It makes me sad that many horses who exhibit subtle signs of pain (like ear pinning, tail swishing, etc) will have their symptoms written off as just bad habits or personality quirks, meaning they don’t get the veterinary care they need to relieve their discomfort.
And it makes me extra sad that this is way more likely to happen to a female horse because a good chunk of people will hand-wave this kind of behavior with “she’s just being a mare”. I don’t know if I’m articulate enough to explore here the comparison to women’s struggles to have their pain taken seriously within the medical industry but it certainly feels relevant imo.
I think about this every day. I ended up with my horse because she was deemed an "aggressive mare." All four of her legs were injured, she has back issues, and was being beaten daily to "get her in line."
For the majority of cases, horses don't just act like that. There's always always always a reason for it, even if it's just mental discomfort. Mares especially get written off and it's definitely a stereotype that came about just because they're female.
Pain diagnosis and management don't always happen overnight. I've had my girl for almost a year, and we're only just now finding answers and getting her more comfortable. Don't give up on your horse just because it's difficult, because they can't speak for themselves and their expression of pain isn't just a funny quirk.
✧ Summary: You've planned with your husband for no baby yet, but Alpha comes home from work with one.
✧ Tags & Warnings: modern au, accidental unexpected child acquisition, said child is our most favorite clone, leaving babies to strangers (pls don't do that), married couple unready for a baby, established marriage, domestic fluff
✧ Word Count: 2.1k
✧ A/N: I'm sorry you have a comedy show title kinda thing for a fic title because atm I ran out of title ideas. It does have a touch of happiness tho, as this fic goes ✨ so this is my first A17 fic and tenth entry for Sicktember 2025! Enjoy this domestic one vode 💛🥰
Main Masterlist | Read on AO3 | dividers by me
“Ma'am, please, you want me to call the emergency services for you—”
“No! Please don't.” The woman frantically reaches out to him, as if to prevent his hand from reaching into his pocket for his phone. Alpha hasn't moved any of his limbs and inch. “Just—just take him. Take a look at him. A good look.” Fog comes out of her mouth at her panted breathing. She's in so much pain, he can see so much in her frantic and pleading eyes. “Please.”
Alpha hisses a breath, and finally dares himself a look at the baby in his arms, bundled in thick soft blankets. The woman had thrust it into his arms without any warning, nor he with any prior knowledge of holding a baby properly. But the little thing coos at him, a tuft of blond hair peeking out of his hood and one scrawny hand out of the blanket.
He doesn't know what to do with this. First thing and only thing on his mind as soon as the baby is in his arms is you you you. He needs your help.
“He's a beautiful, healthy baby boy,” the woman mutters. She's shivering, as if from the autumn night chill. Or perhaps grief or parting. She sniffles. “But he can't live with me. His father isn't a good man. But I can't just walk out of his life.” There's a pause. Alpha watches her closely, and then her eyes shift to something else on his hand. “You're married.”
His wedding band. “Yes I am.” He consciously attempts to clench his hand but remembers that he'd be clutching the baby and hurt the little one. “Wife at home.”
“Good life?” she asks, eyes brimming with tears although her lips smile a little. Somberly.
“Yes.” Alpha refuses to provide any further than that.
Frayed strands of blond hair escape her thick shawl. She’s about to step back and leave them there, if not for the longing that remains in her eyes. Standing just several feet away, she looks at the bundle in his arms. “I named him Rex.”
“And… Last name?” Alpha thinks it's important.
“No.” She shakes her head. “Not my husband's. He can't have that disgrace. He's yours entirely.”
She's shivering again, only this time it's not from the chill. Her arms caging her person as if shielding herself from either simply the parting grief or about to rip the baby away from him and go home thinking it's the worst decision ever to exist. If the latter happens, for the first time in his life Alpha would be unsure if it's safe that way.
“I don't want him to live inside a foster system,” she mutters, sniffling again. A loud sigh escapes her dry lips as he just stands there, and then she drops a diaper bag—it’s as big as his gym bag. “Take him home with you. I packed everything, and I mean everything—I took every baby thing I've got from my home because my husband loves to break them and—and that I won't have my boy with me anymore.” She swallows audibly, and hugs herself again. Refusing to touch her child she birthed that if she does she'd never let go. “He's yours now. And your wife's.”
The weight settles inside him now that she mentions you. “We've never had a child before—”
“Then he's a gift from God,” she cuts him off. “I put bottles in the bag. Thank you, sir. Good night.”
Not even a goodbye for her child.
Who is now his.
And with that the lady disappears into the night, small steps and body vibrating with grieved sobs she rounds the corner to never be seen again. The loneliness strives as Alpha just stands there in the middle of the pavement, the hour already late and the streets scarce of any vehicle or people. Work demands him to grind into late shifts. Cold bites into him, and the baby in his arms shifts. Rex isn't sleeping. The boy's been too calm to the point that Alpha grows concerned. Maybe the kid didn't feel the love he deserves at his previous home.
He knows he should call the police and child protection services.
But that night, he drives home. One hand on the wheel, and one arm clutching the baby close to his body. He turns up the heat inside his car, but he figures that natural body heat would be preferred.
He hasn't called you yet. Stupid of him, but you could be sleeping. The entire out of the blue arrangement is befuddling his thoughts and blunting his good instincts already. A child. A baby, at that. Possibly two months old at most. Still so tiny and vulnerable. Along the drive, he risks a long glance to make sure that he supports Rex's neck and back of head.
He isn't ready. You aren't ready. Both of you have had the discussion already.
The driveway of your home comes into view, and he parks the car ever so carefully. It takes twice the usual duration. For a moment, Alpha sits there in silence, the diaper bag in the passenger seat and the baby in his arms, and the weight of the situation to explain to you eventually. He just accepts someone's baby—someone who doesn't want the little one anymore when he knows neither you or him are ready for it yet.
His feet drag heavily to the front porch. Diaper bag and his laptop bag slung on each shoulders, Alpha's hand dives into his pocket for his own duplicate of house key. The foyer lights are off. He assumes you've slept already, but he needs to wake you even if he doesn't like it at all. He hates to disturb your rest, first and foremost.
But there you are, situated and comfy on the couch, a book in hand and a steaming cup of coffee on the table, next to your idle laptop. You look up at him smiling, despite your red eyes, nearly bloodshot, from looking at the screen too long.
“Hey, you're home—what…”
You eye at the bundled baby in his arms. Yeah.
Alpha crosses the living room, drops his bags carefully onto the couch—where you usually help him but you seem to be frozen in shock—and settles next to you with a soft groan of a long day at work and accidental baby acquisition, his trousers-clad leg brushing against your bare one and his body heat permeating from his person.
Your fingers pry away the edge of the blanket. Alpha hears you gasp softly at the clear view of the baby. He still hasn't cried, which is a miracle. He watches your expression soften, and your finger stroking Rex's soft baby cheek. “I don't… get it.”
“Neither do I, love,” Alpha sighs, sinking further into the couch and letting the baby lean onto his body instead of fully supporting him by arms. You rest your head on his shoulder, still softly stroking the baby's cheek. “But here we are. I just… took him in. Agreed to it. Didn't know what to say.”
Somehow, you're not angry. Yet. You're silent, still processing it. It's not like picking up cat strays off the streets. This is a human baby where mental preparation is needed, and both of you didn't have the time for that. Crib, toys, food when he grows older, altered financial situation, teachings and schools. Everything's dropped right into your hands. Quite literally.
“Let me hold him,” you murmur, and both of you sit up so he can pass the baby onto your arms. You maneuver the bundle almost flawlessly, fumbling just a little, but you manage. You've had baby nephews and nieces before, so you're familiar. Alpha isn't. At all.
“This is Rex.” He watches you rock him gently. “His momma named him.”
“Rex. Definitely a Leo baby.” Your lips slowly bloom into a soft smile. Alpha's breath hitches at the sight. You and the baby in your arms. How could he not want this beautiful view sooner? “Hello, baby,” you softly say, almost whispering, but suddenly Rex lets out an uncomfortable noise. And soon enough, his wails fill the room. “Oh, there he goes.”
“Maybe he's hungry.” Alpha jumps up and takes wide strides toward the diaper bag. “There's bottles in here.”
You’ve stood up, attempting to calm Rex down by shushing and rocking him more. “Is it cold?” you ask.
“Yeah. They're inside this cooler bag.”
“Take one and run it under hot water in the sink just until lukewarm to the touch.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
He moves swiftly. The wails are scaring him, in all honesty. Because what if Rex is not hungry? Maybe a change of diaper? What if he's sick? What if he's sick because he was out in the chill too long before he got inside the car? Babies Rex's age are still quite vulnerable.
He breathes deeply. The bottled milk is already warming under the hot water. It's worth a try first.
“Thank you,” you utter in relief once he pushes the lukewarm bottle into your palm. You squeeze a few drops into your hand to test the temperature before feeding it to Rex. His wails cease, leaving only coos and whimpers as he sucks, you holding the bottle upright. “Oh, he's calming down. He is hungry.” Alpha is peering behind your shoulder, so you turn easily to give him a peck on the cheek. “Good instincts.”
Alpha hums, setting aside his creeping concerns to the side for now and wraps his arms around your waist from behind. “His momma said he can't live at their home anymore. Violent dad or something. She didn't say, but it was implied.”
You don't say anything, instead focusing on how Rex is eagerly drinking. Your body slowly relaxes into your husband's embrace. “This is big, Alpha,” you finally mutter.
“I know.” Eyes shut, he places a lingering kiss on your jaw. You can feel his breath on your skin, the rhythm and how his chest rises and falls against your back calming you down. “But we can tackle it together. We should.”
You hum in agreement. He can still sense the uncertainty within you. The unpreparedness. Your discussion about not wanting to have a child yet is already thrown out of the window the moment Alpha accepted Rex in his arms. But now; discovering Rex's undeserving life at his previous home, how could you reject him even after your husband has brought him to yours? Yours is certainly much peaceful and full of love. Your love for Alpha doesn't waver, and vice versa.
“You're usually in bed by this hour,” your husband says lowly, his lips moving against your shoulder.
You sigh. “I know.”
“So why are you still up?”
“Reports, had a headache looking at stats so I took a break to read something else. Waiting for you,” you list, sinking into his embrace further when his arms tighten around your waist.
“You have coffee, too.”
“Mhm.”
“I'd be home not that long.” There's a break in his playful tone, but he buries his face into your neck again. “I'm sorry. Sounds like it's your fault, which isn't.”
“No, no need for that. I get it. You didn't know what to do.” You wish you could turn your head to place a reassuring kiss on his lips at that moment. “Which is very unusual of you, but hey, whaddya know? You don't get babies dropped into your hands every day.”
His chest rumbles with quiet laughter, aware and knowing that Rex has fallen asleep in your arms.
“10/10 baby hold,” you continue, grinning. “Didn't know you had that in you, love. You're an amazing daddy already.”
Alpha stiffens. He loosens his grip around you to look for the genuineness in your eyes, and there it is. Your smile makes your cheeks glow, and it's like he's falling in love with you all over again.
“Didn't know I needed to hear that.” His voice is husky as he utters it to you, his concentration splits in half between claiming your lips almost hungrily. “Maybe we should make one ourselves.”
You whine. “Please, not tonight. You're stressing me out already. Our hands are full for, like, a couple years forward.” You raise your arms pointedly. “We’re having this little one for now.”
Alpha chuckles deeply, giving you one last kiss before going to cross the next thing on his to-do list, which is shower. “Fine by me,” he grins, “Can still watch you transform into a great mom.”
Thanks for reading! Taglist is moved to event masterlist.
A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)
✧ Summary: You and Ordo are assigned with impromptu babysitting job, but your little niece sleeps unruly at night.
✧ Tags & Warnings: fluff, established relationship, babysitting, i wrote this instead of sleeping (don’t we always) (and AGAIN, third time in a row!)
✧ Word Count: 1.0k
✧ A/N: My little cousin was literally sleeping all over me as I was writing this when I was staying over at my aunt’s (their knee was up on my chest as I wrapped this up can you believe it? 😭). Anyway enjoy this fluffy one for Ordo! He's a girldad, period.
Main Masterlist | Read on AO3 | dividers by me
From the depths of peaceful slumber, Ordo feels his consciousness comes to. A weight of a limb is slathered across his firm torso, breaking his breathing pattern and so he tries—without so much panicking and snapping into action—to assess his situation. Without even cracking his eyelids open he's aware that it's still past midnight, maybe oh-two-hundred.
His throat feels dry like Tatooine on a summer day. He tries to move. Seriously, he tries, but the limbs—small, slender arms and legs clad in soft pajamas—only hog him more fiercely. He's not even certain the owner is fully conscious. So, unmoving, he sets a new pattern for his breathing as he recollects the events for the last several hours.
Oh, yeah. Your cousin visited earlier this day, dropping their little daughter for you to babysit just until tomorrow. Hospital's running thin on ER nurses so your cousin pulled a double shift. You didn't mind. You love your niece Caleesta. Your boyfriend Ordo, who got home later in the evening, was dragged to participate in the job as well.
He remembers the dinner being a little awkward. You sent a little holo of how Caleesta was doing, chilling after dinner with an ice cream. Mereel had put it there some time ago for his visits and he's probably gonna be whining about the loss—but tough. He's got to admit defeat when it comes to what an ad wants.
The girl is adorable, and smart. Ordo watched her color her coloring book and it was a heckin’ mandala coloring book for adults. Quite bubbly too, asking him a lot of questions about being a clone. He answered what he could and what the ad could comprehend. You were cleaning the table but you were definitely watching, and he caught warm fondness twinkling in your eyes.
The thing about your little niece is that she isn't ready yet to sleep all by herself.
Caleesta shifts again, turning around in her sleep, her limbs detangling from his body. Ordo sighs in relief and stretches his arm, pleasant tingles running up his arms and down his legs to the tip of his toes, the knot inside his lungs comes free. He scrunches his eyes open, lips dry and tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, assessing the kih’ad now facing the other direction with limbs and hair wildly splayed all over the bed. A tiny smirk of surprise pulls unexpectedly on his lips.
Ordo blinks again, his eyes getting used to the darkness. They widen when he's aware that the other side of the bed is absent of you.
His senses ring in alarm, every muscle in his body strikes him fully awake and prompts him to look for you. But then the bedroom door opens, and enter you in your baggy sleeping clothes with a glass of water in your hand.
“Oh,” you mumble sleepily as soon as you make out Ordo’s bright and awake figure, sitting on the bed with the hem of the comforter pooling in his lap. “You're awake.” You close the door silently.
“Yeah,” he whispers, not ready to face a fussy kid if he speaks too loudly. “You too?”
You let out a quiet, huffy laugh as you make your way to him. “She punched me in the ear in her sleep, Ordo. ‘Course I'm awake.”
He bites his bottom lip to prevent a laugh coming out. “Sounds ouch enough.”
“It was pretty ouchy,” you pout, unable to resist placing a kiss on his hairline. “Here's some water.”
Ordo smiles gratefully at you. “Thanks.” He takes your offering with great care as if it's the only thing that matters in the world—the refreshing, cool glass of water. He sips carefully, making sure to leave some for you. “It’s like there's a frog in my throat when I wake up in the middle of the night like this.”
And you know that very well. Ordo dislikes getting woken up abruptly before sunup since it's the worst hour for being thirsty—one has to get up and take to the kitchen half-awake to fetch some water. The whole thing is plain ugh. Insomnia is his worst enemy.
“She's like that when she sleeps.” Your apologetic cadence escapes you before you could stop or give it a prelude. Ordo seems to catch it and listen to you—even emphatically, gently taking your hand in his. “Sorry, love. Forgot to tell you.”
“It's fine, cyare,” Ordo says, laying soft kisses your knuckles, his lips no longer cracked. “M’pretty alert myself. Force of habit. Not your fault.”
“Okay,” you give in, smiling. You caress his tawny cheeks for good measure as well, to put some comfort in yourself. Your boyfriend seems to notice that, and plants another kiss to the inside of your wrist. Ordo loves you, his affections are endless. “Let's go back to sleep?” you suggest then.
“Let’s,” Ordo smiles, reluctantly letting go of your hand as you go around the bed to get into your spot, which is evidently occupied by Caleesta, sleeping soundly and completely unaware of the waking world around her. Ordo helps by gently and carefully moving Caleesta to the center of the bed, between the two of you, until you're feeling quite snug under the covers.
“Can I ask you something?” he asks not a minute later, under the covers and as quietly as possible.
“What?” you indulge him.
Ordo hesitates for a little. “What does she usually like for breakfast?”
You chuckle airily to yourself. “Why are you asking?”
Ordo shuts his eyes, changing his breathing pattern in preparation to return to slumber. “Just asking, cyare.”
“Okay,” you whisper, amusement fills your tone. “Meiloorun-flavored milk. Wheat toast.”
“Mhm.”
“She loves skillet eggs with tomatoes as dippings,” you continue, nearly regretting that it'd make you hungry. But sleep seems to win this time. “And add to that; leftover grilled nerf patties that I like to store in the conservator.”
“Manda,” Ordo says sleepily, the image of such breakfast occupying his mind. “Yeah, let's have that. We can have that, right?”
“You got it,” you mumble, no longer caring about volume before falling to the endless spiral of sleep after all. Come morning, the dining table would be merrier than ever.
Thanks for reading! Taglist is moved to event masterlist.
A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)
✧ Prompt: “If you steal my blanket one more time, I’m throwing you outside.”
✧ Summary: Delta cuddle pile! Scorch needs to be literally in touch with you at all times, Boss is a certified act of service guy, Fixer surprisingly isn't a grump when woken up, and Sev is an unconscious blanket hogger.
✧ Tags & Warnings: platonic, they just care about you a lot, platonic cuddles, eepy fic, vode behavior, that's it those are the tags, this is made for the entire 12 repcomm fans out there
✧ Word Count: 0.9k
✧ A/N: Delta brainrot is still on! At least just me. Prompt’s read ‘Any Delta Squad' and I went kriff it we go with the whole gang. I hope this is passable as an entry! And mainly because I wanna cuddle with all four of them. This girl can't choose just one. If you think regs are warm, wait till you become a commando pillow. Might be a little messy, but enjoy folks!
Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Delta Squad (in-header image)
divider by me -> Delta Squad helmet PNG's by @stars-n-spice
Every time Delta Squad hits your place to crash in, not only you're pleased to house them with warm cooked dinner along with banters and other sort of shenanigans, you always look for this; togetherness, wrapped in their safety and comfort, all five of you piled up in your huge king bed. Your body either buried or cuddled with the mountains of muscles and cloud nine body heat—a perfect occasion during winter.
And tonight, you wake up to an unpleasant tingle running down your legs, and the next thing you know, you're curling your freezing toes. Despite the room heater, the cold air of the frigid winter outside somehow creeps into your bedroom. Its sharpness strikes the soft nasal cavity of your nose in the most uncomfortable way. Too late to shove your face into the crook of your free elbow…
You sneeze.
It's funny how the pod brothers are all either light or moderate sleepers. The loud noise alerts them like a marching B1 droid infantry does, rousing them up as well with varied response.
Scorch grumbles into your hair, his bare arm over your neck, yet snuggling closer. You're sure he's asking you a question, but from both the drowsiness still heavily over him and yours just about half, you end up not catching anything and lightly lean into him instead.
Fixer, the lightest sleeper in the group, looks up at you where he lays his head on your stomach. “Cold?”
You manage an uh huh before Boss, just slightly behind you, shifts with a slight groan and rises. In the dampened bluish white glow of your night lamp, you can see his silhouette moving downwards. He touches your foot. “You're freezing,” says his accented voice in the dark. Then, you can feel his palms vigorously rubbing the pad of your foot in an attempt to generate heat.
Almost immediately, in given comfort, you purr against Scorch and are almost lulled into sleep again, but the fact that Boss is reaching you quite easily makes you all the more aware of the situation. More specifically, the lack of something. “Where's the blanket?” you whine.
A rustle among the silence almost marks the noise as guilt, but it's just Scorch raising his head up on the prompted scout duty. A moment later, he drives his knee into Sev's back, the latter grunting in annoyance against you.
“Ow,” rumbles Sev.
Scorch looks at you, his heel still digging into Sev's back. “This sha’buir is hogging your blanky.”
Sev's hand goes to his back to rub the spot. “Rude.”
You huff, kicking the man as best as you can without bothering Fixer because you don't wanna face a grumpy Fixer who's already a grump. “You’re rude,” you complain, making a grabby hand in the direction of the object of interest. “Sev gimme.”
No response. Fixer harshly jerks his elbow into Sev.
“Everyone's attacking me today for doing something in my sleep. Sure. Go ahead.”
“You're taking their blanket,” Boss chimes in, putting his authoritative voice to use.
Sev lets out a long groan before getting up to gather the blanket he'd been rolling himself in. From all you know Boss could've been freezing too despite the body heat. You lie in wait, your hand buried in Fixer's curls. Sev looks at you and his brother sourly. “Fixer's hogging the entire blanket.”
“This is my spot,” Fixer claims, his voice nearly muffled against your shirt.
You grunt, “It's big enough for all five of us. You four are depleting my riches thin for getting that blanket.”
Fixer tenses against you. Boss stops rubbing your feet. At their reactions, you feel a warm embarrassment coursing through you as you feel their frowns and surprised looks directed at you.
“That's just… a comment,” you say guiltily, trying to hide your face into the pillow where Boss was. “Didn't mean that in any other way.”
Scorch hugs you tighter, his mouth splitting into a lazy grin. “Good! Because this is a tradition that needs to keep going!”
Your embarrassment is quenched down instantly by this walking—more like half-awake—ball of sunshine. You grin, relishing your shared comfort that's always present during winter with the four Delta. “Tradition? The cuddles?”
“The blanket-hogging,” Sev deadpans, still clutching the blanket.
You glare at him. “If you steal my blanket one more time Sev, I’m throwing you outside.”
“Yeah,” Sev says again, low and deep, and you're certain he's throwing you a smirk. He looks down. “You know.” He pounds a fist on Fixer's back. The latter doesn't flinch. “A switch would be nice.”
Fixer presses his face against your stomach one more time before getting up. “Yeah. I need to lie on my back.”
“And I'll go in there,” Boss folds his arms, interrupting Sev mid-process to splay on top of you, glaring at the sniper. “Froze my shebs off no thanks to you, Sev.”
He huffs. “Fair.”
In the end, the boys arrange themselves in a different position. Scorch is by your side taking Sev's place, Fixer has his arm over your neck and shoulders, Boss on top of you under the blanket, and Sev on your other side, propping half of your body against him to keep you warm. And in fact, the boys are all always warm. Their naturally regulated body heat is a luxurious treat for you, especially during winter, moreover with the huge blanket now draping over all five of you fairly and delivering you into a resumed round of a Delta good night's sleep.
Taglist moved to comments.
A/N: Requests are closed for now! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can join the taglist as well to be tagged of future works.
I've just woke up from a two and a half hour nap and I need to share what I dreamt with y'all
I dreamt about Delta Squad in the medieval au, but instead of being knights/soldiers they were noblemen/princes. I need you to imagine your favorite Delta boi and put him in a suit like this one in his colors:
I can't stress this enough: I need someone to do something with this idea or I'll end up going feral and create an extremely elaborate au once again
THAT FIT SCREAMS REGENCY ERA SM and I PRESENT TO THEE
𝕯𝖊𝖑𝖙𝖆 𝕾𝖖𝖚𝖆𝖉 𝕽𝖔𝖞𝖆𝖑 𝕬𝖀
I'm crazy about Bridgerton and The Crown vibes thingy and I just finished Game of Thrones some time ago so here we go
The four Delta Princes, despite the title 'prince', are nowhere near the line to the royal throne. They are legitimized bastard sons of Lord Walon Vau, Duke of Irmenu, of House Vau, one of the noble houses that serve the Crown.
Upon the legitimization, Boss earned the title Count of Gesl, as is the tradition for firstborn sons of a duke.
Boss is fond of jousting wholeheartedly as a sport and often comes out as champion (all the ladies noble and common alike fell head over heels over this undeniable fact).
There are rumors around the mysterious death of his betrothed, whose body was found in a ditch with traces of belladona in her systems. Some said it was the doing of another jealous lady, but the case was closed and House Vau refused to indulge the society.
The first spare, Fixer, spends most of his time between studying in the library, mapping the star map through the great telescope in the royal observatorium, or going through scrolls and scrolls of war strategy.
Otherwise, though... Well, there are plenty of entertainment downtown. Especially the taverns and brothels.
You see, it's his favorite hangout place. It's where information across realms are traded unguarded—secrets becoming no longer... Well, secrets. Those make him feel powerful. So he's a spy? Yes. Somewhat.
Sev is somewhat terrible at initiating a conversation with the ladies he intends to court no matter how much Scorch tutors him, but his charms are off the roof so he won't ever need to try too hard to woo someone.
You can find Sev in the royal armory or the shooting range. His longsword is always by his side, as is his bow and arrow slung across his back. He always seems like a man home after a fierce game hunting.
Speaking about hunting, he wins hunting competitions every year. The King is fond of him and his skills, and has him join his own personal hunting company just at the age 14.
You can find Scorch, the youngest Vau, in the shooting range with Sev or with the royal chemist in the old man's den beneath the castle.
He's the brightest in personality out of the princes, and has won the hearts of ladies and gentlemen alike over the years. And like his other brothers, he remains unmarried as of now, enjoying his liberty of being a bachelor and wooing different people.
And it nearly became his downfall. Scorch was once involved in a scandal where he wandered off with a companion unchaperoned through the royal gardens. Correction; not once, but so far a staggering number of 12 times.
At every social season where young maidens present themselves to catch the eyes of young bachelors to marry, Fixer and Scorch present often. Just to dance without the intention to marry anyone. Yet.
They're excellent at dancing. Yes, each and every one of them. No exception.
Edit: I feel like also tagging @br00kthe0takuuuu who shared the enthusiasm teehee
Season: Spring - Clone × Reader Prompt-a-thon ✧ @cloneficgiftexchange
✧ Prompt: Visiting a planet that is flourishing with new spring blooms but is destroyed by war.
✧ Summary: Your home planet was invaded weeks ago, and your division is tasked to recon. Neyo keeps you from breaking down.
✧ Tags & Warnings: established relationship, forbidden romance, clone x general relationship, longing, angst with happy ending, reader likes apple juice, not the stereotypical "fuck the code abt attachments" love thing
✧ Word Count: 2.4k
✧ A/N: I swear there's something about rare commanders bcs I've done something poetic like this with my Bacara angst fic. And so it's another title snagged off Lana Del Rey lyrics! It's called Fingertips and the strings are so heavenly and very fitting to the vibes, but this isn't a songfic. Hope you enjoy this one vode! 💛🌷
Masterlist | Read on AO3 | divider by me
“Our carrier shuttle is ready to land planetside, sir. Awaiting your orders.”
Among the machinery hum and quiet chatter of navy officers, you remain silent. Hands solemnly behind your back, you stand by and gaze out the viewport of the very cruiser of your command. The Admiral is standing to the side in a similar position, although the stress laden in his countenance is much greater than yours. Time-sensitive. Navy is his command, but the infantry is entirely yours, and you're stalling.
“General,” Marshal Commander Neyo calls again, firmly this time. As anyone always knows him to be. “Orders. We can't stay long floating in orbit.”
“How many would there be?”
From standing just a couple of steps behind you, he straightens. “One full platoon, sir. We couldn't utilize the BARC’s due to unpredictable terrains, hence thirty-six AT-RT operators will be deployed.” Neyo gives a meaningful pause. “As briefed.”
For a moment it seems what he fears the worst of you has taken you yet again and dragged you deep down. You're quiet again, your thoughts consuming you. He knows what this is about. You've confided in him before you were given the order by GAR command to recon your home planet, torn by war and its nature marred with evident destruction. But it's simply not the time.
“Proceed, Commander.”
Neyo allows relief to flood his entire being. He gives a sharp salute. “Yes, sir.” And then he leaves.
Giving the order to his lieutenant is easy—a mere comm away. He doesn't need to be there since his commanders overseeing the departure at the hangar will report to him soon, also since he's had more important things to look after to.
Neyo starts a trek to your quarters. He glances behind his shoulders once in a while before reaching the damned durasteel door and hastily punching your key codes before anyone could see. It whisks open, and he slips inside so it closes again to conceal his presence.
Then his bucket comes off, a deep inhale of the scent of you follows a second after. Even your room smells entirely and exactly like you, with the same scent his nostrils consume when he crushes his face into your neck in a lover's embrace.
Your pillow is tilted. Bedsheets wrinkled. Your styluses scattered on your desk and your datapads aren't stacked neatly enough. You forgot to hang your bathrobe again today, and yet your towel is in its place. Neyo replaces it all, the soldier instinct inside him keeps pressing that everything has to be kept tidy. He steps into your adjacent refresher and nods in satisfaction that somehow everything is in its place, including your toothbrush that every other weekend he always finds lying on the sink and not in the holder.
The door to your quarters suddenly opens, revealing you in the midst of frowning and giving in to your deepest concerns again. You're a little too late to realize that Neyo is there, standing with his arms crossing his chest.
“Hello, you.” And still, you're trying to smile. You always do, when you meet him secretly like this. “Is everything okay?”
He stares at you, and refrains from saying the obvious. “I've sent our men,” he answers curtly, the marshal commander temporarily taking over. “Our commanders are closely supervising and would only report if there's anything worth finding.”
You grab a glass and your cool apple juice from the conservator. “Very good.”
Watching you pouring the juice into the glass, Neyo releases a sigh. He gives himself the satisfaction when you space out again, seemingly either mulling over the fate of your planet or cleverly masking your helpless state, before walking over to you and gently prying the glass off your grasp. A quiet thud echoes through your room as he carefully places it down on your desk.
“Darling.” He takes your hands gently into his gloved ones. “Talk to me.”
He knows you're not the kind to ignite an argument with ‘I’ve told you before’ or ‘We’ve talked’ and he's using that knowledge against you. He's testing you—testing your patience, to see how much further until you crack and crumble. Or not. Either way, he'll still be there, and he is still here now holding your hands, as if anticipating you would really fall to your knees and sob your heart out over the destruction of your planet.
“It is now supposed to be spring.”
At your faltering voice, Neyo quietly widens his arms so you can walk into them and wind your arms around him as tightly as you can, and you're now barely hanging on to keep your calm composure.
“My planet grows the most beautiful flowers in all of Mid Rim during spring,” you begin, voice hushed and muffled against his chest plate. “There's no other planet in this galaxy that grows most of them, and to their belief it's the highest blessing. Not to compete against Naboo, but they are so captivating. Farmer is a common job, florist even more. We have all kinds of flowers for all kinds of seasons. Spring, summer, fall, winter. Even rain and dry seasons.”
Somewhere during that, you've leaned with your chin on top of his chest plate. Neyo wipes your fallen tear with a gentle swipe of his thumb.
“There’s this very rare flower that really couldn't grow anywhere but in their soil.” You allow yourself a small fond smile. “When they bloom, the wind would blow over their pollen and it produces the most beautiful melody of sounds. It's as if they sing, quite blissfully, that they finally blossom and get to dance in the air before finding themselves mates to latch onto.”
Neyo listens to all of it carefully, but he can't help the frown. “I don't quite understand that.”
You scratch at a stubborn jagged bit on the edge of his armor. Although a smile smears on your lips. “They have holes to ‘sing’ their tunes. The shape is like a musical instrument. Are you familiar with the flute?”
“Unfortunately no,” Neyo says regretfully.
“That's okay.”
“From what you describe, it sounds like a wind instrument.”
“It is,” you nod. “Often present in a certain type of orchestra.”
“Ah.”
“And they would create the finest harmony of tunes one would ever hear,” you carry on. “I can't remember the last time I've seen them since the Guild took me when I was just 3 years old, but I've watched holos of it. They're remarkable.”
The talk goes on. He listens. You don't break down, and instead sip on the apple juice that he offers every time your shoulders start shaking. It works, since it shifts your focus from the current problem at hand to the sweet and sourness of the beverage. You combat your emotions. He's there to make sure of that.
And after making sure you've gotten ahold of yourself, Neyo decides to depart and resume his duty, but not without a kiss to your lips and forehead before sliding his helmet on again and slipping out of your quarters.
Then he opens his channel to give a new direct second-priority order. Technically it was to salvage anything of value and report it to command, but clad with the highest given rank in the 91st—second to you—apparently allows him to alter his own orders.
Neyo worships you. Doing something for you is like turning the back of his hand, yet giving what might heal your broken soul is like breathing on a foreign planet where the built-in air quality reader in his helmet wouldn't cooperate. He could've breathed toxic fumes and endangered himself, but he needs to breathe anyway although his lungs would crumble and his systems shut down.
As long as you thrive and dance and lead with grace and lightsaber clipped to your sash.
His platoon reports back with all-green mark, every single criteria on their recon checklist cleared. Neyo escorts you aboard a larty per protocol for closer inspection, and you're seen holding back tears again, your back to them while your hand is stiff, clinging onto rails. The cabin light turns red as it breaches atmo, and it paints a silent image of tragedy onto your person. His commander—his confidant—beside him passes a questioning glance, and Neyo could only nod to confirm.
Yes, you're being vulnerable now, but your strength is in the process of building your walls back up. And Neyo will be there too if it crumbles again, restoring and applying layers of steel. Anything that'd pull you back to being the emphatic serene Jedi that you are.
Then the turbulence stops, and the cabin turns green. You take a deep breath as the side door opens to reveal a world you once knew.
Or perhaps not since they took you when you were much younger, but you've only had images from the archives and holonet that paint a beautiful, peaceful green planet. Mountains, ridges, rivers, rich blue oceans with streaks of white clouds over them.
But now, barren wasteland is all you could see. It stretches far beyond the horizon. It used to be a green lush valley, one of your commanders told you. The mountains are mostly unaffected, but the vast meadow of grasslands are scorched black and bare. In the distance you could spot the city ruins. You can't be sure whether it used to be your home—there are tens of thousands of cities on this planet. Either way, it leaves a strange feeling. Like betrayal. Because you didn't put up a fight. Your parents trusted and passed you on willingly to the Jedi, blossoming fully into a flower of hope that they'd hoped you to become.
“Sirs,” Neyo’s commander says, “Main site is ready for inspection. Zero Separatist presence. They've totally left the planet.”
It's as if the commander deliberately said that to you, because maybe the fear hasn't left you. He could see it. But he's very kind.
“This road seems walkable,” Neyo says, as you observe the scorched brick road, far into the city. His voice plunges into your focus as well. “I want the gunship up and running in case they decide to jump out on us.”
“Yes, sir.”
Never trust intel. Anything could go wrong.
“General.” Neyo turns to you, careful not to lay a hand on your shoulder out of concern. Instead, he lays them over his sidearm holster. “Whenever you're ready. I'll lead.”
You give a silent nod and finally step out of the gunship. There is this creeping fear that the ground you walk on would suddenly swallow you out of scorn. Neyo follows close behind you, and his commander several steps behind.
“I know what you're thinking right now,” Neyo says quietly, voice rattling through his bucket in low volume.
You exhale lowly. “It's my home.”
“Was,” he corrects you—a small warning about attachments.
“I was born here,” you justify. Neyo goes silent. “But you're right.”
He doesn't prompt any further; about your family, whether they're still alive. As much as his affection towards you goes unchallenged, he didn't command his best men to slice into the Jedi database. They probably don't keep things like that in their archives. An old life left behind. One, such as you, doesn't need them anymore. And he’s always there upholding your belief, providing himself as a wall to keep you from falling.
The conversation ends there. The rest of the walk is silent, you giving occasional glances to your surroundings. Ruins, scorched and crumbling. Lush trees that are no longer there. Your eyes are wistful. Neyo prefers to believe it's your empathy toward the destruction of intricately carved pieces of nature, and not personal.
The entry to the city is a system of labyrinths. Broad corridors with walls made of big blocks of limestones, the sky as ceiling. Rubbles are scattered along the road, sometimes blocking your path but quite easy to climb and hop over to the other side. The longer you go, the blander your fear has become, and you've come to terms with what might be on the other side.
But then you see it.
A round clearing where your recon troopers are observing their surroundings, most of their helmets off. A fountain in the middle which structure became yet another victim during the Separatist attack, but the water system isn't damaged and it flows slowly corroding the stones and gaps between bricks. And in those moist gaps, grows dark lush green grass with wee pink and white buds at the tips. And beyond that, a blur in the background that comes to clarity once you set your eyes upon it, is a blossoming tree. The color of their leaves remind you of the lightest shade of sunset in the red spectrum, their white flowers blooming fully as if relishing in the peace—whatever that harmed them had passed.
The walls are crowded with vines. Not only does your sight is graced with green and grey and beige but also every bright color that nature could offer. Your heart surges, the Force draping over your shoulders like a soothing weighted blanket. This place has always been strong with its presence. The moment you breathed and took the clearing in, you knew. You're left mesmerized, your lips part open in awe, and your troopers act to their prior absent knowledge of nature that is wonderfully iridescent and serene and miraculous and real.
Neyo stands off to the side, quietly admiring the view long enough to commit them into memory. He takes snapshots with his visor as discreetly as possible. This is his overriding command. And it's worth it. Seeing you mended is worth it.
“Sirs. We've come in contact with our specialist contractor and sent our readings,” one of his sergeants reports, a datapad in hand. “They said that this planet… still grows. Despite all the bombings that occurred, the quality of the soil isn't affected. Spring comes around and it's as if they don't care at all. Flowers blossom as if nothing happened.”
“Because this planet is blessed with growth,” you sigh, a relieved tear slides down your cheek. “There's hope still. For life, here.”
A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)
Thank you for the tag, @ghostymarni!! This was fun! 🥰
“I feel like most of the "get to know you" games use similar questions, so I wanted to try something new and a little weirder. Just answer the questions in a new post and tag anyone else you want to play!”
any eating utensils preference? Forks with long, skinny tines
a genre of music you love? I LOVE divorced dad rock, but also country and German metal
a type of seasoning or condiment that would make anything edible for you? Anything ranch. Ranch dressing, ranch seasoning, and I love it!
pens or pencils? Pens. Specifically the Pilot Precise V5
what's your weirdest most interesting hobby? I collect Breyer horses! I also create dioramas to compete in photo shows with them!
if you had to get rid of one color entirely, what would it be? International Klein Blue. It gives me a headache to look at it.
any allergies? Mold, and people
favorite fictional character? God this is a tough one. Probably Arthur Morgan, Darth Maul or Simon Riley (I'm sure there's a trend with those answers lol)
favorite real person that you don't personally know? Barack Obama. He just seems so genuine and knowledgeable, and I'd love to pick his brain.
how many alarms do you have set? Two. One to wake up and one to leave.
do you have pets? do you want some? Yes! I have a horse and two cats :)
favorite drink, alcoholic or non? Water, I'm boring.
favorite smell? The Equicare Flysect Super 7 Repellant Spray
favorite shoes? My old torn up Justins boots. The inside lining is ripped out and they're partially held together by duct tape on the inside, but damn if they aren't the best shoes I've got. A little leather balm and they're practically show ready!
how do you feel about bugs + spiders? I hate them purely because of how irritating they are to deal with when it comes to my horse. Found a black widow on her the other day and I nearly had a heart attack! Aesthetically I love them though.
outdoors or indoors? Outdoors!
sunny or rainy? My heart says rainy but practicality forces me to choose sunny.
where would you like to visit? would you move there? Everywhere! Specifically the UK and Australia. I'll always return back to my small town though :)
are you a people person? no
at what temperature do you keep your home (or would if you could? 69⁰ Fahrenheit. I can't handle heat in any form, so everything is always cold for me.
Tags!! (Hey y'all, it's me, Carbon! Sorry if I tag you and you've already done it; I've been kinda MIA recently)
✧ Summary: It's really really late but you're still awake working, and Hunter isn't too pleased about it.
✧ Tags & Warnings: established relationship, fluff, why are you still awake fic, eepyfic (somewhat?), omg zest is writing tbb, no warnings! just hunter’s girldad concerns™
✧ Word Count: 1.0k
✧ A/N: OKAY idk what came over me to do Hunter for this one 🤔🤞🏼 this is based on my experience (again lol, and here's a similar one with Cody). I think it's only fair that I'm finally trying to write something about CF99, since I don't have the balls enough to write about the Omegas yet (trust me this was almost my sweetie baby Darman 😆). Anyway, enjoy this one! ❤️
Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Hunter divider by @snotbuggle
Hunter's startled awake to a cold side of the bed next to him.
Deep breath fills his lungs as he stretches, the pleasant buzz coursing from the top of his head down to the tip of his toes underneath the covers. Eyes still adjusting in the dark, he thrusts his hand forward again, to your side of the bed. He pats it just to make sure. Still cold. You're really not there.
Then almost on autopilot, he gathers his focus, or whatever 0300 consciousness can trust him with. He's not even trying, but he can feel your presence a little far from your shared bedroom. Your study. But you've padded the walls with soundproof mats so you wouldn't disturb his sleep when you work late into midnight while blasting your altpop playlist. Quite an effort, but still. Not that Hunter dislikes it, but it's 3 in the morning, for gods’ sake. You should've been asleep.
So he makes the effort, too; to pull on his sweatpants and make his way out of your bedroom, a little more than barely awake. The corridor's lights are off to minimize the electricity hum so Hunter could sleep. Barefooted and releasing a slow sigh that might come from slight disappointment, your boyfriend pads toward your study at the end of the corridor. And as expected, the door slides open.
What he doesn't expect, though, is how quiet it is. Well, not entirely. The steady machinery hum coming from your holocomputer is buzzing in his ears—he’s just awakened and his control isn't at 100% so pardon him, please—and yet among the softest of noises including your breath, there isn't any music blasting from your speakers.
“Sweetheart.”
You whip your head around so fast that Hunter develops a new fear of you accidentally breaking your neck right there on the spot. Okay, he won't do that again.
“Hunter.” For a split second it looks like you're about to smile, but realization washes over your face and turns your expression into worry. “Oh. Oh, gods. Did I wake you? It's so late, though—really late. Did one of these soundproof mats fall off or something?”
“It's really late,” Hunter presses on, almost interjecting you and his voice a little raspy from waking up so suddenly, his arms folded across his bare, half-inked chest. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Yep!” you cheerfully quip from your chair, looking around the room for the chrono—which is to your left and up on the wall—but you end up finding the one in your holocomputer instead. “Um. It says 0328 here.”
“Exactly,” he sighs, opting for a gentler approach. And well, there he approaches you, his nose alerting him of a smell of caf that just grows stronger each step he takes. Ah. No wonder you're really jittery. But it really wouldn't come as a total shock. You always surprise him but, sure; that's what makes your relationship so colorful and never boring.
But for the love of the divine cosmos, you can be so stubborn at times.
Standing in front of your seated form now, Hunter caresses your face softly to show just how much he's worried about you and your health, but your caffeinated self merely smiles so tightly at him, so innocently, your lips stretching end to end.
He sighs. “You're going to hurt… yourself one day.”
“It's just one caf.”
“One,” Hunter deadpans, his eyebrow arching at you pointedly. “Then why do I smell that you've had four already? You intending to sleep or not? For the next 48 hours?”
“It's just—” you resist a groan, swivelling between your work on the screen and your boyfriend's puppy dog eyes. “Okay, I've got deadlines. And my brain's at its full creativity capacity when it's past 2200 and I just don't wanna miss it by getting sleepy in that hour so I took caf.”
“I understand your problems. I really do.” Hunter gently takes your hands, and kneels in front of you between your legs. “But still. You didn't need to take that much, and you need your sleep.”
“I can always take afternoon naps.”
He shakes his head. “Day naps aren't always good for your circadian rhythm, sweetheart. Okay?” His hands are squeezing yours, adding to his level of affection and concern for you. “You take that too often, it's affecting your health too. You sleep too late too often; obviously it does, too.”
Mentally, you're trying to hold onto your ever-charged streams of ideas and paragraph openings and real excellent bridges, but accidentally waking up Hunter only makes you extra guilty. Your boyfriend needs all the peace and quiet to rest, and the last thing he needs is you and your pigheaded tendencies sprouting out even more concern that add to his current running list of anxieties.
“Okay,” you relent, reaching to brush a strand of his brown locks behind his ear. “Really sorry that I woke you up, though.”
A small smile of relief on his lips is such a welcomed sight—for a moment there, you feel lucky. Fortunate. Not every person out there would give so much concern for their significant other's wellbeing, but you've earned yourself Hunter—a leader whose job is to make sure everyone's in tip top condition. You wonder if this is similar to one of his duties, but then again, he is a soldier. And you love him for his insistence.
“It's fine,” your beloved says, leaning forward to give you a peck on the cheek, and another to the corner of your mouth. He eyes your empty water glass, and makes that the next to-do in his mental list. “Five minutes. That's all I can give you. Then you're gonna lie down with me.”
The idea of lying down next to Hunter and encased in his strong arms is enticing that the caf in your body is banished away almost immediately, and fatigue begins to take over. Your body would buzz uncomfortably and once you wake up complaining about it Hunter would put in the I told you so smug face the whole day. It's like magic. It's familiar, it's welcomed, and ironically what makes your relationship feels alive, despite the complaints and all. It's a certain kind of beauty.
A soft chuckle escapes you, and already, you're fighting a yawn. “Copy that, Sarge.”
Bottom divider by @/enchanthings
Author rant: As I was finishing this up it was 0329 and I actually took a sachet coffee at 2300 to work on my internship report with the necessary Writing Big Brain™ and oh sweet God it’s a heckin bad idea I need more sleep 🛌🏽
A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)
Soft boyfriend Hunter my beloved 😭😭 he's SO the type to gentle parent his s/o. He can't help it. He must be in Dad Mode™ at all times or he'll spontaneously combust 😭
This was great, Zest!! You know I'm obsessed with your soft eepy fics!! 🥰🥰
✧ Summary: Boss loves to take care of you, especially when you're sick—even if you put up a fight.
✧ Tags & Warnings: sickfic, eepyfic, established relationship, domestic fluff (these four are deadly fluff combination I daresay)
✧ Word Count: 1.9k
✧ A/N: Woe Boss sickfic be upon ye. If you're feeling under the weather as you're reading this, I hope you get to feel better soon! Stay hydrated and don't forget some calories in. Man I miss writing short fics like this, it took less than 24 hours. Anyway, enjoy my second Boss fluff, exclusively for prompt day 6 "where's my caf?" of @deltasquadweek! 🧡🧡
Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Boss (in-header image)
Once upon a time he'd promised he would never complain about the mattress in his squad's barracks. The two-inch bare-minimum necessity to catch 8 hours of sleep at most on a good day. He even has to fluff his pillow every damn day, or every hour when they're just hanging out in the barracks waiting for what's next.
He's top bunk, just so Fixer who's sleeping under him gets to shove his mechanic tools and knickknacks under the bed. Also because Sev literally sleeps with one eye open and that creeps the kriff out of his second-in-command. Scorch hates Fixer's snores, but everybody's gotta lose something.
But at your house, though…
Everything is perfect. The couch they don't have. The bean bags that aren't busted and terribly patched up. The amount of natural light pouring in from the rustic-style windows. It's lived in, the same as his barracks, but just not the same way. It's warm, it's cozy. It's everything he could've wanted for a livable living area.
Now he's complaining.
Put that aside. Boss is lucky to have you. He's lucky that he'd won you over all those months ago even though the first date was far from perfect, but you were so willing to accept what he lacks and believe in what he's capable of and in his aspirations, and still are. You are perfect.
When he's planetside, he excuses himself from the barracks and stays over at your house. Often comes unannounced to surprise you, and it works every time. Your joyous smiles and your tight hugs are such treasures—he would literally shoot someone to see them again. And anyway, that's what his mission, his duties, are for. Coming home to you and enjoying everything you both have to share, the domestic bits and pieces of it, after every of those mandatory debriefs, on-call duties.
In the kitchen, Boss stirs your herbal tea, the spoon clinking against the porcelain mug as he's incorporated a tiny bit of sugar in there. His caf's brewing. The packet herby nuna cream soup he's discovered in the pantry is simmering in a pot behind him, while the toaster next to it automatically turns off as the bread slices pop up loudly.
Apparently and eventually the noise in the kitchen wakes you up, not long after your boyfriend. Still in your sock-clad feet and Boss’ worn bodysuit top, you're rubbing your eyes as you pad into the kitchen. Boss smiles at the sight of you.
“Hey.” Chuckling, the commando wraps his bare, strong arms around you as you crash into his chest. “Good morning.”
“Mornin’,” you mumble airily, but you sound very much awake. You peel yourself off of him, peering into the simmering pot and smiling at the sight of toast. “A really nice view to wake up to.”
Standing bare chested with only just black sweatpants in the middle of your kitchen, Boss looks at you teasingly.
“Dork,” you rasp, trying to laugh but your sore, painful throat prevents you to. “I'm talking about the food.”
“Trust me, I know,” Boss says, nodding to himself in confirmation. He then quickly rinses the teaspoon he used to stir the tea. “Am I not food?”
“Sometimes,” you answer, distracted by stirring the pot with the ladle.
Boss glances down as he leans back against the counter. He watches you for a moment. You usually hum. This morning you don’t, and he knows why. Last night you complained about the dinner you had with your friends that you might or might have not overconsumed the food your friends warned you about. His last night's concern skyrockets this morning. “Cyar'ika,” he begins carefully, “If I ask you not to talk too much, will you listen?”
You turn the stove off. “Hm?”
“Your throat's hurting.”
“Yeah,” you rasp, not even bothering to hide your wheeze.
“Okay, stop talking.” Your boyfriend holds a hand up almost sternly. “That's an order, cyar'ika.”
“But how am I supposed to wor—” you're cut off in surprise when Boss pushes the mug of tea he's been stirring for five minutes to make sure the small amount of sugar dissolves into your hands. You melt at the warmth in your palm, but you complain just as fast. “Um. Why is this tea?”
Boss shrugs. “It's for you.”
“I want caf. Where's my caf? I need one.”
He sighs. “You don't need it.”
“Excuse me?”
“You complained about your throat last night. And you were shivering. I lowered the temp in the bedroom and I consulted. This morning you must be feeling terrible, worse than last night.”
Every bit of his words ring true. You look at him suspiciously, but you lift the mug to your lips anyway. “Who are you consulting with?”
“A trained medic,” Boss says as you sip on your tea, “He dropped some of our top-shelf med supply this morning. That tea is one of them, to soothe your throat first thing. And this.” He shows you a tube of tablets that he draws out of nowhere—you’re feeling it's getting difficult to keep up, it's not good. “For your flu symptoms.”
Relief washes over you. Boss has always been very kind, and he loves taking care of you. And your house. And your needs. Basically he cares about everything about you.
“Okay,” you smile gratefully, gulping the last of your tea. “Um, tell my thanks to your medic. And thank you.” You hug and kiss his cheek before turning around for the stairs. “I'll go shower and head out.”
Boss sighs. It's one of those sighs that goes out of him when Fixer breaks into another argument with either Sev or Scorch. "Cyar'ika, you can be very adorable sometimes."
You grin widely as your cheeks flush in his praise. You turn slightly to glance over your shoulder. "Sometimes?"
"You're not feeling well," he says, ignoring your teasing. "You're staying home."
"What?! No—aherm.” You wheeze again, your voice now barely coming out. “Oh bugger…”
He raises an eyebrow challengingly. "No?"
You roll your eyes, switching to whispering. "Boss, honey, I've got deadlines and I have to be in office."
"No, I've checked your work progress and everything can be done remotely from home.” He approaches you, swiftly crowding you with his ridiculously built, strong body and his equally strong arms. Despite your protests, you can't help but melt as he cages you in them again, wrapped around your waist very snugly. "You're going to have breakfast, take your meds, wrap yourself in blanket, and sleep in.”
You look horrified. "Sleep in?"
"Sleep in," Boss nods, undeterred. "Or I'll take you upstairs myself and make a ronto roll out of you, sweetheart. Your choice."
You shuffle your feet in hesitance. It does sound tempting, and Boss knows your resolve is falling apart.
In the end, he ends up smiling so smugly. You don't say it, but he knows what you're thinking—you’re persuaded; you can't resist his charms and his unshakable duty to take care of you. Especially his charms. You know Boss as a soft-spoken person but also in a way stern about duty and orders. Plus, his thick unique accent is your sole weakness.
And then you're truly persuaded to eat the hot packet soup that you can't taste at all, with the dry toast—no butter in order not to make your strep throat worse. Boss pointedly sips on his fresh caf in front of you while having the same meal as you, yet innocently evading your ‘envious verbal attacks’ by saying that he has to be on-call at 1500, so he's got to be at HQ before that time.
And then to email your team leader and human resources to tell them you're really, really sick with the official doctor's orders in writing coming in hot soon on another email.
Boss literally nags at you when you even try to load the dishes into the washer, says he'll do it later after you're asleep—he’ll take care of the house and make sure to have lunch ready for you before he departs.
Now you're sitting with a glass of water and the tablets on the table, Boss snapping the tube close as he half-sits on the table. He looks at you, zoning out, and drags you back in by loosely brushing your hair with his fingers and pushing them away from your face so you don't look really terrible.
Grateful for everything he's done, you look up to meet his gaze. “I love you, you know that?”
Boss smiles, his dimples showing and making the hummingbirds in your stomach flutter. “Love you too.” He leans in and kisses your head. “You'll always have me,” he mumbles to your hair, rubbing your arm. “Whatever you need. I'll do it for you.”
You grab his hand and squeeze, wishing you could kiss it but you don't want to risk infection—it’s the last thing he needs. Him being close is hazardous enough for him, but he insists on clone metabolism and stuff. So you just squish your cheek into his palm, your eyelashes flutter against his skin and make his chest flooded with warmth.
“Come on,” Boss urges you again, right after you take your meds. “Let's get you to bed.”
You squeal and giggle hoarsely as he hoists you up by the back of your knees, your chest meeting his while having your arms wrapped around his neck, and shuffle upstairs to your shared bedroom. A commando like him is strong, no doubt—admiring his strength, you always love it when he carries you.
Boss gently drops you on your side of the bed with a slight groan. He smiles at you, brushing your hair away from your face once again before tucking you in and slipping behind you above the covers.
“Best day ever,” you mumble into your pillow.
“Don't say that. You're ill,” Boss playfully chides, pulling you close to his chest and throwing his leg over yours. “Best day would be to see you up and about again. Tirelessly chirping. Active, adorable. Like a little porg.”
You coo, not knowing what to say. “Thank you.”
Boss hums, gently rubbing your arms above the covers.
It's the comfortable silence and lazy atmosphere that make this almost like a Benduday morning. Soon enough, not within five minutes or so you think, your eyes droop heavily.
"Oh, you drugged that tea, didn't you."
Boss bites down on his lip to resist his amused smile at your tone. "You'll be fine. Just sleepy. Fi prescribed it for you."
You hum in question. "Fixer?"
"Fi," Boss insists, "From Omega. He's the squad medic. I consulted him."
"Oh." You don't know who it is. "Prescribed? For all I know you dumped the whole bottle in there."
"Now why would I do that?"
"Because you don't want me to work.”
“No,” Boss corrects you, "Because I know you are so exhausted that your immune system drops, so I want you to catch a lot of rest.”
You yawn, turning around, and curl your body above his chest. Boss releases a deep sigh as he feels your feverish body, and tugs you closer. His warm body makes you purr beneath the covers, wishing that it could swallow you alive. "Well, it's working,” you murmur, gour consciousness slipping out of you and for once it feels blissful.
"Good," Boss smiles into your hair, his arms snug around your cocooned body. "I'll stay, cyar'ika. Get some rest.”
Delta Squad Taglist (lmk to join!): @mutilatemyheart @alor-ika
A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)
