed at your deliriousness, placing you in the warmth of your bed, cocooned your blanket. "she looks like a caterpillar," laios slapped a hand over his mouth, hiding a loud laugh.

chilchuck didn't say anything in response, but his shoulders were shaking from laugher.

you were almost asleep, your arms splayed out on the bed and your head lulled to the side. you were breathing shallowly, feeling sleep slowly overtake you.

"alright, time for another round, chil!" laios silently ushered chilchuck towards the door, but a hand wrapped around chilchuck's wrist. the boys looked down at you with your eyes still closed, tugging his wrist towards you.

"can you guys stay 'n sleep with me?" you brought chilchuck's hand against your cheek, nuzzling against it. both boys had a fat, soft spot for you. like they could never resist you when you asked for something.

laios didn't understand his feelings at first. he thought he had some sort of "brotherly obligation" towards you like falin, but he quickly realized it was a lot different than that.

chilchuck, on the otherhand, was in denial for so long. he just thought you were ditzy and clingy. he didn't have the energy to deal with you at first. plus, he didn't even have any desire to date anymore. unfortunately, there were many times when you could be stupidly cute like this.

"y-yeah...we can. right, chil?" laios rubbed his neck awkwardly, looking at chilchuck for approval.

chilchuck bit his inner cheek in contemplation, looking down at the way you were leaning against the back of his hand like a puppy. "yeah, we can," he nodded, giving laios the same look.

they'd be so awkward slipping under your sheets, laying on either side of you to sandwich you in the middle. they kept a reasonable distance, not too reasonable since the bed was small and laios was a giant in comparison.

it would be so quiet. your eyes were still closed but your heart was racing. even if you opened your eyes, you wouldn't be able to see anything since it was so dark. you just laid there with your hands clasped on your chest.

"ummm...." laios started, cutting the silence. "am i taking up too much space?" he was nearly falling off the bed, just balancing on the edge of the mattress.

you pulled him closer towards you and chilchuck. "c'mere, lai," you nestled yourself safely into laois' chest, while pressing your back against chilchuck's chest. you could feel both hearts beat rapidly along with yours.

"thanks," laois mumbled, carefully putting an arm right above your head on the extra space of the pillow. his free arm was loosely wrapped around your head as he lightly patted the back.

chilchuck would grumble something about wanting more attention, wrapping his arms around your waist and placing his chin on your shoulder.

he was so close that you could feel his breath tickle your ears. it made you feel so tingly. "is this okay?" chilchuck pouted with puffed cheeks as you nodded, flushed. "i think it's time for us to sleep now, hm?" he rubbed your hips softly, lulling you to sleep.

"sweet dreams, (name)," laios hugged you tightly, ruffling your hair gently. chilchuck would be already asleep and laios would lay awake thinking about how small you felt in his arms.

the next morning, you and chilchuck would be well-rested, looking like babies fresh out the womb. laios would have the deepest dark circles, devoid of any rest.

"slept so well!" you were already sitting up, stretching out your arms with a hearty yawn. "what about you two?" you looked at them expectantly.

"that's good to hear. i slept like a rock honestly," chilchuck chuckled, combing through your messy strands of hair. "can't say the say for him though," he looked down at the way laios was trying to hide under the blankets from the bright rays shining through your window.

"uuuughhhhh....." laios whined, stuffing his face deeper into the pillow.

you pouted at his sorry state, lifting the blanket to reveal a very tired laios. "aw, you didn't sleep so well, did you lai?" you frowned, carding your fingers through his blond locks.

"no. i was too scared that i was gonna roll over and kill you in my sleep, so i just stayed up all night," he groaned, clutching his throbbing head in a tight grasp.

you stifled a laugh, covering your mouth with your hands. "you're so silly, lai," you giggled, biting back your smile. "'m tougher than you think," you flexed your arms, patting them lightly with a big smile.

laios looked at you with his mouth agape. he didn't know if it was because of the rays of sun or if you were just naturally this beautiful, but you were extra pretty smiling like that.

"i am so in love with you." he'd blurt out, thinking with his heart and not his head.

you lowered your arm, mirroring the surprised look on his face. chilchuck smacked his forehead, sighing. "what he meant to say is-"

"no, i meant it, (name)," laios cut him off, clasping your hands in his and looking up at you with serious look. chilchuck didn't expect him to be so bold, emotions stirring up inside of him. he didn't know if should add his piece into this mess.

"oh." you looked at him, not a single thought behind those eyes.

"i'm sorry if i messed things up between us, but i just had to tell you. i didn't mean to just blurt it out like that," laios apologized, removing his hands from your hastily.

"no, 's not like that, lai," you put your hands up, shaking your head. "'s just i like chi," you bit your lip, cheeks flushed.

both boys looked at you dumbfounded. one heartbroken, one with an equally flushed expression like yours.

"but i like you too, lai!" you reassured him, placing your hands on his. "i like...both of you," you frowned, feeling embarrassed from your confession.

it's not that you only liked one of them, but both of them. and you were having a hard time choosing which one you wanted, knowing both would be too greedy.

it was silent for a moment, but not for too long. both boys had figured out a way to ease your predicament. one look at each other and instantly figured out a solution.

"well, i like you. and chil likes you too, so," laios started, rubbing his neck.

"would you be open to dating us both?" chilchuck mumbled, his neck completely flushed. chilchuck was familiar with sharing since having kids, but sharing a lover with his best friend was completely different.

it wasn't that he was against it at all, it was just new. it flustered him. knowing he'd be dating both of you if you agreed with their proposal.

naturally, your eyes lit up at their suggestion. "really?" your smile was almost blinding, your cheeks flushed in excitement.

"yeah," the two boys looked at each other, nodding.

your squeal was almost deafening. you wrapped an arm around each boy, pulling them in and kicking your feet under the blanket. the happiness you felt was fathomable.

"you're both mine, eee!" you sung, rubbing your cheek against chilchuck's amber hair. "and you're both each others' too!" you gasped, looking at both boys.

"that's so cool!" you cheered, hugging them both tighter than before.

as tired as laios was, he could only indulge in your happiness. and as much as chilchuck didn't want to admit, you were the prettiest when you were happy.

the entire morning consisted of you goofing off with your himbo + dilf boyfriends !!

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook’s tattoos cure your winter blues and you paint his life with colors.

> fluff / wc: 2.3k

> warnings: brief mention of mother gothel being an abusive gaslighter lol you’ll seeeee, one (1) nipple pinch

note: reblogged this post with the tattoos mentioned in the drabble so you can check those out for better visualization if you want !! :D

my first post of year being about jungkook’s tattoos only feels right. hehe feedback is always appreciated <3

—

you breathe out another sigh as your peripheral vision catches the view of snow falling from the heavens yet again. you’re lying on the floor with a pillow and a blanket, only a few feet away from the glass door dividing the balcony and the living room.

“a penny for your thoughts?”

you tilt your head to peek through the book you’re reading. “what?”

“you’ve been sighing and pouting.” jungkook points out from the couch, dedicated to the task of folding the fresh laundry. two stacks of clothes, separated by yours and his, are sitting on his right, while the laundry basket is on his left.

“. . . and your octopus is mad.” referring to that famous reversible octopus plushie you bought for fun many months ago. it’s sitting behind your pillow, color blue and stitched with a displeased expression.

you lay down the book over your chest before sighing deeply. “i feel sad. i miss summer.”

your confession makes him quirk a curious eyebrow. “you miss summer? but you hate summer.”

unsure about how to explain yourself, you stick with silence, eyeing him intently with a frown you don’t even realize you’re making.

“what’s that look for?” he chuckles nervously while clutching a pair of your pajama shorts to his chest.

“you’re wearing a sweater.”

as if on cue, he looks down at the cream-colored sweater embracing his torso. “and? you got this for me.”

“it’s the reason i’m missing summer!” you sit up abruptly, the book stumbling over your lap before it finally lands on the floor. and before you can rethink the words you’ve been whining non-stop inside your head, they break free from the restraints on your tongue. “i miss seeing your tattoos.”

an amused grin paints his face. he throws his head back with his eyes closed and nose scrunched, laughing with no sound as he processes your revelation.

“that’s what this is about?”

“. . . yes.” you answer hesitantly, realizing how you just dug yourself a grave and pushed yourself in it.

he tuts as he tucks his long hair behind his ears, crossing his legs and stretching his tattooed arm on top of the couch’s backrest. you catch the tail of his snake tattoo peeking out of the sweater’s sleeve.

what an evil, sexy, sexy man.

“it’s your fault. you won’t let me turn up the heating so i’m always cold.”

“i woke up sweating yesterday when you turned it up again. this is a house, not a sauna.”

“and you make it too cold!” he interjects with a laugh. “want to meet halfway?”

it seems that the deal he just offered is the only possible solution to your winter blues. the holidays have come and gone. the decorations and lights are already being taken down, and you can’t stand to live a colorless life.

you act defeated, feigning your eagerness, but he doesn’t miss the small smile forming on your face. “fiiine.”

“okay!” he enthusiastically responds with that satisfied grin he makes when he gets his way.

he doesn’t waste any time. he instantly goes to adjust the temperature inside the house, going exactly between the numbers you stubbornly punch in behind each other’s backs. forced to come out of your little cocoon, you rip away the blanket from your body and toss it aside.

“i’ll get rid of the sweater now.” he clicks his tongue and sends a teasing wink your way as he walks to your shared bedroom.

you groan, burying your flustered face in the palm of your hands to hide. “i hate you sometimes.”

his melodic laughter echoes in the hallway.

—

jungkook enters the walk-in closet to replace the sweater with a classic white sleeveless shirt. on sunny days, he often wears this or go shirtless in your home. you’ve been especially happy with that since summer last year— after he got his faded tattoos colored, redesigned, and covered up.

of course, you’ve always shown plenty admiration to his first tattoos and the many more that came after them. he gradually filled up the space on his right arm with the ink and formed a tattoo sleeve. however, his new and improved tattoos seem to bring you a special kind of joy he must admit he doesn’t fully understand.

he’s been planning to get his arm fixed since he noticed the tattoos starting to fade, but he struggled to find the time to finalize his design ideas and get the job done. the truth is you were the one who inspired him to quit overthinking every little detail, and to finally carry on with his long overdue plans.

it all started with his birth flower.

—

“all those days watching from the windows, all those years outside looking in~” you sung along softly to tangled’s most beloved song.

jungkook diverted his attention from the television to observe you, unconsciously smiling to himself as he did so. your legs were draped over his lap, and your back was hunched forward as you entertained yourself with coloring his tiger lily tattoo as if it was a page on a coloring book.

it was seven minutes past midnight, and you like the room as dark as possible when you do movie date nights. that’s why you were practically using the lanterns during rapunzel and flynn rider’s ‘i see the light’ as your own lights of guidance as well.

when you paused the movie just before the song started, he thought you were just going to use the bathroom. but you quickly came back with the box of temporary tattoo markers he forgot that even existed. he bought it years ago and used the black marker to figure out the placements of his hand tattoos because he was scared that he’d end up not liking how they looked together. honestly, he doesn’t even remember packing it when he moved in with you. were you the one who saved it from the discard pile?

and as you held his arm close to you, you innocently asked him. “may i?”

“do whatever you want, baby.” he gave permission not only because your bewitching eyes were sparkling, but also because he knew how you find joy in doing little things like this.

you were most probably inspired by the sundrop flower mother gothel stole, he thought as he watched you bring his birth flower to life. you colored the anthers dark brown, and you were already halfway done with the orange petals.

he noticed that you kept on trying to move your head closer to his arm so you could see the details of his tattoo better, which caused your glasses to often slide down your nose bridge, so he took it upon himself to hang it suspended in the air to make things easier for you.

that was until you slapped his wrist lightly. “put it down. your arm will get sore.”

and he dropped it back down.

“thanks, baby boy.”

the pet name made him blush profusely, the rose tint that adorned the apple of his cheeks concealed by the light from the television screen reflecting on his face. its effect on him, never changing, because you only utter it occasionally and it catches him off guard every damn time.

when she successfully brought rapunzel back to the tower, you brought up how mother gothel is one of scariest disney villains for her realistic portrayal of an abusive gaslighter posing as a loving mother. jungkook didn’t even realize that you were still watching the movie. and then you obstructed his vision with the box of markers to briefly steal his attention away from the screen.

“pick two colors.”

“hmm, red and blue.”

“i’m doing this one next.” you pointed at the ‘WINNERS NEVER QUIT’ tattoo above the crease of his forearm. “should i use the colors interchangeably or like make a gradient?”

“gradient.” he responded, yawning sleepily right after.

“i sound like a real artist, don’t i?” you asked with a toothy grin.

“you are one. this looks pretty, love.” he talked about the tiger lily, stretching his forearm towards the television to shine light over it. “when did you get a glitter pen?”

you waved the gold glitter pen with a giggle. you used it to make the flower look like it was radiating magical star dust. “i brought it with the markers.”

and that’s when he decided to finally contact the tattoo artist he’s been meaning to meet up with since the year prior. you made him see the element of art that his tattoos dangerously lacked. colors.

if there was anyone on earth who would be able to open his eyes to that, it only made sense that it would be you.

—

“you finished showering?” you peeked into the walk-in closet, excitedly skipping your way to jungkook. he was standing infront of his underwear cabinet, fresh from the shower and only wearing a towel wrapped around his waist.

he chuckled straight away when he noticed you holding the tube of ointment. “wait. let me put on my boxers first.”

“okaaay.”

you eagerly waited for him on the bench from the other side of the small room. he swiftly slid on a pair of black boxers and sat next to you, offering his arm for your therapeutic indulgence. ever since jungkook started getting his cover-ups done, you already made it part of your routine to apply the prescribed ointment on his healing tattoos throughout the day.

some people meditate, some people solve puzzles. you? you sit down and take your sweet time admiring the glorious pieces of art inked on your boyfriend’s skin.

“they’re so itchy. i want to scratch.” he spoke through gritted teeth as you applied a thin layer of the ointment on top of the tattoos on the outside of his forearm.

“i’m practically scratching them, you know?”

you cautiously swiped your fingers across his ‘RATHER BE DEAD THAN COOL’ and ‘MAKE HAY WHILE THE SUN SHINES’ tattoos, connected by the letter T like they were the answers to a crossword puzzle. they were enhanced by giving them colored shadows: the former’s is red, and the latter blue. and because the letter T completes both tattoos, they mixed the two colors and gave it a purple shadow. oh god, it scratches your brain just right every time you see them. you love yourself some color theory.

the ones on the inside are almost completely healed, you’ve been through the itchiness and peeling off phase with them already. it never gets easier no matter how many times he has experienced it, always complaining about the itchy phase being worse than the pain of getting poked with the needles.

“no, you’re not. you’re so gentle that i feel like i’m being tickled. it makes it worse.” he cried out in frustration, head falling on your shoulder as he fought the excruciating urge to scratch his skin.

“so you want me to be rough and infect you?”

“. . . no.” his awkward voice came out muffled against your neck. “it actually makes me feel nice. like, inside my heart. thank you.”

—

“are you happy now, baby?”

jungkook’s mellifluous voice steals your focus from the purple sweater you’re folding over the table. he towers over you with his naked muscular arms crossed infront of his chest— the ravishing view you’ve dearly missed makes your lips slowly curve into a shy smile.

gone is the melancholia that visibly weighed you down, replaced by an aura he can only describe as the sunrise, but even the sunrise would hang its head in shame if challenged by your beauty and grace.

dear god, he wants to spend the rest of his waking days making you happy and learning what it means to be alive from the look on your face.

“very much.” you loop your hands around his forearms, and with a playful roll of his eyes, he lets you pull his weight down to the couch.

“you folded the rest of the clothes? how are you so fast?”

you reward his tattooed shoulder with lingering kisses before caging his face in your hands to give his lips a rather chaste one.

“i did. that’s the last one.” you pout at the direction of the sweater.

being your boyfriend’s diligent self, he scoots forward to fold it, excited to tick off the task of folding laundry from his to-do list. you seize this opportunity to trace the blue ‘BulletProof’ under his elbow, still finding the font super cool despite seeing it almost (fuck winter) everyday. knowing this all too well, jungkook smiles at the feeling of your delicate fingers caressing his skin. it’s almost as if you’re scared you could possibly erase the ink needled under it.

after carrying each of your own pile of folded clothes to the closet, jungkook voices out the idea that popped in his mind when he was changing his top. “let’s watch rapunzel. i’m in the mood for a disney movie today.”

you fail to bottle up a giggle, finding his little mistake so heartwarmingly endearing. “sure. but babe, the movie is called tangled.”

his doe eyes widen comically as if he was struck by headlights in the middle of the night. “that’s what i said!”

you lightly pinch his nipple. “you liar!”

“. . . was that supposed to be a punishment?”

you blink. “yes.”

his mischievous smile tells you everything that you need to know. “i said tangled the first time! cross my heart!”

“not gonna work anymore.” you stick your tongue out playfully, picking up the octopus plushie beside you and turning it inside out to reveal its yellow smiling face.

it’s his turn to sigh dramatically today.

as he starts typing ‘tangled’ on the television using the remote control, he mumbles to himself. “it was a nice try.”

—

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[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 22

I never know what to say when introducing a new chapter because I don't want to spoil anything! So just read and I hope you like it 😊😊

Series master list

Chapter 23

Word count: 6.4k

Warnings have their own post (and contain spoilers)

For once you wake up before the shrill of the alarm, the old wind-up clock still ticking away on Frankie’s bedside table. Twelve minutes until it goes off with a ring that reaches your neighbors. Since your neighbor is Pope you’re well aware of this, his loud banging on the wall almost drowning out the alarm when he’s in that mood. 

You roll over and stretch out, your movements disturbing the bed enough to pull a low growl from Frankie. His arm is warm across your waist and when you roll over to face him he tugs you closer, tucking your head under his chin. 

“Don’t wake up yet, cariño,” he mutters, his voice rough from sleep. 

“The sun woke me up,” you mumble against his neck, “it’s almost time anyway.” Frankie’s hand smooths over your body, his fingers dragging softly over your back, as always they pause over the scars on your waist, just below your ribs. The gunshot wound healed over now, only rough patches of skin on either side of your body betraying what a close call it had been that day five years ago. 

“Five years to the day, Frankie,” you say, as his fingers circle the top scar. 

“Don’t remind me,” he grumbles, his fingers leaving the scar and slipping down to cup your ass instead, “five fucking years in a QZ, almost six years of this infection bullshit, and no end in sight.” He pulls you tighter, tugging the blanket over your heads, cocooning you under his warm skin and dim light. 

Almost six years had passed, none of them easier than the next but at least you were both still alive, still together. Still in Arlington and still living in the same building as Pope, Benny and Hannah. But the effects of society coming to a grinding halt became  more and more pronounced with every year that passed. Electricity came and went, blackouts were common. Hot water was rare now and often ran out before everyone had a chance to take a shower. But those were the things you got used to eventually, like patching every item of clothing until it fell apart, duct taping shoes until the holes were too big to fix. Greasy hair, broken fingernails, always wearing clothes slightly too big because you couldn't be picky about sizes when you needed a new pair of jeans after your old ones were so threadbare you couldn’t even use them for rags. But you did anyway because the end of the world unfortunately didn’t mean the end of your period. 

Rations getting smaller and smaller was harder to deal with, going hungry most days was rough. There was some food production up and running in some parts of the country, and there were less people to feed, a lot less people. But transporting food, or anything, between QZ:s was still a very dangerous business. In the no man’s land between QZ:s, raiders and infected roamed, each lethal in their own way. Only the most hard core smugglers had the skills and the guts to leave the QZ and scavenge for supplies or trade with other smugglers. 

Unfortunately for you, that was exactly what Frankie and Pope were now doing to make the ration cards last longer. Pope had lasted less than six months with FEDRA before he got fed up with the C.O. Feigning PTSD, he got himself discharged, telling you he preferred that to risking FEDRA lock up for punching the commanding officer. Together he and Frankie signed up for menial labor jobs inside the QZ, but it didn’t take Pope long to find new smuggling partners and new routes, going back to the job he’d done in Franklin. 

At first he didn't involve Frankie, his friend working through withdrawals and treatment for his very real PTSD. Benny had tracked down a FEDRA officer who used to serve in the marines and had worked with veterans after his retirement. The elderly man, Herb, seemed to be exactly what Frankie needed. His cut the bullshit, Morales, attitude had Frankie mentally sitting up straighter after their first meeting. It took time, but little by little, he was able to use the tools Herb taught him to stop his mind from spiraling out of control. The nightmares were still there, but less frequent and less frightening, and waking up from them got easier. As they lost their power over his mind, sleep without drugs became less intimidating. Quitting them cold turkey turned out to be too difficult, but with Herb’s advice, you took control over them, giving Frankie one tablet at night to help him sleep. Gradually you gave him smaller pieces, until eventually Frankie decided he’d sleep without them. He’d still wake up in a cold sweat most nights, but now he could bring his mind under control and go back to sleep. It didn’t always work, but you made Frankie promise he’d wake you up if he couldn’t fall back to sleep after a nightmare. It made the nights less frightening when he knew he could bury his face in the crook of your neck, breathe in your sleep warm skin as you wrapped your arms around him. Sometimes that was all he needed, to pull you tight against him, feel your hands stroke his hair, down his back. Other nights he needed to talk about the nightmare, or something else, distract his mind enough so that he’d feel sleepy again. Whatever he needed, you made sure he had it, challenging him whenever his old habit of doubting his worth crept to the surface. 

You needed him as much as he needed you, he gave your life meaning in the grim reality you now lived in. If Frankie was by your side, with all the love he gave you, there was still a reason to get up every morning and face the QZ. And you made sure he knew that, that his very presence made you feel calm and safe, and above all, loved. And you made sure he always knew how much you loved him, how if you had to choose between life before the outbreak without him, and life after the outbreak with him, you’d always choose life with him, despite the cordyceps virus and the heartbreak it had brought. Frankie was the center of your universe and you didn’t let him forget that for a single moment. 

After about a year of Frankie doing menial work and meeting Herb at a makeshift office in his apartment twice a week, Pope asked Frankie if he wanted in on the smuggling. FEDRA had once again cut the number of rations they would pay and smuggling would help with that. You had to give Frankie credit, he didn’t say yes to Pope straight away, he came back that night and sat down, telling you what Pope had suggested. It scared you, the idea of Frankie, and Pope, going outside the QZ. If something happened, chances were you’d never know, they’d just never come back and you’d be left worrying and wondering. But their smuggling made sure there was enough food on the table for the three of you, and supplies that sometimes made the difference between life and death; medicines, especially antibiotics, were hard to come by and there were several people in the QZ who owed their life to Frankie and Pope being able to get their hands on certain medication. So, reluctantly, you told Frankie to work with Pope. And honestly, you’d rather they work together than with someone else. Years of serving together had made the two of them in sync, perfectly suited to handling the dangers of smuggling in and our of the QZ.

One of the dangers was being caught by FEDRA. They’d banned smuggling as soon as the QZ’s were up. Or not so much the smuggling as leaving the QZ, strict quarantine rules were in effect and anyone caught breaking them was punished. At first it had been only quarantine, fines and maybe time in a lock up. But by the time Pope asked Frankie to join him, the official punishment was public execution, although that had never been enforced yet. 

Other QZ:s had fallen when people, both smugglers and others, had snuck in after being exposed to infected. Franklin was one of them, a small group of survivors had turned up a few days after the Franklin radio tower had gone silent. They said the breakout had occurred at the main market for trading, two people had suddenly turned and those bit as the market erupted into panic had been too afraid to face FEDRA, preferring to pretend nothing had happened. In those early days, many people still chose to live in denial of the infection. 

The survivors from Franklin had been put in quarantine, half of them had turned within the day, and Arlington FEDRA had deemed it too risky to let the rest in. They’d all been executed. Pope had left FEDRA shortly afterwards, he’d been assigned to the firing squad, his eyes black when he told you the story.   

By now Frankie and Pope had been smuggling for four years, establishing routes and connections both inside and outside the QZ. Today the plan was to go on a short run outside the QZ to meet up with smugglers from a nearby, smaller QZ. They were going to a location they’d been to many times, the route cleared from infected long ago and usually very safe, at least as safe as it could be outside the QZ. But they’re meeting with a new group to set up a new trade. The group had been recommended by smugglers Pope had been working with since the beginning, so he trusted them. But meeting new people and establishing a new trade was always risky. Pope had a long scar on his right forearm as a reminder from a new trade gone wrong, only Frankie’s quick trigger finger had saved him that time. 

“I need to get up, Frankie,” you mumbled into his chest, he still had his arm around you and judging by his breathing, he’d almost fallen back to sleep.

“No,” came the drowsy reply, his arm tightening around you. “You stay here with me today, fuck everything.” 

“Lovely as that sounds, if I’m late you know they’ll dock my pay, they’ve been worse than ever lately.” You wriggle out from under his heavy arm as Frankie grumbles in protest, but he lets you go. He has to push himself out of bed too and as you head to the shower to see if there’s any hot water this morning, he sits on the bed rubbing his eyes. He’d only woken up once in the night but it had been one of his worst nightmares. It was a recurring one replaying Lucía’s last moments, the loud gunshot echoing in his mind always woke him up, and when he opened his eyes he’d see her face floating in the darkness above him. Shoving the image away, he pushes himself off the bed with a groan and heads to the bathroom. 

Frankie follows you to the shopping mall that still houses the kitchen, although the FEDRA HQ has left and moved into a warehouse area that had been unharmed in the bombing. The warehouses had been converted into barracks, storage units, and holding cells. The latter more frequently in use than ever as FEDRA cracked down with increasing force on any civil unrest in the wake of ration cuts and stifling control over the population of the QZ. 

Outside the entrance to the mall you wrap your arms around Frankie’s neck and pull him close, leaning your forehead against his. 

“Be careful and come home to me,” you whisper, the same thing you always say to him before he leaves. He nods and kisses you before pulling away. 

“I love you, stay safe, hermosa.” 

“I love you too, stay safe, Frankie.” 

When you step into the mall there’s more people than usual around, and most of them seem to be gathered at the FEDRA notice board on one side of the large area. 

“What’s going on?” you ask Kim, one of your co-workers who’s standing on the edge of the crowd. 

“They’ve cut the number of ration cards they’re paying again, and coffee is no longer available with cards, neither is powdered milk. And they’ve cut the cooking oil ration in half,” she shakes her head and adds in a low voice. “People are gonna get pissed, especially about the coffee, everyone knows coffee is still served at FEDRA HQ every day.”

Another one of your co-workers, a young man called Peter, pushes through the crowd and joins you. “C’mon, let's get to the kitchen,” he says and grabs Kim by the arm, pulling her along and jerking his head for you to follow.  “What’s going on, Pete?” you ask but he doesn’t reply, until the door into the kitchen’s changing room has closed behind you. 

“They’re banning congregating, no groups larger than two people are to meet anywhere except if you’re in a family, starting tomorrow,” he says, shrugging off his coat. 

“How are they even going to enforce that? There’s six of us in the kitchen alone, everyone works in groups larger than two. Are they going to have guards everywhere?” you ask incredulously. 

“I don’t know, but the notice said anyone reporting on illegal congregation or ‘disruptive conversations’ will be rewarded with extra ration cards.” 

“So they’re trying to make people tell on each other,” Kim says, her voice grim, “they really are fucking facists.” 

“That’s not the worst of it,” Peter adds, “from tomorrow, the curfew five pm unless you have a special pass from FEDRA, if you’re on a late shift. And being caught outside after curfew puts you in lock up for a month, and then you’re assigned to the FEDRA work detail.” 

The FEDRA work detail was made to do all the jobs no one else wanted, disposing of bodies, sewage sweeps and cleaning, or assigned to the most dangerous jobs, like clearing the area around the QZ of infected on a regular basis. If you volunteered for them it paid well, if you were assigned to it as a convict, it paid nothing. Those people lived at the FEDRA lock-up and lived off basic rations for the term of their incarceration. There was no court system so the length of the stay was arbitrary, most didn’t survive long enough to see the end of their term. 

“They’re going to have riots on their hands soon,” you said, putting away your jacket and bag in a locker. “Between ration cuts and the ban on trading clothes and shoes, not even being able to meet with friends is going to push things over the edge.” 

Peter and Kim nod as the three of you make your way into the kitchen for your shift. 

You run into Benny as you get back to the apartment block that evening. He’s still with FEDRA, sharing an apartment with Hannah two floors above Frankie and you. Today’s the first time you’ve seen him in a few days, he’s been away on assignment and it’s good to see him back and safe. It looks as if he’s had time to shower and he’s just returning with a bag of groceries, holding up the door for you after you give him a hug. It’s almost funny, before the outbreak, you wouldn’t necessarily have hugged Benny or Pope every time you saw them. But now, with the ever present risk of each goodbye being the very last, you always hug them when you see them again. It’s also why you always tell Frankie you love him and to come home to you, when he leaves. You’re well aware that he might not come home, you push that thought to the back of your mind as often as you can, but you don’t want your last words to him be something mundane like ‘see you later, babe.” 

“Do you and Frankie wanna come up for dinner tonight,” Benny asks as you make your way up the stairs with him. “Hannah won’t be back until late but I need to talk to Pope and Frankie.” 

“They’re working on the far side of the QZ today, I’m not sure when they’ll be back,” you tell him, “but if they’re back in time for dinner we’d love to come up.” You’re pretty sure Benny knows exactly what Pope and Frankie does, how they supplement the ration cards they make doing odd jobs for FEDRA, but it’s never been acknowledged so you keep it vague. 

Benny nods and pauses on your landing, “Come up when you can, they can join us when they’re back,” he says, “I was given a nice bottle of whiskey by a guy today, I saved his ass a couple of days ago, guess he was feeling grateful.” 

“Sure, let me just shower and change and I’ll be right up,” you reply, giving Benny a wave. 

A short, and cold, shower later you’ve changed and left a note for Frankie that you’re at Benny’s place. He lets you in when you knock on the door two floors up. You’ve brought some leftover arepas from last night, corn flour is one of the crops not affected by the cordyceps fungus and is now a staple in the QZ. . 

“I miss bread so much,” you grumble as you hand the arepas to Benny, and he nods. 

“I’d kill for a grilled cheese,” he nods and your mouth waters at the thought of it. 

“And pizza,” you drool and Benny groans. 

“Don’t, don't make me think of pizza. That I really would kill for!” 

There were attempts at growing wheat crops that weren’t susceptible to the cordyceps fungus, but so far the batches produced were too small. And tending the fields was dangerous work when they weren’t fenced off. And you needed a lot of fence to fence off whole fields. But FEDRA often informed the public of encouraging news like these to keep morale up, and it was needed. Almost six years into the outbreak, morale was at an all time low and falling. There were still reports of vaccine research but so far there wasn’t even a way to slow down the infection once someone was bit and you remained skeptical to all reports of a vaccine. 

Benny pours you a generous measure of the whiskey and you laugh as you see the four fingers in your glass. 

“Trying to get me drunk, Benny?” 

“Na, if I remember correctly, tequila is your poison,” Benny chuckles and pours himself an equally large glass.

“I’m never drinking tequila again, even if you do find a bottle,” you grin. “Did Frankie tell you that’s how I blurted out that I love him the first time? Way too drunk for that kind of honesty.” 

“No, he never told me about that,” Benny turns down the heat on the stew simmering on the stove and sinks down onto the couch, you curl up in the opposite corner with your drink.

“It was that time I accidentally asked you if you were any good in bed,” you laugh and Benny grins. 

“I vaguely remember, I was pretty drunk myself that night,” he chuckles and sips the whiskey.

“Did you ever manage to hook up with that blonde you were trying to make me help you with?” 

“No, but I went home with her friend instead,” Benny gives you a wicked grin and raises his glass to you in a toast across the sofa.

“Of course you did,” you snort, toasting him back. 

“So you told Fish you love him while drunk on tequila?” Benny asks when he puts his glass down. “I always thought he was the first to crack and declared his undying devotion to you on your second date.” He’s grinning and you lean across and slap his arm.

“Be nice, Benjamin,” you chuckle before leaning back, “I think we were both pretty nervous about saying it, Frankie has so much baggage and I had a pretty shitty relationship behind me too. So while drunk on tequila I told him, while we were still at that bar, he took it well though, thank god.” 

“He was crazy about you from the first night,” Benny smiles at you, “I’ve never seen him so relaxed around someone he was dating as he did that time you guys ran into me and Will at breakfast, remember?” 

“Vividly,” you laugh, “Frankie might’ve been relaxed around me, but he was not happy you guys were there.”

“Was that a breakfast date or had you just…?” Benny shoots you another wicked grin and you have to lean over and slap his arm again. “I’m just asking,” he laughs, swatting your hand away, “Frankie did look very pleased, if you know what I mean.” 

You roll your eyes at him but can’t help but laugh, Benny was right on the money of course, that was the morning Frankie had proved he could make you come four times in short succession, turning your legs to jelly in the process. 

“What do you think, Benjamin?” you snigger and he tilts his head back and laughs out loud. 

“I fucking knew it!” 

“It was almost seven years ago, Ben, why do you even care?” you giggle, Benny has an infectious laugh and it’s impossible to be offended by his question. 

“Because I like being right, even if I had to wait seven years to confirm it,” he raises his almost empty glass to you in another toast. “To Catfish, and his enormous dick.”

You’ve raised your glass but almost drop it as you gasp with laughter, doubling over on the couch. “You are the fucking worst, Ben!” 

“Hey, I’ve been in enough changing rooms with Fish to know he’s packing some serious business, I’m just happy you get to enjoy it.” Benny’s laughing almost as hard as you are and neither of you hear the knock on the door. 

“Look at you two, getting drunk on a Tuesday evening,” Pope snorts as he looks in on the two of you on the couch from Benny’s front door. Frankie’s standing behind him, smiling at you. 

“Hey guys!” Benny calls, “We’re just reminiscing about some serious business,” he waves his drink in your direction with a grin, “C’mon in and join us, we’re sharing aaaaaall the stories.” You start giggling again, the whiskey has gone straight to your head and you feel all fuzzy around the edges, and even more relaxed now that Frankie is home safe. He pulls off his boots and sinks down behind you on the couch, kissing your cheek from behind as he pulls you into his chest. 

“Hermosa, did you let Benny get you drunk?” he smiles, the cool tip of his nose skating across your skin as you lean back into him. 

“Only a little, just a little bit tipsy,” you say, “I have no tolerance for alcohol these days.” Frankie feels warm and solid behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist and you drop your head back onto his shoulder, turning your head so that you can breathe him in as you press your lips to his warm skin. 

“Oh, she’s so drunk,” you hear Pope chuckle from across the room. 

“She’s not drunk, she only had a glass of whiskey,” Benny says, getting up to heat up the stew for dinner.

“Did you pour the drink, cariño? Or did you let Benny serve you? Because I’ve seen the size of his servings.”

“It was a pretty big drink,” you admit, “but I didn’t finish it,” you wave your hand at the table where your glass still sits. 

“That glass is empty,” Pope says and you pull yourself up from Frankie and look down at the very empty glass.

“Oh, I guess I did drink it all,” you say, and drop your head back on Frankie’s shoulder while he chuckles, you can feel his chest vibrating under you. “Benny distracted me, we were talking about you and that time we had breakfast with him and Will.” 

“You guys had totally just done it,” you hear Benny giggle from the kitchen and Pope snorts, he’s heating up the arepas, the smell of toasted corn starting to spread through the apartment. 

“Benjamin,” Frankie sighs from behind you, “don’t make me smack you.” 

“I’d like to see you try, Morales,” Benny challenges with a grin, raising his fists like a boxing champ, “Actually, I’d use your girl as a stand in, she’s lethal these days.” Benny adds and you smile at him. Praise from Benny on your fighting skills was rare and didn’t come easy. He was a tough teacher but he’d been drilling you every week since your gunshot wound had healed, taking his assignment from Frankie seriously. These days you felt fairly certain there were few people in the QZ who’d be able to take you in a fight, with the exception of Benny, and maybe Frankie and Pope. Benny didn’t even pull his punches with you any more, and he was finding it harder and harder to actually get a hit in without going into full combat mode. 

“Alright, dinner’s ready, c’mon on over,” Ben says, turning off the stove, and Frankie pulls you to your feet. 

“Let’s get some dinner into you, ‘not drunk girl’,” he smiles as you wrap your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes and bumping your nose to his. 

“I didn’t tell him how you made me come four times that morning,” you whisper and to your delight, Frankie’s ears turn pink as a blush creeps up his throat. He quickly checks behind him to make sure Pope and Ben didn’t hear but they’re busy, before he turns back to you. 

“And I’ve beaten that record several times since,” he smirks, an unusually smug look on his face, as he drops a peck on your nose.

Benny’s stew is mostly beans and root vegetables, a few bits of rabbit to add some flavor. There’s a small rabbit farm in the QZ, set up in one of the parks, and despite the rabbit population being small, there was sometimes rabbit meat available with ration cards, especially if you were high up in FEDRA as Benny was.

Almost six years in FEDRA had seen Benny climb almost to the top, but still one rung under the final top layer. The man in charge of FEDRA was still the C.O. who had taken over shortly after you’d arrived in Arlington, an obnoxious scumbag named Cox. And for whatever reason, he detested Benny. Personally you thought it was because Benny was respected and liked by those who served under him, something Cox was not. And Benny wasn’t one to suck up to the higher ups just to get a promotion, you had to earn his respect. Cox was a weak leader, surrounding himself with ‘yes men’ by giving them special privileges and collecting favors. Benny refused to play his game so he was stuck as patrol leader with few advantages despite being one of the longest serving soldiers in FEDRA. 

As it turned out, this was the reason Benny wanted to talk to Pope and Frankie tonight. You felt yourself sobering up, helped by the food and the water Frankie had poured for you and at the end of the meal, you all returned to Benny’s couch, the men with whiskies in their hands, you with a coffee. 

“How did the smuggling run go today?” Ben asks, looking at Pope, who all but sputters into his drink. He throws a quick glance at Frankie who looks equally flustered before he looks back at Ben. 

“Ben, dude, I don’t know….”

“Cut the bullshit, Pope, I’m not blind.” Ben leans back on the couch and puts his feet up on the low table. “I know you and Frankie have been smuggling for years. And I want in.” 

You could’ve knocked Frankie and Pope over with a couple of feathers, they exchange another glance and Pope slowly puts his glass down on the table, “What do you want in on, Ben?” 

“Listen, Cox is being worse than ever. The lack of supplies means he’s got less to pay his inner circle of cronies, who keep him in charge. So to compensate, he’s cutting the rations for everyone, FEDRA soldiers too.” 

“Why is Arlington so low on supplies?” you ask. “From what we hear, other QZ’s are doing alright, no ration cuts and none of this bullshit about stopping people from meeting and hanging out.” 

“Because Cox knows he needs his supporters happy if he’s to stay in power,” Benny says, “and he’s having to give them more and more supplies.” 

The inner circle around Cox, the ‘yes men’, are all intimidating, grim looking men, quick to anger and quick to use violence to get their way. The inhabitants of the QZ fear them and the arbitrary punishment they deal out. That fear keeps Cox in power, no one challenges him, not even the soldiers. You’d asked Benny about it a couple of times and he was certain Cox would order him on a suicide mission the second he sensed that Benny was challenging his power. And with Hannah to look after, he wasn’t prepared to risk it, so he kept his head down and was passed over for promotion. But now he was prepared to risk getting involved in smuggling, things must be bad, you thought. 

“I can supply you guys with information,” Ben says, looking at Pope and then Frankie when neither of them say anything. “I know the patrol routes, the times, and I see all the reports of supplies that are found. With my intel you could even hit some of the supply caches outside the QZ.” 

Frankie, always the quiet one, who thinks before he speaks, looks over at Pope with raised eyebrows, questioning him. He shrugs his shoulders and looks over at Ben, “I’m not gonna pretend your help wouldn’t be very useful, man.” Pope leans forward, elbows on his knees, looking up at Ben under his eyebrows, “But if you get caught, or Cox catches wind of you helping smugglers, you’ll be out of FEDRA and he’ll probably put you on FEDRA work detail if he can, proof or no proof.” 

“I’d like to see him try,” Benny growls, leaning forward to match Pope’s position. “This situation with Cox is going to blow up, sooner or later. And I don’t mean that I’ll lose my temper and punch him. The QZ is going to blow up, people were already unhappy, and with these new regulations…” Benny’s voice trails off as he mimics a bomb going off. 

“People at the kitchen were not happy about the new rules,” you say, “with FEDRA trying to get people to snitch on each other, it really feels like it’s turning into a police state.” 

Benny nods, “Things are brewing, and Cox is petrified, hence the new rules, but he just made things worse. And if things do blow up, I wanna be on the right side, and that side won’t be FEDRA.” 

“Ok,” Pope says, “if you want in, Benny, I’m fine with that, of course,” Frankie nods in agreement as Pope continues. “I just want to make sure you know what you’re risking.” 

“I know, don’t worry about it.” Benny replies, “And I’ll get you as much info as possible but eventually I have to leave FEDRA, and then I wanna join you outside the wall too.” 

You’ve been listening to the exchange with growing unease, it had always felt like Benny being in FEDRA gave both you and the guys an extra layer of protection, if something went wrong. But with Benny talking about how the QZ might erupt into violence and him leaving FEDRA made you nervous. Life was hard enough without having to worry about FEDRA’s unjust rules and on top of it all, with Pope, Frankie and now Benny, involved in smuggling, you feel like you were the only one not helping out. Just continuing to work for FEDRA in feeding the soldiers and bringing in less and less ration cards. 

“Maybe there’s something I can help with too,” you say, “like be a look out for when you guys come and go.” Frankie is sitting next to you and even before you’ve finished the sentence you can see him shaking his head but you ignore him and look at Pope, “Santi, you’ve said a couple of times you’ve had close calls because you had no early warning of patrols, maybe I could help with that?” Pope opens his mouth to answer but Frankie cuts him off, “No, I’m not letting you get involved with smuggling, cariño,” his hand is around your wrist and he’s squeezing it gently to get your attention, his eyes suddenly anxious. “I wouldn’t be able to focus on what we’re doing if I know you’re out there too, I need to know you’re safe so that I can concentrate.” 

“She’d be safe, Fish,” Pope interjects, “She’d be in one of our look outs inside the wall, just keeping an eye out fo-.” Frankie gives Pope such a dark look, it cuts him off and Frankie turns back to you. 

“I know you want to help, but I can’t let you, please, cariño, you’ve got to understand that.” 

You put your hand over Frankie’s and nod, “Ok, I understand Frankie, I won’t push it.” You see his eyes soften as he puts his hand on your cheek. 

“Thank you, hermosa.” 

The front door opens and Hannah walks in, looking tired and annoyed, just returning from her evening shift at the kitchen. You often worked the same shifts but recently they hadn’t been overlapping. 

You all greet her as she slumps down into the couch next to Santi and he gives her a hug, her head dropping onto his shoulder with a big yawn. 

“Let me get you some dinner,” Benny says and gets up, “Do you want a whiskey too? I got some good stuff today.” 

“A tiny, tiny one, thanks Ben,” she says, and twists her back around, stretching out her sore muscles. 

“Come here, hermana, let me help,” Santi says and makes her shift so that he’s behind her and can dig his thumbs into her shoulders, rubbing over the knots. Hannah sighs and drops her head forward as his thumbs work their way across her back. 

“Thanks, that feels amazing.” 

“Tough shift, you’re back kinda late?” you ask, used to how exhausting the evening shifts can be in the kitchen. 

“Yeah, but I wasn’t late because of the shift,” she replies. “You guys heard about the new curfew?” 

“Yeah, but that’s not in effect until tomorrow,” Ben says, coming back in and putting a bowl of stew on the table alongside a fairly large whiskey. 

“Tell that to Cox’s guys,” she scoffs. “They stopped a bunch of us coming back from the kitchen and demanded to see our permits and then threatened to throw us in lock up when none of us had any. I told them that’s only from tomorrow!” You see her eyes flash with anger and Santi taps her shoulders to make her relax again. “One guy, Peter, you know him,” Hannah looks over at you and you nod, you’d talked to him only this morning, “he told them they had no right stopping us now, that they were out of line and they grabbed him and started beating him up!” 

“What?” Benny spits out, “I’m gonna fucking throw them in lock up!” 

“Is he ok, Hannah?” you ask and she shakes her head. “I don’t know, they took him in  for ‘disturbing the peace’, he was bleeding but not too badly. But the fucking nerve on them!”

“I’ll check on him tomorrow,” Ben growls, “make sure he’s ok and get him out of there.” 

“And they let the rest of you go?” Santi asks, his hand still rubbing her shoulders. 

“Yeah, I guess they got the action they wanted, beating some poor guy up,” Hannah sighs, rubbing her hand over her face before picking up the bowl of stew. 

Later that night, as Frankie crawls into bed next to you, he has a worried look on his face again. 

“I don’t like the sound of what’s happening in the QZ, with Cox and his guys,” he says, pulling the covers up over you both and propping himself up on his elbow so that he can look at you. “Please be careful, and maybe come straight back home after your shifts, unless you absolutely have to go somewhere else.” 

“I’ll be fine, Frankie, you know me. I always keep my head down and stay out of their way,” you cup his cheek, running your fingers over his scruffy beard and he gives you a crooked smile. 

“I know, but you know me too, I always worry about you.” 

He lets you pull him closer and you easily find his lips with yours, making him part them for your tongue as he sinks down next to you. You give him a soft peck before you tuck yourself into the crook of his neck, his arms finding their places around your waist and under your head. 

“Love you, Frankie,” you mumble, sleep pulling you under. 

“Love you to, hermosa,” he whispers close to your ear, pulling you a little bit tighter against himself. 

Of course it was Hannah that became the spark. Hannah, the high school teacher, who Will had fallen in love with and married because her heart was so firmly in the right place, who kept his head steady with her unwavering instinct to protect the weak and always sided with the troubled teens at her school. For as long as Will and the guys had known her, she’d taken in every stray she came across, cats, dogs, hedgehogs, birds, kids. If there was a small creature, lost or injured, Hannah would take it in and nurse it back to health. The running joke was of course that Will was one of her strays, lost after years in the military, finding a woman who saw past his hard core military persona and let him find peace with her. 

While you kept your head down and avoided the FEDRA soldiers, especially the ones you knew were close to Cox, Hannah couldn’t keep silent when she saw someone being treated badly. 

And that got her into trouble and ignited the QZ.

Chapter 23

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko  @javicstories @nunya7394 @welcometothepedroverse @harriedandharassed @meveispunk @hiroikegawa

[mega-punani]

How would the pirate skeles react to finding y/n crying? I need to know for...

Scientific reasons! Yup!

Oh no! Y/N IS CRYING - WHAT HAPPENED!?

MC IS CRYING!?:

Sans: "Awww, what's wrong, kiddo?"

Don't think of lying either (judgment fruit knows all) cause he'll definitely find out. He'll gently push you to tell him what's wrong, all while wiping away stray tears. He'll crack jokes until you cheer up! And when you get all tuckered out, he'll let you have a big snooze on his hammock!

And when he finds the person who hurt you... someone's gonna have a bad time.

Papyrus: "OH NO! WHAT'S WRONG Y/N?!"

Papyrus will make sure you're feeling better in no time! Do you want him to toss you into the air? It always seemed to work on village kids! But maybe it won't cause you're not a kid anymore... No worries! He'll sit this one out with you and do whatever activity you want!

Blue: "POOR Y/N! DON'T WORRY! THE MAGNIFICENT BLUE'S GOT YOU!"

Sad? Not on Blue's watch! He'll make sure to grab you everything that makes you happy. Pillows, blankets, your medical bag, food, books, and everything else you seemed to like! By the end of his whole act, he'll top it of by giving you the tightest hug known to man.

Stretch: "Hey, you wanna go get- oh shit... Why are yah leakin?!"

Stretch doesn't really know what to do... He'll awkwardly pat your back as you sob and then pull you into an even more awkward hug. If his rigid movements didn't make you laugh, he'll just sit beside you until you're ready to talk.

Red: "Awww no... Sweetheart, what's goin on?"

Red will bring you into his firm chest while resting his head on yours, making a cocoon of sorts. He'll try and ease some coherent explanation out of you, and if not, he's more than happy to wait. And if you tell him who's been messing with you? Ohhhh boy, Red's gonna have a new punching bag.

Edge: "(Y/N)! WE NEED ALL HANDS ON DECK! WHAT ARE YOU-"

Edge will instantly cease the nagging at the sight of you sniffling on your lonesome. Heaving a soft sight, he'll drape his large coat around your shoulders and give you a tight squeeze. He'll pat your back softly as you calm down. And when you are ready to, you can tell him what happened and he'll do everything to fix the problem.

Razz: "STOP YOUR SNIVELING."

Razz is a little rough around the edges and had never really consoled someone before. He'll sit next to you angrily and roughly pull your buddy to lean on his shoulder. He won't talk in fear of making it worse and will probably not speak until you are ready to. And if you end up venting about a specific person. Well, Razz isn't above shooting someone with lightning...

Cash: "..."

You'd expect some kind of testing or witty response, but Cash doesn't say a word. He just looks at you for a moment. Slowly, he'll slink down next to you, making sure to notice if any of your body language is against his proximity, and he'll simply listen. If you have to vent, talk, or simply cry, Cash will wait there patiently.

Bear: "(y/n)... something... wrong?"

Dropping whatever he was doing, he'll dash to you quicker than you had ever seen and scan you over for injuries. Seeing as you're not hurt, he'll sigh off relief and start patting your head as you cry away. After you let it all out, he'll make you some tea to help with your swollen eyes.

Cinnamon: "Oh dear! (Y/N)! What is the matter?"

You'll be met with Cinnamon's face I yours, scrunched up with worry. If you'll allow him, he'll cradle you and rock slightly, speaking words of reassurance softly. No worries! He's sure everything will be alright, and even if it isn't right now, it will surely get better! He'll encourage you to do what you'd like to keep your mind occupied or lift your spirits. And he'll be there every step of the way!

[clementine-thedestroyer]

Aurora Borealis - König x reader - Part 5

Series master post - Read on Ao3

Chapter specific tags/warnings: Reader yelling and König yelling back, slight manipulation(?), and being held against your will.

Part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

You wake up, and all you wish is that you could go back to sleep and ignore the reality you find yourself in.

For the first time, König’s presence is a negative one.

You’d spent the night stifling sobs. Alternating between holding your breath and gasping for air- a futile attempt to breath regularly and keep the sounds of your sobbing at bay. You couldn’t stop the way you trembled or how your body jerked at each desperate inhale, and the need to wail and lay all your hurt, despair, and pain bare left you with an ache from clenching your jaw.

It was painfully obvious you were crying. If the tears soaked into the pillow weren’t enough to tell, the shaking breathing and occasional stifled wail certainly were, but König never said anything. Either he was dead asleep or simply decided to leave you to your own sorrow, he did nothing. Only the occasional tightening of his arms around you told you he was- at least occasionally- semi awake.

It was something you couldn’t help but be thankful for. You weren’t sure if you could handle him trying to “comfort” you at the moment. You were glad to be left to wallow in your own fear and confusion and wear yourself out with tears.

When you woke up, you didn’t remember falling asleep. The only indication of morning was the absence of the body behind you and the beams of sunlight peaking out from behind the blackout curtains.

You didn’t move at first. You could hear König moving around the cabin and didn’t want to signal him to your consciousness. You spent at least an hour laying on the bed. Only moving to pull the comforter out from where it was tucked in and to wrap it around your curled up form like a shell. At one point, you had inched your fingers towards where you knew you’d left your phone last night- charging on the nightstand- and bit your lip to stifle a sob when you found it gone.

You were still crying. Not last night, you didn’t wail and choke on your tears in the same depairful and pained way as was last night. Instead, you cried from a grief born from a loss you didn’t even know the full extent of yet. You could feel the steady stream of tears leaking from the corners of your eyes and rolling with gravity over the bridge of your nose, soaking into the sheet and dampening the side of your head against the bed so even just the air circulating around the cabin felt cold against it.

But you can’t hide from reality forever.

Eventually, you hear König’s puttering footsteps approaching you.

“Schatz, can we talk? I know you’re awake.” König says, and somehow the realization he knew you were awake the whole time only makes you feel worse.

When you don’t respond he puts a hand on your shoulder, shaking you gently.

You curl up into a ball, pulling your blanket with you like a cocoon. “No.” You say, but it comes out weaker than you wanted.

You hear a sigh from somewhere behind you as König rolls you onto your back despite your best efforts, peeling away the blanket from your head and exposing your face.

When you’re exposed to the cold, dry air of the rest of the cabin, you come to the conclusion that it’s freakishly cold inside for some reason.

“Please?” He asks, and you hate hate hate the pleading note of his voice.

“No!” You say again sharply, stuffing your face into the mattress- no matter how much the argument makes you feel like a child throwing a tantrum.

Because god damn it, maybe you deserve to throw a fucking tantrum.

“Please?” König tries again, looking at you like a kicked puppy.

You’re going to scream. You’re going to punch a wall and tear out your hair. You hate the man in front of you, you hate him so much. He did whatever-the-fuck-last-night-was, then has the audacity to come in and act hurt that you won’t talk to him.

There’s another sigh from the man above you before his hand retreats.

“I understand you’re upset, but you can not hide in the bed forever.” König says, back to his calm demeanor as his hand moves to work its way under your blanket and pet at your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end and you can’t help but pull the blanket tighter around you as he does.

“Please? I made breakfast, we can talk?” He says, the slightest desperation to his words.

Your immediate reaction is to deny him, but your stomach feels like it’s eating itself at this point… and he is right, you can’t hide from him forever.

You hate yourself for giving in.

Wordlessly, you roll out of the bed, taking the blanket with you as you very pointedly don’t look at König. The cabin is freezing, so you keep the blanket pulled tight around your shoulders and make it a point to glance at the woodstove across the room, finding it empty.

Before you can bring it up, you’re distracted by the sight of food. Your eyes widen and your stomach gurgles at the sight of two bowls of oatmeal set out at the table with plates of various add-ins spread out in the middle.

The bottom of the blanket drags along the floor as you shuffle towards the table, sitting down as you continue to ignore König as you dump a spoon full of brown sugar and some sliced banana into your bowl.

König remains standing by the bed, watching you silently as you make a show of ignoring him and- much to your annoyance- smiling softly when you start to eat the food he had set out for you.

As you semi-angrily shovel oatmeal into your mouth, König takes a seat across from you, continuing to watch you with a happy smile.

“Do you like it?”

You shrug, stuffing another spoonful of the food into your mouth as you keep your eyes angrily focused on the table.

For a moment, there’s silence, until König speaks again, sounding as if the words he’s saying are physically paining him.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t respond immediately, stabbing your spoon into the oatmeal aggressively, wishing you had a fork and something more substantial to stab.

“For what?” You growl.

“I… forget my own strength. I did not mean to throw you so hard, or at all last night, I am sorry.” He says, pausing to pinch and rub at the bridge of his nose. “…and I am sorry for not taking your feelings into account. It was unrealistic to expect you not to be upset, I am sorry for not being there to comfort you.”

Once again, you remained silent, your spoon frozen halfway to your mouth as you try to make heads and tails of his statement.

The effort leads you to your memories of the previous night, which only serve to fog your brain.

König is blissfully silent as you think, but your cognitive dissonance regarding what you saw makes it impossible for you to accept it. It has to be some sort of mean joke- it has to be. You can’t even bring yourself to think any deeper about it. It’s like there’s a mental wall separating you from thinking about it beyond anger and confusion.

Your train of thought diverts, choosing the path of least resistance and moving towards concern for those outside of the little bubble of isolation König has formed around you two- and possibly towards thoughts of getting help.

“My phone- where is it? I need it.” You say, barely keeping a tremor from your words.

“I took it.” König replies simply. “It only would’ve made you upset.”

“Give it to me.” You say, anger bubbling up beneath your skin.

König sights, reaching into his back pocket and taking out your phone, sliding it across the table to you.

You try to wake the thing desperately, growing increasingly panicked when even holding down the home button does nothing.

“What did you do to it??” You demand, setting the phone back down with a bit more force than necessary.

“See? I told you, it would only-“ König starts, stopping when you stand up, nearly sending your chair falling backwards as you drop your blanket and angrily march over to the emergency landline phone hanging on the wall.

You dial number after number. Parents, family, friends, the police- but time after time you’re met with no answer.

“No- no no, please-“ You whisper into the receiver, hands shaking as you cover your mouth to stifle a sob.

No- no no no, you silently beg. Your chest heaves with a sob when König comes up behind you and rests a hand on your shoulder. No, it can’t be real- it can’t be true.

The memories of last night resurface in your mind- the fluorescent fog engulfing the ground like an ocean, the silent awe König held for the sight and the sheer terror you felt in every bone of your body.

Your skin crawls as König takes you into his arms, feeling your shivering body and rubbing his hands up and down your arms to try and warm you up some.

“I told you, Schatz. I understand that you’re upset, but acting like this won’t get you anywhere.”

Suddenly, you’re seething, the whirlwind of emotions is too much- whiplashed from moving from pained, to angry, to scared, then back to angry again leaves you volatile and ready to snap. Nothing is certain, you don’t know anything for sure and you hate it.

You attempt to shove König off of you, sending yourself stumbling back instead but taking it in stride, glaring up at him with all the rage you can muster.

“Acting like what, König?” You spit, filling the word “what” with as much vitriol as you possibly can.

“Acting unreasonable-”

You stand up, slamming your hand down on the nearby counter, pain shooting through your arm when you miss and smack your hand on the corner instead.

“OH I’M THE ONE ACTING UNREASONABLE?” You scream, straining your vocal cords as you speak and not flinching when König snaps and screams back in turn.

“YES! YES YOU ARE!” König yells back. “I SAVED YOU! YOU SHOULD BE GRATEFUL! YOU COULD BE A FROZEN CORPSE IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE RIGHT NOW, BUT I CHOOSE TO SAVE YOU!”

You reel back, curling in on yourself and sobbing, a switch flipped at his reaction. You end up forcing yourself as far back into the corner between the wall and cabinets as you. The whirlwind of emotions inside of you culminates in fear as König snaps, slamming his fist into the wall and running his other through his hair, gripping the short strands to the point that you’re sure he’s going to pull some out.

“I’VE TRIED TO BE GENTLE. I’VE TRIED TO BE UNDERSTANDING, WHY ARE YOU STILL ACTING LIKE THIS??”

König stops moving, taking a deep, shuddering breath in and slowly releasing his death grip on his hair before turning back to you.

You don’t miss the hairs falling from his hand when he lowers it to his side, and you hardly react when he steps closer towards you. You don't even know whether you’re scared of him or at the concept of something monumental enough to result in complete radio silence from the world.

He pulls you into his arms and you sob. His body shakes right alongside yours as his fingers comb gently through your hair.

“I-it’ll be okay…” He says, taking another shuddering breath. “Please, Schatz- I’m sorry, I’m trying my best…”

It’s akin to a house coming crumbling down. The past few hours have worn you thin- taking you apart brick by brick and beam by beam. The way König’s touch feels comforting and warm enough for you to pretend he was still the man you’d known and break down safely in his arms.

It doesn’t matter that he just snapped at you, the crushing grief at prossecing the loss of everyone you’ve ever known easily overpowers it.

His words shouldn’t bring you comfort, you know that. It’s like a hawk comforting a mouse- crouched down with its wings spread to shield the small thing from the world as it strokes the shaking mouse’s fur with a razor sharp talon, not realizing the entire cause of the mouse’s fear is the hawk itself.

[cordeliawhohung]

hi I’m writing this as a patreon user so I know u won’t be able to respond to this in a bit (if u want to) but I just wanted to say a couple of things:

1. I need to know the lore behind the mint toothpaste.

2. I loved how it went from “I like letting Simon help me” to “get away you don’t understand I don’t need you’re help” (I know that’s not what she said, but that’s what it felt like from my perspective)

3. I knew some mayhem was going to occur because after three bittersweet chapters of Christmas and cuddling and tenderness, you would want a little something devious thrown in there. And god am I glad. I love when things get messy.

4. Marco better not assault our girl again. Although it would be oddly satisfying if he put a hand on chip and then Simon gets to put more than just a hand on him.

5. The neatly made bed gave me HEEBYGEEBIES

Thank you for you’re service🫡

Do not read if you haven't read In Limbo Chap 12 or do if you don't mind spoilers idc i'm not your mom

1: okay so the mint stuff has been hinted at previously a few times!!

Chapter 6:

“B-But that’s… that’s fifteen hundred a month, I… I’ve hardly- I can’t make that.” You’re crying now, and you hate it. Hate how weak and pathetic you are. White hot tears cook your cheeks as they travel down your face, and you’re trying your best not to hiccup. Suddenly, you’re a kid all over again. Fawning, trying not to flinch as his hand reaches for your jaw to turn your face to him. His breath smells minty as it fans across the wet streaks on your face — he’s so close you can almost taste the menthol. There’s a small frown on his lips, something that almost looks sincere, but his eyes are too hungry for it to be real.  “Look at you,” he shushes. His hand moves up to cup your cheek as his arm keeps steady and firm around your shoulders. “Getting all upset over this? If it means that much to you, we can always negotiate lower, babe.”

Things get worse when his tongue pushes past your lips. Everything becomes ten times louder — the washers and dryers, the video on that damn phone, Marco’s slight moan against your skin. You make a pitiful attempt to fight back by pressing your hands on his chest, but he only pulls you closer, holding you tight like a coiling snake.  Something in you demands blood. You feel obligated to bite down, to sink your teeth into his tongue until the mint in your mouth is replaced with iron and copper. When you were a kid, your dad taught you how to throw a punch. You wonder what he would think if he saw you now, too afraid to fight back. 

Chapter 7:

She smiles. A toothy grin. Teeth perfect and whole, lips curling, but it’s not real. Her eyes are cloudy — her eyes are dead. Her smile is dead. Your mother is dead. Cold skin, colder gaze, coagulated blood on linoleum. Rotting. You still smell it: stale blood, cologne, and mint. It follows you everywhere.  He follows you everywhere.

Chapter 10:

You attempt to shift but the cocoon of blankets grows tighter around you, hugging your limbs close to you like a straightjacket. It’s so crowded that your ribs have trouble expanding, and a breathy cough leaks from your mouth. It burns, like smoke in your lungs or mint on your tongue. 

i'm... sure you all can draw the conclusions here (:

2: yes! the whole, wow, letting him helps me feels really nice. maybe this isn't so bad. and then instantly getting hit with, oh fuck. this is why i don't let people help me. this is why i can't accept help. simon, you don't understand. i can't let you help me with this. it's not that she doesn't need it (she does) it's that she can't afford to let him because he doesn't know (or... at least she thinks he doesn't know) what's going on.

3: oh and messy they shall be.

4: ..... aha....

5: i'm glad! it was meant to be unsettling! and i think it'll make more sense after next chapter (:

glad you enjoyed! thanks for letting me gush about these freaks haha.

[lexosaurus]

and then he woke up

Happy @phandomholidaytruce to @bleedingectoplasm! I loved your prompts, especially the part where you said, "idk just hurt me<3" so I hope I delivered!

Characters: Danny, GIW, Sam, Tucker Words: 5103 Warnings/tags: body horror, angst, recovery

[ao3 link]

***

It had been a joke once. Back in high school, his classmates had once bantered about the limits to his healing factor. They giggled, theorizing different scenarios, each more ridiculous than the last. Instances where his finger was cut off, his ghostly tail chopped in two, his torso sliced in half. If he was missing an organ, would his body make a new one? Would he regrow it like a starfish if his arm was cut off?

He had laughed, then. Because of course, those situations were crazy. No one was going to take his organs out. No one was going to cut his arm off. 

It was a joke.

It was supposed to be a joke.

His breath shuttered. Above him, white blended with white blended with green. Fire and nothingness cloaked his body, his nerves too fried to produce even a twitch. But still, ectoplasm bathed his skin, pooling on the table below him.

Voices murmured off to his side, and the sounds of machines beeped and whirred around him. But everything was muffled, the white was too oppressive, make it stop, make it stop…

“It’s fascinating.” The fuzzy operative hovered above him.

Danny couldn’t react as metal tools pressed against his skin.

“His body seems to be regrowing his missing kidney. Look, you can see it.”

Another face entered his view. “That’s incredible. Level seven indeed.”

Danny shut his eyes. He couldn’t stomach seeing their faces. He couldn’t know who was opening his skin, shuffling through his body, tearing it apart and putting it back together like a crude jigsaw. 

He wanted to cocoon in his ignorance and wake up in his bed.

He woke up in his cell. No bed. No blanket. He was a ghost, and ghosts didn’t deserve luxuries.

He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to assess the damage. He didn’t want to see how deep the nerve and muscle damage went, didn’t want to know if there was still a hole in his body, didn’t want to feel any dents where organs should be.

He didn’t want to know.

But deep down, some ugly part of him knew. And it admonished him, telling him to be grateful. He could have had it worse, he could have died. 

But then, wasn’t he already dead? No living person could have survived that.

No living person could have regrown a kidney.

His eyes burned, and his vision blurred over. After he passed out again, he would wonder what else they had removed from his body. What other things was he forced to regrow like some mutant lab experiment?

And to his horror, a few days later, he woke up.

Back on the metal table.

With another fuzzy operative floating above him, metal tools in hand.

The strap on his forehead stopped him from craning to see what was happening next to him, but instinct pooled in his gut anyway, and he knew.

He knew.

“It’s halfway regrown,” the operative said in a sterile tone.

“Time recorded. And what of his kidney?”

“It looks about a quarter of the way there.”

“Excellent.”

He wanted to ask, to beg, what was the first one? What were they talking about? Had they removed his kidney again? Didn’t they have enough fun the first time? Why were they doing this to him?

But even the mere thought of asking sent nausea down his throat and he couldn’t think about it, he couldn’t ask. His voice was frozen over anyway.

If he didn’t know the truth, then the realities didn’t exist.

When he woke up in his cell that evening, he tried to call out to Clockwork, to the Observants, to anyone who may see him. Who may know what he was going through. 

But no one responded. 

Of course.

Even though he didn’t expect an answer, it still punched him in the gut all the same. And those fears, those insecurities danced through his mind, twisting their imprints into every corner of his thoughts.

He wasn’t worthy of rescue. He wasn’t worth the trouble. He was just a thing, just a specimen to experiment on. He was…

Alone.

And then he woke up again on the table. And again. By now his nerves had been too torn apart to emit anything other than a numb tingling. The places he could still feel burned—they always burned—but he could ignore it. Shut it out.

Don’t think about it.

Don’t think.

He stared at the ceiling. Unmoving. Unblinking. Passed the masked faces above him, only catching the glint of metal out of the corners of his eyes. He listened as the operatives spoke, slicing parts of him away, but their words went in one ear and out the other.

He didn’t want to know.

And time passed. He kept waking up on the table with more things missing. He kept waking up in his cell knowing they had regrown. He kept waking up feeling tingling, burning in previously numb parts of his body, knowing that it was only thanks to the weekend that his nerves had begun to feel again. But then Monday would come again, and he would wake up with his body numb once more.

How much time had passed? How much of his body was no longer his? How much had regrown like an ugly patchwork of an ectoplasmic contaminated doll?

Was he even himself anymore if so much had been replaced?

How long until he couldn’t call himself Danny? 

And then he woke up.

Again.

***

He woke up to dimly lit glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling.

Those had been courtesy of Sam’s insistence. Something about grounding him after he woke up from nightmares—after all, the GIW didn’t have decorations in their cells. It was too bad the stars didn’t exist behind his eyelids. It would be nice to be able to prevent the dreams from happening in the first place.

He wasn’t sure what time it was, and he was too afraid to look at his phone to check. He didn’t want to know how badly he’d messed up his sleep for the night—again—he’d realized. But the room was dark, so he could only imagine.

On TV, when people woke up from nightmares, they got out of bed. Maybe they got a glass of water, hopped in the shower, or started getting dressed.

Danny always thought that was a load of bullshit. Because here he was, his frantic heart beginning to slow, brain flickering images that made him want to gag, and yet he couldn’t even consider the possibility of leaving his bed.

And so he lay there.

Staring up at the ceiling.

He must have dozed off eventually because one moment his eyesight went blurry, and the next he was waking up to the plastic stars. Except, sunlight streamed through the windows, and the stars had lost their sci-fi glow.

He still didn’t know what time it was. Maybe he should check.

Maybe.

His skin was uncomfortably warm, and he could feel his pillow not quite right under his head. His neck was stiff, but still, he didn’t get up. He could have slept for a week. He didn’t have the willpower to get out of bed.

So…he didn’t. He stayed in bed. A sluggish arm pulled out his phone and his fingers lazily scrolled through various social media sites without stopping to read anything. He let the minutes hours pass by until the stale taste in his mouth and his parched throat forced him out of bed.

It was a good thing Sam and Tucker weren’t here. They would be so disappointed if they saw how he spent his days off.

He turned on the faucet, washing toothpaste down the drain. His sink was getting grimy again, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cleaned his apartment. Sam would be so let down. Tucker would be too, though he wouldn’t say so many words as her.

So when his phone buzzed to life and familiar names appeared on his screen, he ignored them.

He couldn’t face them. Couldn’t do it.

Instead, he went back to bed. Not to sleep, just to…exist. Whatever that meant.

And when his phone finally rang, he turned it on Do Not Disturb.

(In his dreams, he woke up in his cell again.)

He woke up to the stars.

Again.

He stayed in bed, dozing until his alarm went off, signaling the start of the work week.

Had Sunday passed? Did his brain skip an entire day without him knowing?

So he had spent the entire weekend in bed. 

Fantastic.

He forced himself up, forced himself into the shower. He was careful not to touch his body anymore when he showered—that was what the loofah was for (another gift from Sam). His skin didn’t feel right anymore. It prickled at his touch in some places and burned in others. It had raises and bumps and lines that it didn’t use to. He couldn’t touch it, couldn’t admit to what happened, didn’t want to know.

Of course, it was impossible to forget.

He didn’t even notice he had transformed until he was already invisibly touching down at the subway stop. Danny Fenton took the subway to campus. At least, that was the story everyone else saw.

He detransformed—still invisibly, thank god he’d mastered that—and ducked out from behind the pillar. The invisibility dropped, and he slung his backpack over his shoulder as he made for the turnstile. 

Danny Fenton was a researcher getting his MS in aerospace engineering. Danny Fenton was looking for summer internships. Danny Fenton was a normal man, one who grew up with scientist parents, who never went into their portal, who was never kidnapped by the government, who never had his body cut open and was never forced to regrow his organs day and day again.

He was normal.

Very normal.

The sun hit his eyes and he tried to pretend that he wasn’t squinting at the sudden light. That he hadn’t just spent the entire weekend inside. That he wasn’t royally fucked for class today because he hadn’t even glanced at the prep work.

He followed a group of students inside his building and scanned his ID at the front desk. The security guard hardly looked up from his newspaper, and why would he? Danny Fenton was a normal, tired human student.

The elevator dinged at his floor, and he made the same trek to the office that he always made. Someone acknowledged him from the hall—probably Blake, he practically lived at the school—and Danny grunted in response.

He hoped he remembered to shave that morning. He couldn’t remember anything other than the relief and subsequent dread at waking up.

“Got some grading for you, Fenton,” the professor said as soon as Danny walked through the door. He tapped a stack of folders. “It’s a rough one, sorry.”

Danny’s voice crackled as he responded, “Sounds good.” He flushed, realizing it had been several days since he’d spoken last.

(He talked plenty in his dreams, though.)

His advisor quirked a bushy brow at him. “You sleep alright?”

“Fine.” Danny swiped the stack of folders. “I’ll be in the conference room till someone kicks me out.”

“‘Kay.”

He was glad it was just grading. Math had formulas, it had plans. It was either right or wrong. A rocket ship couldn’t fly if the numbers were wrong.

And grading undergraduates was mindless. They either knew the material or they didn’t. In the case of Professor Patel’s class, most of them didn’t.

Which was fine with Danny. If that meant he had to take longer to grade these exams, then that was good. Great, even. It meant he could spend less time thinking.

But eventually, he finished, and Patel ordered him to get food before class.

Danny tried to remember what he’d eaten since Friday. Maybe he had…pizza? At one point? A sandwich? Some ramen? He couldn’t remember. He must have eaten something because he wasn’t that hungry.

“You sure you’re alright?” Patel had asked again as Danny gathered his coat and bag to leave.

“Yeah.” He refused to make eye contact. “Just tired. You know, busy weekend.”

Busy weekend of staring at the wall, more like.

“I get it. Grad school is tough,” Patel said. “Listen, I have some meetings later, so I don’t need you for the rest of the day. After class, just go home. Get some rest. Swing by tomorrow.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Make sure you actually sleep this time.”

Danny attempted a weak smile. “I’ll try.”

Still, shame and guilt clawed at his hollow insides. He knew that he was giving nothing but empty promises.

He managed to go to class where he managed to take notes and he managed to follow along. Somehow. Thankfully. 

And then Danny Fenton walked to a secluded spot, transformed, and flew home.

His apartment was dark under the drawn curtains, but he didn’t bother with a light switch. It didn’t matter, he wasn’t human anyway. 

He grabbed a container from the fridge—takeout, some days old—and ate it under the light of the microwave clock. It was lo mein, some part of him recognized midway through. It tasted blander than he remembered.

Some part of him thought back to when the operatives had cut out his tongue. Partially to punish him for mouthing off, and partially just for fun. Sometimes he wondered how different his new taste buds were. Was this because they had regrown? Or did he just have issues?

No, don’t think about that. 

So he didn’t.

He woke up to his alarm. 

He went to school. 

Helped his advisor around the office.

Assisted with a class for undergraduates.

Went to his own class.

Had coffee with a classmate after. (What was her name again?)

Flew home.

Ate dinner. Ramen this time.

Woke up.

Woke up.

Woke up.

He woke up to pounding on his door.

He slapped a hand to his forehead, blearily sliding it down his eyes. Ugh, what time was it?

Who the hell was here this early?

Muffled shouting sounded from the hallway, but Danny couldn’t even begin to decipher what they were saying. But a second later, he recognized who was speaking and groaned on instinct.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” He braced himself for the unforgiving atmosphere that existed outside of his blankets.

“Danny, if you don’t get to the door right fucking now, I’m going to—”

“Yeah! I heard you!” He snapped, dragging his lifeless body from the bed.

“Sam, come on—”

“No, he can’t ignore us, Tuck.”

“I know, but—”

Danny opened the door, blinking as the light from the hall hit his retinas. He yawned. “What the hell?”

“Danny, have you been sleeping all day?” Sam’s tone hardly reigned in her frustration. She stood, tapping her black boots on the carpet and glaring at him through her purple makeup and dyed bangs.

“What?”

“It’s two in the afternoon, dude,” Tucker said, pushing past the door.

Danny didn’t fight him. He’d learned months ago that isolation wasn’t a battle he could win with these two.

Sam wrinkled her nose, picking at his shirt. “Have you been wearing this all week?”

Danny rolled his eyes, stepping back into the dusty apartment. He couldn’t remember when he’d last changed, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Will you relax? I was just asleep. Sorry, I’ll change.”

“Danny…”

“Make yourselves at home. I’ll be right back.” He shut the front door and padded to his bedroom, rifling through his laundry bin of clean clothes he’d never managed to put away.

Tucker, of course, took that as an invitation to perch himself on the bedroom doorframe. He stared into the messy bedroom, his arms crossed, and that annoyingly tense look on his face that Danny had begun to recognize was the “you’ve done fucked up” look.

But as usual, Tucker didn’t offer any of that information first. No, Danny had to be the one to grind out, “Okay, what now?”

“What do you mean, what now?” Tucker said. 

“I don’t know. You look like you have something to say.” Danny turned away and shrugged his shirt off, speed racing through putting the new one on.

He couldn’t risk anyone seeing his torso.

Even if his two best friends already knew what that looked like.

“Danny. You already know what I’m gonna say.”

“No, I don’t.”

Of course, he did.

But that was enough to snap Tucker out of his judgemental glare. For his crossed arms to fall down to his sides, and for that unmistakable sigh to escape his lips. 

“Dude, you’re getting worse.”

He knew Tucker was right. But that didn’t stop instinct from spouting out, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m fine.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Tucker snorted, glancing at the piles of dirty laundry on his floor. “If you want to keep lying to yourself.”

“Danny? All the vegetables I bought last week are still in your fridge,” Sam said, poking her head through the door. A clump of her purple and black hair caught on her lipstick, but she didn’t move to brush it away.

Danny didn’t even remember seeing vegetables in his fridge. “Sorry.”

“Have you been eating?”

“I eat a lot at school. You know, networking stuff.”

Tucker quirked a brow, and Sam’s expression looked even less impressed.

He looked at his two best friends, both dressed in unwrinkled clothes with skin that appeared as if it saw the sun for more than five minutes each day. They had their careers, friends, and lives that Danny could only dream of. 

“Come on, let’s go get food,” Sam said.

“Food?”

“It’s past lunch, and I know you need it.”

It was pointless to try to fight them. “Okay. Give me a few minutes to wash my face?”

“Sure.”

Winter was nice, Danny decided. Winter air meant it was cold, and he had an excuse to bundle up. He didn’t have to worry about short sleeves or people seeing his bare skin.

He could cover it up, not talk about it, not think about it.

“I think you should talk about it,” Sam said finally, placing a sub in front of him.

Danny couldn’t recall ordering anything. In fact, he hardly remembered the walk here. Which was bad. That meant Sam and Tucker had seen him when he was zoning out. He tried not to do that when they were around.

Oops.

“You know I can’t,” Danny said. He picked up the sub and took a bite. It was nice, and then he realized that meant he was probably hungry.

“I’m not saying you need to give details as Fenton. Maybe you can find someone willing to work with Phantom?” 

“That’s impossible.”

“Nah,” Tucker said through a mouthful of his own food. He chewed for a moment and then swallowed. “Phantom’s been around for a while. You have a lot of support. I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard to find a therapist who’s willing to work with you in ghost form.”

“Yeah, okay, let me just do that. I’ll just go ahead and risk finding a therapist on the off-chance they don’t call the government to come take me back there. Sure, no problem.” Danny glared at his food which suddenly didn’t look so appetizing. He huffed, putting it down on his plate, and dropped his head into his palms.

His hands were shaking. He hadn’t even realized they were doing that.

“Danny…” Sam’s voice was gentle this time. “Come on. There are other options.”

“Not really.”

“Sure there are. We can get you to a psychiatrist. You know, as a human.”

“They’d want to do bloodwork.”

Sam was silent at that. And then Danny could hear his breath, how shaky it was, and he hated that. He hated this conversation and feeling this way and he wanted to be home by himself staring at the stupid plastic stars on his ceiling again.

“You can’t keep living like this,” Tucker said. “I’m sorry, but you can’t. This is bad.”

“I know.” His voice was weak.

“So let’s think of something.”

“I’ve tried. There’s nothing else I can do.”

The three of them were silent once again. No one moved until finally, Tucker picked up his sandwich, and Sam followed. And Danny sat there with his head in his hands until the shakiness stopped and he could manage to eat another few bites. Sam wrapped up his leftovers and she and Tucker guided him home.

And that was that.

Until he woke up the next day to his phone ringing. It was Sam—of course, it was Sam—breathless on the other line.

“I’m here.” 

“What?”

“Tucker’s outside. Can you buzz us in?”

Danny groaned, dragging himself up again because these two idiots didn’t know how to leave him alone. He hit the buzzer and then waited at his door for the sound of murmurs, footsteps, and the polite knock that followed (it was Tucker’s knock this time). He opened the door to see his friends with their backpacks suspiciously full.

“Guys, stop,” Danny said, stepping aside to let them in.

“Stop what?” Tucker said innocently.

“Stop mothering me. You don’t need to bring me stuff. You already did that last week.”

Tucker hopped over to the kitchen. “Oh well, if you see Danny, tell him we’ll stop bringing him groceries when he admits he can’t survive on ramen forever.” Tucker set his backpack down on the counter and unloaded its contents into the fridge.

Danny mumbled incoherently, pulling out his phone to Venmo his two friends because he knew they wouldn’t accept repayment otherwise.

“Come on,” Sam said, pulling him away from Tucker. “Let’s watch TV.”

Danny allowed himself to be dragged to the couch, and he didn’t resist when Sam pushed him down and threw a blanket over him.

“There,” she said.

“I’m a halfa. I wasn’t cold.”

“But now you’re comfortable.”

“And you have groceries,” Tucker said, jumping onto the couch. He threw his hoodie-covered arm around Danny, patting his shoulder. “See? We got you.”

“I’m sorry,” Danny said reflexively. He was sorry. He was so sorry that they had to deal with him, that he wasn’t just fine and back to normal. That, for some reason, he couldn’t handle what happened even after all this time had passed.

“It’s okay, dude.”

“No, it’s not.” He moved his mouth soundlessly, shoving his trembling fingers under his blanket. He could feel the other two still beside him, and he wanted to unload everything, but that wouldn’t be fair to them. He couldn’t keep using them like this, it wasn’t fair.

“Danny, come on, we’re your best friends.”

“Yeah, but this is crazy. I’m crazy—or, I feel like it. You know? Like…I don’t know, I just feel like the world keeps slipping and I don’t know what to do.” 

Admitting the truth was bitter, and he couldn’t look at the other two. He couldn’t see their reactions. He didn’t want to look at Sam’s concerned expression, her eyebrows tight and pulled in, and he didn’t want to see Tucker’s wide eyes and their underlying hard look. Because that would mean that what he said was real and that the dreams were real and he couldn’t do that. He didn’t want to know.

“As we said before,” Sam said, her voice cautious. “You know, there are options.”

“Those are impossible for me.”

“Not necessarily.” Sam reached down into her backpack and pulled out a folder. “I hope you don’t mind, but last night Tucker and I went ahead and looked into some psychologists nearby. We compiled a list of all the ones who had liked or posted pro-Phantom posts on social media.”

Danny’s brain was slow to react, but when the implication hit him, he carefully reached out for the folder and opened it. Inside were stapled pages of various therapists. He leafed around to see printouts of their backgrounds, therapist pages, and their interactions with Phantom-themed social media.

“Wow…” He stared at the papers, hardly soaking in the words in front of him. His throat felt tight, and something prickled behind his eyes.

“Like I said, we got you,” Tucker said.

Danny quickly wiped away a tear that betrayed him. “I—I’m sorry.”

“You’d do the same for us, dude.”

“Wow. Well, still. This was…really nice.” He glanced at his friends and saw nothing but kindness behind their eyes. “Thanks, guys.”

“Will you let us help you find someone now?” 

Danny nodded. 

“Good.” Sam put her hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get through this, Danny. I promise.”

And if he had to wipe away another tear from his cheek, his friends were kind enough to not point it out.

***

“You look better,” Tucker said through a mouthful of a pastrami sandwich. “She’s good?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Danny sipped on his coffee, glancing toward the window. Snow flurries had begun to fall, though too sparse to stick onto the pavement. The sun was undecided if it wanted to commit to hiding behind the clouds and letting the snow commence, or if it wanted to break up the incoming storm in favor of blue skies. 

But regardless of the weather, the world moved around him. People hurried along the sidewalks, their hands shoved in their pockets and their eyes trained low, blinking away the little white speckles that stuck to their eyelashes. Cars whizzed by with bikes trailing alongside them. Across the street, a man dressed in all blue stood on a box, preaching to the scurrying passerby.

“I’m glad she’s working out,” Tucker said.

Danny was glad as well. Though, he could never express just how relieved he’d been. Looking back, it was almost embarrassing how quickly he had broken down to Amy. He couldn’t even remember what question she had asked him, just that it apparently hit the exact nerve he had spent months pushing down further and further into the recess of his mind.

That had been the first night in a long time he didn’t have a nightmare.

“How’s your job going?” Danny asked. “Sorry, I haven’t really asked.”

“All good, dude! And it’s been going well. My team’s awesome. I can’t really talk about what we’re developing—NDAs and all—but it’s been fun to figure out how to build everything. You know? It’s like a jigsaw puzzle.”

Danny felt the corners of his lips twitch up. It had been too long since he’d seen this, the spark that hit Tucker’s eyes when he got on the topic of technology. For so long, his daily routine had been making sure he didn’t drown, that he’d forgotten how nice it was to be able to breathe air.

“You can’t tell me anything? Not even a little hint?”

Tucker groaned dramatically, pulling his beanie down over his eyes. “Don’t tempt me, dude! Staying quiet about this is already bad enough without having you guilting me into spilling.”

“Aw, you’re no fun.”

“And what about you? You’re working for your advisor, right?”

“Yeah. Patel’s cool. You know, it’s mostly just me doing his bitch work. But he’s been talking about introducing him to some of his contracting buddies. So that’d be cool.” Danny shrugged. “Whatever gets my foot in the door, really.”

“The first job’s the hardest. After that, it gets easier.”

“That’s what Sam said too. And Jazz. And my mom.”

“Well, they’re not wrong,” Tucker said, turning his attention back to his sandwich. “You remember me complaining about my first job. My boss was an idiot who thought more lines of code meant more productivity. No matter how many people explained that fewer lines are actually—a lot of the time—better and that debugging was a thing, this guy couldn’t grasp the concept. I couldn’t wait to finish out my year and get out of there.”

“Bad bosses are everywhere, I guess.”

“Yeah. But you know, now I’m working at this kickass place and it’s great!”

Tucker didn’t have to convince Danny of that. Just looking across the table, Danny could see all the ways Tucker had changed since they were kids. He was taller, more filled out, and he sat with his shoulders back, head held high. He still had that shit-eating grin, but it seemed more genuine now. Kinder.

Danny had a lot of catching up to do. But maybe…maybe one day, he’d get there too.

“Well, I’m sure I’ll be complaining about my first boss too.”

“It’s a rite of passage.”

The laugh escaped his lips before he could stop himself. “Sure it is.”

“So what’s on your agenda for today?”

“Eh, nothing fun. I’m still catching up with all my schoolwork.” It hadn’t been fun facing the mountain of assignments and studying he had fallen behind on. But it hadn’t exactly been the first time he’d been in this academic predicament either. And as experience had taught him, once he’d started, he had found that his backlog of work wasn’t quite as bad as his anxiety had made it seem.

“We’ll be seeing you on Friday still, right?” Tucker asked. 

Danny took another sip of his coffee and nodded. “For sure. I’ll need the break by then.”

“Good.”

“And, you know, thanks.” Danny ducked his head. “I know I’ve been off. Thanks for sticking it out for me. I really appreciate you guys.”

“Dude, of course. You know, we moved here together, so we’re gonna stick together.”

“Yeah. Still, thanks.”

“We got you.”

When Danny woke up on Saturday, he wasn’t in his bed. He was on his couch with Sam and Tucker pressed up on either side of him. They must have fallen asleep watching terrible movies again. Empty cans of spiked seltzers and a family-sized bag of pretzels littered the coffee table, and the ‘Are You Still Watching?’ message splayed over the TV screen.

He heard the soft snores of Tucker and the consistent breaths of Sam, and something warm and fuzzy grew in his stomach. After months and months of feeling empty, the warmth was almost jarring at first, but that was quickly replaced by bliss.

Because even though it had been a while, even Danny couldn’t forget how nice this all felt. To have friends, family even. To be loved and cared for. To know that no matter what, he always had these two by his side.

Honestly, what would he do without them?

“Thanks,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

He could wait until they woke up too.

[wtfyangjungwon]

FEVER.

member : park sunghoon

au : nonidol!sunghoon x nonidol!reader

genre : fluff

a/n : i'm making a series of small stories to celebrate enhypen's 3yrs on the 30th!

summary : sunghoon gets a fever while his partner is at work. and he wants to be taken care of.

warnings : non-proofread, lowercase intended, mentions of dying

sunghoon laid in bed, blanket wrapped around his body as if he was living in a cocoon. little coughs sounded throughout the room, as little wadded up tissues scattered all around him. he had taken meds a couple hours prior but in his defense, they were not working for him.

the black haired male tried to sit up but immediately was taken down. " oo...head rush.." he says to himself, holding his head with one hand. sunghoon pushes himself up against his headboard and leaned his head against the wall. he took small breathes out of his mouth all because he couldn't breathe out of his nose. the male closes his eyes and a small pout took its place on his lips.

he reached for his phone and opened up his girlfriend's contact. she was currently at work so she probably won't even see his text until later on but he wanted to give it a try.

sunghoon : i know you're at work, but can you bring me some soup after you get off?

pretty baby yn : are you sick? are you okay?

sunghoon : i have a slight fever but i think i'll be okay after i eat some of that soup.

pretty baby yn : give me 15

sunghoon turned off his phone and set it beside him, laying back down. a small smile rested on lips and opted to watching a movie while he waited for his girlfriend to show up.

yn showed up about 20 minutes later to sunghoon's apartment. she punched in the passcode and opened the door. it was really quiet and all that could be heard was the faint bell of his cat's collar moving around in his bedroom.

she opened the door to his room and found sunghoon asleep, slight shimmer on his skin due to sweat. she set the bag down on his desk and grabbed his phone , which was playing a movie, and set it on his night stand.

yn sighs and shook sunghoon's shoulder lightly. his eyes flutter open, a smile ghosting his girlfriend's lips. his arms immediately wrap around her waist as his head lays in her lap. yn's hand went straight to his hair, playing with the brown strands gently.

"how are you feeling?" she asks softly. he looks up at her and pouts.

" my head hurts. i feel like i'm gonna die with how bad i feel."

yn scoffs and rolls her eyes playfully. " don't be so dramatic, sunghoon. it's just a cold with a slight fever. it go away. you're not gonna die."

" how would you know, yn? i could die right here." he lays on his back , and started to make fake choking noises, and dramatically puts a arm over his face. his body goes limp and his tongue slightly poking out from his mouth, eyes closed.

he opened one eye to look at her and she had the smallest smile on her lips, and tiny giggles leaving her mouth. in turn, he smiles widely, looking at her with adoring eyes.

" alright, hoon. enough playing around. time to eat your soup that you so desperately wanted and to take meds."

he sits up and looks at her, with big puppy eyes.

yn looked at her boyfriend and tilts her head.

" what? " she asks.

" feed it to me, babe. "

" no."

[peaches2217]

(Resisting the urge to send every single emoji) 💞

💞 - Post-Nightmare Cuddles

@kaijudragon gets all the credit for this idea! I hope I did your vision justice! (And please, send as many as you want! I always welcome prompts and requests~)

Safety

~~~

With a gasp, Peach sat straight up.

It was dark, and she was very cold, and she was alone except for the sound of dripping water somewhere in a far corner. Those thoughts lingered even as she came to her senses. The dark wasn’t unfamiliar; moonlight streamed in through sheer curtains, curtains she herself had chosen. She wasn’t cold; the bed beneath her was soft, silky, and comfortably warm, as was the fluffy, thick duvet that she clutched to her chest.

“Mmn… Peach? Cosa c'è?”

She wasn’t alone. It was this realization, and the gentle voice that heralded it, which finally made her loosen her grip on the blanket.

She relaxed against her pillows, or at least tried to, turning to offer an apologetic smile to her darling. “I suppose it was just a nightmare,” she said. Her throat felt tight, and her voice sounded uncertain as a result. It had felt all too real. Something about Mario’s expression, eyes droopy with sleep yet brows tight with worry, made her want to cry.

He looked so warm, and so soft, and so real. She wanted to hold him close until that dream faded into nothing more than a vaguely unpleasant memory.

He beat her to the punch.

“Ah, Peach,” he sighed, pulling her into his arms, “you’ve been having a lot of those lately.” He was warm, all muscle and fat and soft hair, and his heat quickly warmed Peach’s body in turn. She tucked her head beneath his chin and wound her arms around him as well as she could laying on her side. It was okay to be greedy for a moment, she decided. She wanted as much heat as she could stand.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” she whispered, not wanting to take a chance on her voice cracking. “Not as long as you’re here when I wake up.”

Mario chuckled at that, a low, mellow sound that she could feel through his chest. “Sarò sempre qui, tesoro,” he whispered back. A smile finally found its way onto her face. He dropped in and out of his native tongue whenever he was sleepy. She’d always found it precious.

His arms tightened around her, and Peach closed her eyes, sighing into the embrace. Rapidly, she found herself forgetting why she had awoken in the first place, or what had caused her such distress. Warmth and security cocooned her, and she drifted in and out of consciousness for several peaceful, blissful minutes.

A metallic clang startled her awake once more.

It was dark, and she was very cold, and she was alone except for the sound of dripping water somewhere in a far corner. All of the heat she had hoarded was gone in an instant. She lay curled on her side for what might have been seconds and could just as easily have been an hour, staring at the dank stone wall in front of her, willing herself numbly to wake up once more.

The cot beneath her was thin, her blanket a flimsy sheet of old fabric. The drip of stale water was a constant rhythm, so predictable that she could use it to count the hours, if she felt so inclined. But she didn’t, not right now. Why should she? She was trapped in a nightmare, a tray of meager provisions brought down once a day her sole source of company, her every moment here at the whim of a maniacal warlord obsessed with the notion of owning her.

Mario was someplace much farther than the opposite end of her bed. Maybe he was marching ahead, destroying every malicious obstacle in his path, hell-bent on saving her. Maybe he was still at home, laying low to wait for a strategic opening. Maybe he was already dead. He knew she was in danger. He knew Bowser was out for blood this time around. He didn’t know that she loved him. She had convinced herself that there would be time to tell him later, when she was ready.

So what was the point in keeping time now? Time didn’t matter. She had all the time in the world, whether she wanted it or not.

Eventually, the drip became little more than a hum in the background of her thoughts, and her dreams brought her back to Mario’s side. He was warm, all muscle and fat and soft hair, and in words she couldn't comprehend but could somehow understand, he promised her safety.

She smiled in his embrace. Someplace half the world away, her tears stained the cot beneath her head.

[michaelectras]

family dinner

Wherein food is had by all, and tears are shed by most

Written for @midamappreciationweek's day three prompt: family!

A few minutes past midnight, and they’re awake again. 

Baby hadn’t been crying this time, per se, but Michael seemed to be attuned to every single snuffle she made, so as soon as she began to whine lowly in her bassinet, he was awake to scoop her up and hold her against him. That, of course, meant that Adam woke up too, blinking blearily at the two of them. 

“Is she—” he begins, worried, but Michael’s sleepy silence is enough to calm him instantly. He’s holding her up, patting her back as she’s snuggled in her little orange blanket and Adam can see that her eyes are open.

“Oh,” is the only thing he can say before all his breath instantly deserts him.

And— here’s the thing. All newborn babies, Adam thought, looked the same. They were all red, wrinkly, scowly (though, Adam supposes, any child of Michael’s was doomed to be scowly) with no discernable features, and they all depended on the hormone soup made-to-order in postpartum parents to, like, survive and stuff because there was no way that they’d be able to attain that level of attention with their ‘cuteness’ (and lack thereof) alone. Three days ago, Adam had thought that that same logic would apply between him and his daughter— that she’d be little and ugly and red, and the only reason he’d think she was cute or special in any way appearance-wise (as a newborn, at least) was because of the parenting chemicals buzzing through his veins.

Adam of right now wanted to punch Adam of three days past in the face.

Because his baby is fucking adorable. She had a full head of soft black hair that tickled whoever she was laying on, and her face was fat and round and a shade of red that was giving way to a russetty tan. Her eyes— when they were open, like right now— were blue, deep blue, and they were massive, looking at Adam and— and even though he knew, objectively, she wasn’t seeing anything she’d remember, or recognise, in an hour’s time, it still sent tingles to the tips of his fingers to think that she was looking at him. One day, she’d look at him and know him, know that he’d always be there for her, that he loves her so, so fucking much and—

“You haven’t blinked in a while,” Michael observes sleepily.

And— oh, he’d forgotten to do that. Adam blinks, and, doing so, he feels something warm running down his cheeks. Tears, his mind informs him after a second. 

He redirects his gaze to Michael, and feels his heart leap, jumping through his ribs to his throat, clogging his throat up all over again. He blinks again— more tears— and meets Michael’s gaze, and a surge of affection rushes through his body, threatening to crash over his very being and drown him in a feeling he wishes he could convey to Michael. A feeling that, if Michael were with him properly, nestled up against his soul, grace spilling out from under every layer of his muscle, every layer of his skin, he’d be able to push towards him, envelop him in, making a cocoon out of his gratitude and his joy and his love, love, love, that he could lay over and around and into and beyond Michael, and then— only then— would his point adequately come across.

But they aren’t together. Not like that. Not anymore. And all Adam can do is get up, reach over to Michael and trace his thumb over lips bitten raw and skin that shone with historic radiance, and use one of his few breaths to whisper, “I love you. I love you, I love you so fucking much, I—” more warmth splashes down his face, and he feels his own lips tremble “—I love you.”

He plants a quick, chaste kiss on Michael’s bottom lip, just over where his own thumb was, and draws back to look up at Michael. Dark eyes (large, shaped like the baby’s) drift drowsily down to meet his gaze, and they shine with a sentiment that Adam knows would feel infinitely better wrapped around his soul.

“I love you too,” Michael murmurs, in the absence of his ability to do that, of their oneness, “I love you.”

Then— Baby, who had been content and semi-quiet until then, begins to whine again, scrunching her little face up and turning her head, lips tracing Michael’s collarbone as her squalls threaten to turn into wails. Michael’s own face settles into a deep weariness that, to Adam, seemed to have become his default expression for the past week or so.

“And she’s hungry,” he sighs, and begins to shuffle himself further up, reaching an arm out to feel around for his water bottle in the dark.

“Oh, wait— here—” and Adam grabs his own “—use mine.”

He passes the bottle to Michael, who flashes him a grateful look before taking a large swig of it, all while Adam supports the baby in his arms, shifting Michael’s shirt about and positioning her the way they’d been taught to do at the hospital centuries (a day) ago.

(“Remember,” the nurse had said, grey hair pulled back, wrinkles entrenched in her face and eyes twinkling in a manner that betrayed her to be infinitely younger than Michael and Adam both, “you guys are a team now. You have to learn how to work together, pull each other up by the bootstraps.”

And, Adam and Michael had looked at one another then, skin-to-skin and hopelessly far away. We know how to work together, Adam had wanted to cry, the problem is we aren’t together.”)

When Baby latched on, it was Michael’s turn to cry. 

“You okay?” Adam asks, propping himself up on both arms and shifting to sit on his legs. “Michael?”

“Fine,” his voice is hoarse, he’s definitely not fine. “I— I don’t know why I’m crying. I just am. This— I—” and Michael chokes, for a second, and closing his eyes doesn’t halt the flow of tears “—I didn’t expect to feel so much all the time.”

“Oh, Michael,” Adam breathes, and something deeper than his heart aches. Hormone soup, his med-school mind provides, and it makes him feel a bit better knowing that nothing was seriously wrong, but that doesn’t mitigate the shattering heartbreak of realising he couldn’t do anything to help. “I— I don’t—” I don’t know what to do, he wants to say, but stops himself at the last second, just as his tongue began curling around the words.

“I,” he tries again. Michael sniffs, and Adam runs his fingers through his hair. “What we’ll do,” he says, slowly, eventually, and Michael blinks at him, “is that I’ll give you some more water, and I’ll go refill your bottle and grab us some food. It’ll be like— all three of us eating. Family dinner.” Michael gives a small snort at that, and Adam mentally whoops triumphantly.

“Family dinner,” Michael repeats, a stray sniff ruining the deadpan tone he was clearly aiming for. 

“You okay with that?” Being alone for a bit?

“I—yeah. Yeah, I’m— I’ll be okay.” Be back soon.

And Adam makes good on that. He brings his water bottle up to Michael’s mouth, tilting it, letting Michael drink his fill, before leaning over and grabbing for Michael’s water bottle. Then he’s up, he’s out, padding about their apartment and tracing phantom footsteps in the dark until he reaches their little fridge, peering inside, pulling out the leftover chicken and rice and depositing it on a plate to put in the microwave. While it’s heating up, he grabs a pack of Oreos (hidden at the back of the top shelf of the corner cupboard, where Michael can’t reach and, ergo, can’t know of it’s presence inside his ostentatiously healthy home) for himself, and gets through one or two by the time the microwave goes off, its beeps ringing out in what startles Adam to realise was an otherwise still night, calm despite it all. The constant, urgent roar in his ears must’ve been the sound of his own blood in them. Outside, it’s pitch black and silent, and the quiet rush of solitary cars rushing down midnight roads is nothing but a faraway whisper, drifting into their apartment through the blackness surrounding them. 

Suddenly, Adam feels very, very alone.

So, he takes Michael’s plate out of the microwave and grabs a spoon to set down with it, and refills Michael’s water bottle with filtered jug water, and not the stuff from the tap (because, nowadays, Michael conserved energy by not complaining, but Adam knew him, and knew he hated the taste of tap water, so the jug had proved itself to be a wise investment). Gathers all the stuff— food, Oreos, water bottles, cutlery, and the mental checklist’s all ticked off— into his arms, and pads back down the hall and into their bedroom, where Michael’s still sitting up, staring into some distant nothing, and Baby’s still clasped to his chest. 

“Hey,” Adam says softly as he climbs onto the bed, careful not to spill anything.

“Hello, Adam,” Michael replies, sighing, leaning his head back to bump gently against the headboard. “Hunger is an entirely foreign concept to me, but from what little I do know about it, she shouldn’t still be hungry. It’s been fifteen minutes.” A pause. “And forty seconds, so almost sixteen minutes.”

Adam shrugs, passing Michael his own water bottle and pulling the duvet up around himself. “I heard that twenty minute feeds were pretty standard at this stage. Plus, she’s just come into a big, scary world, and newborns nurse for comfort too.”

Michael doesn’t respond, and Adam supposes he doesn’t need to. It’s a jarring shift, to go from a weapon, someone whose presence brought with it whispers of war and chaos and destruction, to something comforting. To have a being, so, so small and fragile and completely helpless, suddenly thrust into a strange world, depend entirely on you for survival, not for orders. For comfort, not for war.

“Hey,” Adam says again, just to get Michael to snap out of the world in his head, to look at him. He holds up the plate. “Do you wanna be comforted too?” Michael rolls his eyes, and that inspires Adam to scoop up a spoonful of rice, and move it around. “Here comes the aeroplane!”

Another eyeroll, but Michael opens his mouth, and Adam almost hollers in victory.

They continue like that, for a while. Adam having his oreos, feeding Michael, Michael taking frequent sips of water and feeding Baby, and Baby oblivious to the world (even as Michael has to swipe fallen grains of rice from her hair). It’s… peaceful. Surreal, definitely— the room is dark, and even when Adam’s eyes adjust all he can make out are stray silhouettes masked by the night, and the world is quiet beyond them, no noise daring to breach the tranquillity that envelops the three of them. It’s almost as though nothing dares to exist where it could disturb them.

When Michael finishes the rice and chicken, he switches the baby to the other side and his stomach audibly rumbles.

“Need more comfort?” Adam teases, leaning his head on Michael’s shoulder.

“I don’t know why I’m still hungry. I shouldn’t be.” Michael sounds sluggishly frustrated with himself.

“Hey, if you’re hungry, you’re hungry. Who cares about anything else.” Adam pops an Oreo into his mouth, then holds another one up to Michael’s lips. “Say ‘aah’,” he says around the Oreo, getting tiny crumbs all over the bedsheet and making Michael wrinkle his nose.

“Manners,” Michael chides halfheartedly, before taking a small bite of the cookie.

“See, when I get crumbs over things, it’s over the duvet, and it’s a problem. When you do it, though, you get them over the baby, and that’s perfectly fine.”

Michael dusts the little cookie crumbs out of Baby’s hair.

“No crumbs on her now. But your awful manners still exist. Who’s the problem, again, kid?”

Adam puffs out a laugh, and settles down to nuzzle his head against Michael’s shoulder, using a finger to smooth away their daughter’s dark, downy hair away from her face.

“She’s asleep,” he notes.

“She’s still eating,” Michael rolls his eyes.

“Ooh, hungry baby.”

“Baby’s been alive for less than four days and she’s already proven to have gotten her appetite from you,” it might be a teasing jibe, it might be a sleepy, halfhearted attempt at his signature sardonicism, tainted by the weight of his fondness, but whatever Michael means by it, Adam can’t help but melt.

She’d gotten something from him. She’ll have gotten traits from Michael, too. Because she was theirs, and she was real, unexpected and somewhat unexplained but so, so real, and their life together was shaping into what Adam thought, a thousand years ago, would be nothing but a bittersweet fantasy. 

She’s real. They’re real. Michael’s real, eyes heavy with sleep, sharing his exhaustion but so incredibly, irresistibly real that Adam can’t stop staring into them and—

“Are you okay?” the sudden alarm in Michael’s voice snaps Adam back into something resembling reality.

At first, he isn’t sure what Michael’s talking about. A split second later and he feels it; the sudden heat against his cheeks, the faint taste of saltwater against his lips. His hand lifts to trace down his face and it’s wet.

“Well, shit,” Adam chokes out a laugh, “guess we’re both emotional messes.”

“We can’t be blamed for it,” Michael attempts to justify (or, perhaps, it’s a statement more than anything). Then, he sniffs, “Stop crying, or I’m going to cry again, too.”

“Family dinner’s turned into family cry-time. Amazing. Well,” a pause. Adam looks down at Baby, whose eyes are half-open again, “almost family cry-time. She’s not crying.”

“And praise whatever power that exists in the world, now, that she isn’t. Don’t worry, she’ll cry her fill in an hour’s time.”

“She’s got terrible team spirit.” Adam pokes his daughter’s cheek (gently, of course; it’s more a stroke than it is a poke, really), and the skin is soft and warm and solid. “Hear that, Baby? Your poor old dads are here sniffling up a storm over you, and what’re you doing?”

Michael shuffles himself— and the Baby— closer to Adam, and lets his head fall atop the latter’s. “She’s eating dinner” he sniffs, ever the pretentious archangel of old, “don’t be critical. She’s doing so well.”

Adam can’t find it in him to tease Michael at that, can’t find the space to squeeze it through the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” is what he manages to murmur eventually, “she’s doing so, so well.” Then, he tries, “We’re doing so well.”

“We are,” Michael placates him, or affirms, and nuance is lost on Adam as songs of lines, and words, and worlds blur into a cacophony of right now. Into the weight of Michael’s head on his, into the smoothness of their baby’s hair, and into the chasm Michael left inside of him when he was forced into another form, a chasm slowly being filled with love, and terror, but love all the same.

Moments aside, Adam knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Hormones would wear off, life would settle in, and he was scared of the day where he would take this for granted, where this would become ‘normal’ and displace the years, the centuries of agony and the crushing loneliness of being alone in his body, that it took to get here. To get her. He wondered if the novelty would wear off quickly— he hoped it didn’t, hoped he could stay floating in a castle of cribs and sleepless nights forever.

Even if it did, though… Adam closed his eyes, felt the rub of Michael’s hair against his. At least they’d be together. They’d always be together, now, and there was proof of that. 

Yeah, they were here. They’d always be here. And, perhaps naively, that was all he needed to know things would work out just fine.

[lunaticus-platina]

Aight this is the post for the anon(😏) ask.

My fave moment of Travis x my oc Brennen is post-quarry, when the situation settled down and they kept meeting up until they got close. And became 'not boyfriends'(Of course Travis. Yeah.)

Travis was feeling under the weather and Brennen cuddled him. There's a wip of that moment, actually, brewing in my wip pit. To be completed in a decade maybe.

So in the cuddle fic, Travis went to Brennen's place and was feeling cold and his joints ached. Pretty obvious signs of a cold but as always, he had to be stubborn about it, so Brennen just wrapped him on his chest with blankets and didn't get up from the sofa.

Travis had a big frown on his face before he fell asleep. Brennen has great circulation in his body, so he has naturally high body temperature. Good cuddle buddy when you feel weak and miserable.

Oh and Travis sniffed Brennen's shirt while he was trapped in the blanket cocoon, like a weirdo he is. And Brennen didn't mention it because he thought it was cute, like a weirdo he is.

Another moment I like is whenever they throw hands, as strange as that sounds. If there's one thing Bren learned in therapy, it's that you have to express your frustration somehow instead of letting it rot in your mind and cause further troubles later.

And what better way for the great communicator like Travis Hackett to express his anger other than talking things out with his fists.

Since he can't explain how he feels, unlike how other emotionally stable people can, he has to act rather than speak. And that's fine by Brennen. He's quite fluent in fist talks! Also, his provocation game is top-notch.

It's like a morbid foreplay. They grunt and roll around and grab at each other, basically the same thing.(not) And they can make up later.

The way they fight is interesting too. Brennen avoids hitting the face because he 'doesn't want to damage the goods'. Travis is fucking livid but tries to pin Bren down like a cop he is instead of punching him too many times.

It quickly turns into a fight for dominance, but usually the angrier one wins. Namely, Travis. And it feels good to come out on top, so it's a little therapeutic for Travis each time. Bren doesn't mind. That's the whole purpose of starting the fights anyway. Fighting it out and making up later is their love language, I guess.

Oh and it takes a lot for Travis to actually snap, so imagine what kind of things Brennen says to drive him mad. Even while Travis is prowling around in a circle, ready to take him down. Yeah. Insufferable bastard.

[zushimart]

jst a blurb, slight angst. scara x gn!reader.

it starts with your phone screen lighting up with a text that reads “pick you up at seven?” from a name he doesn't recognize – until you’re filling him in, and it’s even worse than his imaginative, baseless assumptions.

“i think i like this guy,” you’d said, “like, most of the dates i’ve been on kind of sucked, but some of them paid, so… free food, you know?” and you casually laugh it off. he tries to follow in suit, but he can feel his lunch swimming in his stomach as his mouth twists into a frown.

“good luck finding someone you deserve,” he says, and it comes off a little meaner than he intended. you brush it off because when isn’t he mean other than when he wants something from you.

god, does he want something from you.

~

“and how are you taking it?” childe follows the story with pity from across their shared room. the silence had been uninterrupted till his red head got a little too curious over the stormcloud following his roommate around since his return. it took one question for scara to burst like a levee, unloading the past hour and a half and then some.

“why should i care?” he scoffs with ruffled feathers. childe bites back a laugh and remains supportive even if his friend would never willingly lean against him. scara wants to wipe the look off his face with a kick or a punch, but instead his voice comes out soft, “it’s not like i’ve ever tried… to tell them, you know? how i feel...” he finally admits what he’s been thinking. “i have no right to care.”

“i don’t think you need a ‘right’ to feel bad,” he says.

scara pulls his comforter around himself a little tighter, disappearing into the blankets like a caterpillar in its cocoon. he stares into nothing. “i guess i don’t.”

[babsvibes]

for the rivals / enemies prompts…and ONLY if you want to….louigan, #3?? 👀 again NO pressure…..🫡

#3: taking care of the other while one is unconscious

How about established relationship domestic fluff for a Neighbors AU piece? Technically, this only works for the prompt because Louise falls asleep at the end, but let’s pretend yeah? I also tried to cover @sailoreuterpe’s suggestion of insults as a love language (because even if it’s not her favorite trope, Nikki knows her audience lmao)

At first, she thought the knocking emanated from a terribly annoying dream, but with every second of blooming consciousness Louise realized it was no figment of her imagination.

She groaned, eyes peeling open slowly then blinking at the new morning. The sheets rustled to the left of her. Glancing at Logan, whose furrowed eyebrows nearly took over his face, she snickered.

“People pretending to sleep don’t usually look that angry.”

“‘S not my fault,” he grumbled. “It’s been going for like… a million minutes.”

“So what time does that make it?” Louise asked, figuring he had been on his phone already.

“Seven.”

Her eyes snapped out of their half-lidded state. “In the morning?! Who the hell is knocking on our door at seven in the morning?”

“It’s the first Saturday in December. Who do you think?” Logan, still refusing to open his eyes, shuffled closer and pulled at her waist. She sunk into him, enjoying being spooned as he kissed her neck in that perfectly lazy way reserved only for weekend mornings.

And another fucking knock rang out.

Louise balled up her fist and punched her pillow.

“Go make it stop,” she demanded.

She felt his “Nmn” rumble from his chest and down her back.

“Mmhmm,” she replied.

“NMnh.”

“MMhmm.”

“Nn” “Mm” “nnNNn” “mMmMm”

When they both hummed the same note over each other to see who would last longer, Louise cracked first, unable to resist snorting at the absurdity. Logan followed suit.

“I think that means you lost, shortstack. Go tell off Annie.” She didn’t move, so he continued. “You’re just so much scarier than I am.”

“Keep talking.”

“And so brave and cutthroat and beautiful-”

“Alright alright, enough of that,” Louise sighed. “I’ll go. Just move back. I can’t get out of bed if you’re wrapped around me like this.”

Logan didn’t budge. Shuffling, scooting, and otherwise wiggling to freedom proved fruitless.

“Seems like… maybe you don’t want me to get out of bed?”

Before he could respond, the knocking resumed. He sighed against her neck, giving in and loosening his grip.

“Every day I am in awe of your strength and sacrifice,” she said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

Logan replied by poking her one ticklish spot. With an involuntary laugh, she moved away and pointed at him menacingly. The warning was wasted as he still hadn’t opened his eyes.

Gathering up all of her courage and the edge of the covers, Louise heaved herself up only to meet Jack Frost’s frozen testicles slapping her in the face. She yelled and buried herself back under the blankets. “Nope, no, absolutely not. Too cold.”

Annie, or at least who they assumed was their apartment manager here to drag them into holiday shenanigans, continued to relentlessly knock.

Logan sniffed. “Is that… is she knocking Carol of the Bells?”

“Carol of the Nine Hells more like,” Louise grumbled, hiding under her pillow.

“She’s just going to keep at it. Remember that time she needed Victor to sign a release form?”

“She camped outside for four days.” With a sigh, she emerged partially from her cocoon. “Okay, tell you what. How about we go together? That way we can suffer as one.”

It was Logan’s turn to sigh, but he finally cracked his eyes open. Morning had a way of making an honest man out of liars, and she watched him melt at the sight of her, genuine and soft. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, then he leaned in. She met him halfway for a quick kiss. When they broke apart, he sighed again.

“Fiiiine. On the count of three?”

“Works for me.”

“One.” “Two.” “Three.”

Logan all but fell out of bed, joints popping as though arthritis would be killing him in the next couple of hours. He stretched to the sound of more popping, blinked the sleep from his eyes, and looked back at her.

Louise had failed to move and, if possible, snuggled even deeper into the mattress.

“You witch,” he accused, grabbing a pillow and hitting at the general area of her butt. “You tricked me.”

“This isn’t the first or last time; you knew what you were getting into, idiot. Now go get rid of Annie.”

“Ugh, fine. But when I get back I want to be the little spoon.”

Louise hummed in acquiesce, shuffling the blankets so there was a spot for him to slip back into. When she finished and settled in, the only visible parts of her were a mess of black hair and the tiniest hint of a pout.

As he left their bedroom, Logan wondered how he was supposed to scare away anyone with the dopey smile he couldn’t drop.

[experthiese]

@zenigatakeibu asked: "there's good in you, lupin." zenigata's voice, soft yet stern, presses oh-so-tenderly against the back of lupin's head. he has the thief in his arms, and there in the moonlight they sway, like the lovers they are. "i know there is. i've seen it. i've felt it. you aren't the lost cause you think you are... and i'll remind you of that every damn day if i have to."

Lupin makes a sound like he's been punched. He finds himself suddenly very grateful for the positions this embrace keeps them in, for it means Zenigata can't see the pained expression on his face, the way he struggles to swallow past the sudden thickness in his throat. It means he can continue to sway with the night's breeze, trying his hardest to ignore how the open love feels like a knife slotting itself between his ribs.

He'd fled, the first time this had happened. The first time Lupin had looked into those eyes and seen something a little too close to trust, he'd panicked. Holed himself up in some shitty bar in the ass end of nowhere, the jukebox fizzing with sparks and men passed out gracelessly on what few tables there were. It hadn't mattered. He'd sped his way through a couple bottles of cheap beer until he'd stopped feeling like he wanted to crack the glass in his hand and bleed all over the countertop. Then he'd downed a couple more bottles, just to be sure.

The second time, he'd found himself reaching for his gun before he'd known what he was doing. It was a gut reaction, he'd reasoned. He'd been... caught off-guard by the sincerity behind those words. Frightened. He'd ripped off his holster and kicked it away before he could do anything stupid, pacing like a wild animal caught in a too-small enclosure. The tip of his thumb had found its way between his lips and he'd bitten down, hard enough that his thoughts were drowned out by the white-hot pain of his teeth sinking into flesh.

The third time he'd gone mute, shaking hard enough to make his teeth chatter. The thin motel blanket had been tugged around and over him like a cocoon, a petulant attempt to hide from what was happening outside of it even as the fabric wore thin enough to hide nothing. Zenigata's hand had found his hip, big and warm and rubbing soothing circles into it, and he'd stiffened as he fought to lean into it or jolt away. He'd done neither in the end. There he'd stayed, motionless, until the lamp on the bedside table was switched off and plunged the room into darkness.

Now, Lupin does none of those things. He simply sways and keeps his hands clutched tight to Zenigata's, pulling them closer around himself. His eyes are wetter than usual and his brows are still pinched into an expression of astute pain, but it's nothing he can't hide. One of the inspector's hands is brought up, close enough for his breath to ghost over it, and he prays his exhalations are steady. A single, shaky breath would be enough to betray just how close he is to falling apart for a fourth time.

A kiss is pressed to the back of the hand, gentle and soft and everything Lupin's not. It's an apology, perhaps.

An apology for deceiving him like this; for fooling someone so genuine and kindhearted into seeing good where there is none. An apology for the harm he's already caused, the lives he's torn apart and those he's taken. An apology for the harm he will cause, back when the game is on or the stakes are high or he's just caught in a particularly bad day.

An apology for keeping him, regardless. For being selfish and cruel and entirely undeserving of these words, yet refusing to allow anyone else to be their target.

Lupin doesn't deserve him.

Lupin will never let him go.

❝ ...Keep at it, Pops. Maybe one day you'll manage to convince me. ❞

[princess-prentiss]

All Too Well - Chapter 18

A/N: Well, well, well, its been a little while but we’re back with Jake and Nat for some fluff, a little bit of angst and some family time

After checking Mia was still asleep in their bed, Natasha led Jake back downstairs into the kitchen where her brother was leaning over the counter, on his phone.

Louis looked up at the sound of their footsteps, making eye contact with his sister before shifting his focus to the man he thought had abandoned her. He glanced quickly to where their hands were intertwined, it was her leading him, that gave him some reassurance that she wasn’t completely vulnerable in whatever she was doing with him now.

He straightened up as the pair reached him, raising one eyebrow judgementally earning a murderous glare from his sister.

Nat took a deep breath before starting to talk.

“Jake this is Louis, my older brother, Louis this is Jake,”

Louis cut her off before she could finish, “my niece’s deadbeat dad?”

“Hey man,” Jake said as his brow creased in anger. He had intended to leave this to his wife, he wanted her family to accept him - he would do anything to make her happy, but he wasn’t about to stay silent while someone accused him of neglecting his daughter - even if it was what had technically happened.

Nat landed a light punch on her brother’s arm, “Louis”, she glared at him, “I told you it was completely my fault.”

“But still Tasha, he never reached out, never thought to check on how you were.”

“He tried! I just wasn’t thinking!”

“Tasha…”

“No Louis, you don’t get to criticise him. Me, fine, but you haven’t even given Jake a chance!”

“Fine,” he sighed reluctantly, sticking his hand out for him to shake, “Nice to meet you I guess. But if you ever think of even mistreating my sister or my niece I will find you.”

“Oh my God Louis it’s not 1960 give up the whole speech.” She shoved him without any real weight behind it, clearly happier at how things were turning out.

“Of course, I would never.” Jake, glanced down at his wife before turning back to her brother.

They moved back to the living room, Louis sitting opposite where Jake sat, with Nat leaning against his side as they continued a friendly discussion.

When her parents returned home from work they greeted her brother joyfully, insisting he stayed for dinner while expressing their sympathy for Mia. It wasn’t until later that evening when her brother had left and her parents were busy clearing up in the kitchen with Jake that Nat went to check on her daughter.

Mia was swamped in the sheets of their double bed, her tiny figure almost disappearing between the pillows - Nat dumped Jake’s sweatshirt in the corner of the room before moving to lie next to the girl, still, in the dress, she had been married in.

“Mia, baby,” she said softly stroking the hair back from her daughter’s forehead, “how are you feeling?”

The only response she got was a grumble, leading her to place the back of her hand on the child’s head.

“You do seem a bit warm still,” she commented with a hum.

The door opened slowly and Jake entered the room, clearly trying to be as quiet as possible.

“Hey, Mia,” he said noticing she was awake.

The girl shook her head and buried her face into her mother’s chest.

“Jake she’s still got a fever, can you look in the bathroom there should be something for her there.” She said stroking the back of the girl’s head and pulling her body closer to hers while untucking the heavy weight of the blankets she was cocooned in.

He disappeared into the other room before returning with a small pink bottle.

“Alright Mia, I know it tastes yucky but it will help, I promise.” She said pulling herself upright and bringing her daughter with her so Mia leaned her back against her.

Jake held out a spoonful of the substance, watching as his daughter reluctantly drank it.

“Good Job, baby” His wife soothed, as he returned to the bathroom to change.

As he reappeared he saw his wife try to untangle where his daughter’s hands clung to her, unsuccessfully.

“Mia, baby, I’ve got to get changed, but daddy’s here.”

“No,” she grumbled drowsily into Nat’s dress, “I don’t want daddy, just you.”

That hurt Jake.

“Mia, come on baby, please.” She tried, using a bit more force to try to get out of the bed.

Nat successfully disentangled herself much to her daughter’s discontent, she tried to move as quickly as she could to change and remove the makeup she had done hours earlier. This was certainly far from the wedding night she had been imagining.

When she returned to her bedroom Jake had turned the lights off and was lying in bed, but on the opposite side to Mia, who had managed to move her way to the edge of her side of the bed. He was looking at their daughter and she could see the hurt in his eyes as he did so. She slid under the sheets, Mia instantly clinging onto her as she shuffled her way towards her husband.

It didn’t take long before small snorts once again broke the silence of their breathing.

“Jake, it’s ok, it’s only because she’s sick.”

“I’m no one, Nat. She doesn’t really know me, I’m not someone she trusts, someone she wants to comfort her.”

“No, Jake, your her dad.”

“That’s nothing Nat because I haven’t been there for her!” His whispers grew pained.

“Jake, you are there for her now and she knows it, she trusts you, she loves you. Look, the first time she was sick when I was deployed was hard, I wasn’t there for her and as much as my parents tried to hide it she kept asking for me and I wasn’t there. So the next time she was sick when I was on leave, she didn’t ask for me, she asked for my mom and Jake that was so, so painful for me. It felt like I wasn’t fit to be a mom when I couldn’t even be there when she needed me most, but Jake you’ve been here for her since the moment you found out. She’ll come round, you just need to hang on.”

“Nat.” He said sympathetically, tears of his own self-loathing fresh in his eyes, he moved his arm gently to encircle them, finding its place on her hip.

She moved closer so that her head rested next to his on the pillow, warmth spreading through her as he placed a gentle kiss on the crown of her head before he closed his eyes.

All was well - for now at least.