He treats you like a child. Making you stay in bed, constantly sitting you up -- even if you’re completely capable -- and giving you doses of medicine now and again. If you have a stomachache he would awkwardly stay in line at a drug store for 20 minutes just to get you stale crackers and Gingerale. He’s only ever treated his daughter when she was sick, so he doesn’t really have any experience with taking care of an adult -- coughs, correction -- he’s never exactly cared enough to care for anyone besides Zoe.
- Bonus:
One time when you were sick, he was the first and immediate person offering to take care of you. When he realized how embarrassing it looked, he tried to shrug it off as if it was nothing. “Yeah, so what? I know how to take care of someone when they’re sick. No big deal.” Pause. “Stop starin’ at me, man.”
Chato Santana (El Diablo):
Chato, on the other hand, knows very well how to take care of you. He takes your temperature often and tells you to get up to stretch sometimes. He doesn’t want your bones to ache when you feel better. If you complain your cold it’s obvious he would warm you up. He warms up some chicken noodle soup to help you feel better, even if it’s kind of watery, it helps you feel better at least. When you pass out he tucks you in and you wake up to extra tissues and a book for your entertainment.
Harley Quinn:
Harley...Harley tries, at least? She thinks you’re perfectly capable of doing the same things as if you’re perfectly well. She’s probably the reason you got sick in the first place. Don’t be surprised if she made you eat one of too many pieces of candies and chips. Either that or she slipped something in your drink. Seducing the bae with a surprise drug is even better, right? No Harley, now they feel horrible. Anyway, once she realizes they have to stay in bed all day she goes to Floyd and asks how to take care of someone with (insert sickness). He gives as much advice as he can. Therefore she pretty much treats you like Floyd would. Making you stay in bed, scolding you if you sit up, and feeding you soup and crackers. She hopes you feel better, puddin’.
Waylon Jones (Killer Croc):
Eheh...he...has no experience with taking care of someone whatsoever. It never really occurred to him that you would get sick. In his sewer (nice going, waylon). He tries his best, though! He takes your advice more than anyone else’s, you’re the one sick so you must know what you’re doing, right? You tell him you can get yourself some medicine and whatnot, and once you get everything you need he just tries his best to distract you. TV? Maybe it’ll work. If there’s a movie in place you both would watch action or comedy so you could at least laugh. Or hack up a lung. But what’s the difference? Awkward, but comforting, cuddles also ensues.
Do you do femalexfemale!reader? If so, could you do an Enchantress x fem!reader? Enchantress and reader are "together" in a complicated sense that reader loves her but Enchantress doesn't really show affection. And reader finds out one day she's been "chosen" to carry Enchantress' heir (like a spell is used). Enchantress is barely there anymore now cause she's preparing for her heir's arrival. It's one month until her due date and reader has a heart to heart with her partner. And fluff? Thanks.
We’re currently working on it now, nonnie! I wanted to reply with the request but it’s taking longer than I thought. Mod Bunny is gonna wrap it up for me.
My dear friend @scarredsilver helped me edit and plot this fanfic <3
Have fun folks!
Life wasn’t the best for you right now.
You sighed tiredly as you opened the squeaky door to your apartment, pulling off the jacket -- something you thought would keep you safe from the rain -- that stuck to your skin like cheap wallpaper. It was a mess outside, not only because of the endless raining, but because of where you lived. It wasn’t exactly the friendliest neighborhood. You would try to live somewhere better, but of course you couldn’t afford it. No matter how hard and late you worked, you never seemed to get any higher pay.
The pitter patter of the rain slowly became white noise as you cut off the lamp, trudging off your pants and shirt to change. The thin protection of your jacket wasn’t enough to keep them safe, so they were sopping wet as well. Too lazy to walk back to the laundry room and stick your dirty clothes in the hamper, you flopped onto the bed and tried your best to hug the wider build like you were greeting an old friend. “Oh my God.” Was all you could breathe out before you turned onto your back and realized how dark it was.
Strangely, it was rather comforting. You think hanging out at night with your...friends...was starting to get to you.
Or maybe it was the fact you liked to stay up late anyway. You liked to think differently, just to get away from your senses for now.
It isn’t really often that you get to see them. Despite not really admitting it, you relished the chaos that would ensue when they did visit you. It was so long ago that you met them you’d forgotten how you even did so. You sighed, realizing you never really got to think about others so often. Or yourself. God, you felt so selfish.
Sliding your hand over your face, you felt a slick moistness to your forehead that immediately made you recoil in order to look at your sweat. Sighing at this, you rise up to carry yourself to the shower.
But then you stopped, like you did every time, and looked at the bills. Oh gosh, the bills. No matter how many times you paid them you received more and more just to set on your rickety, old table. When you felt your feet move to the cursed piece of wood, you noticed a small “irk” escape you. That wasn’t a good idea. Just turn around and go take a shower.
You did what your mind instructed -- for a second. Your feet didn’t seem to get the gist. The sound the bottom of your feet made was rather awkward -- a sticky sound that sounded unpleasant to your ears. You couldn’t tell if it was the sweat or the rain.
Gently placing a hand on the white sheet of thin paper, you faced it up to see the insides. You’ve read it several times -- once, twice...maybe six? The bags under your eyes suddenly feel even deeper when you look at the price. You swear they were upping the price each time, but you know that it’s your own fault. It’s like a hideous circle of life; coming home stressed as hell, trying to treat yourself, only to be stressed again because of the act. Letting out a breath of air, you decide to look at another.
The price was higher than the last. Nothing you could afford -- you could but you would only have a week’s worth of food left. You wouldn’t be paid for another two weeks and even then you knew the check would be a meek price. This fact makes you try to gulp down the lump called anxiety, but you knew it wasn’t budging.
Letting out a soft groan, the choice to not look at the others seemed to actually strike your brain as a good idea. Leaving the table you suddenly find yourself stumbling, legs giving out underneath you as if you’ve forgotten how to walk. The lump agitated your throat, clawing its way up and seeking to leave your eyes and mouth as if it was blood.
Trying your best to hold it in, you felt your eyes swell up with tears, the waves threatening to spill like you were a lone ship at sea and a thunderstorm was hoping to cause another death like it did for other ships. When you felt hot tears roll down your cheeks and a shrill cry leave your throat, and oh how dry it felt, you collapsed to your knees. Chest heaving, hoping to find air of some sort -- air of relief, air of hope. Something to reassure you that it was going to be okay, that this would pass, and it would all be over soon.
But that wasn’t going to happen. Not in your own thoughts, at least. That only happened in fairy tales and movies. Something to tell the viewers that everyone had a happy ending. But you’re certain that’s not going to happen for you. This was real life. In real life you don’t get happy endings.
When your eyes traveled up, you couldn’t see a thing, and now you’re starting to regret never turning on the light. Searching for something, someone, your shaking hand reaches for anything to grab hold of. Something to reach for just so you can walk off and take a shower. Pretend like this didn’t happen. When your hand couldn’t find anything, you try steadying yourself on the floor instead.
You open your eyes to see if it’s there, but it’s just pitch black. It’s not there, it’s not there! Letting out a silent scream, you try scrambling to your feet to collect yourself, because what else would you be sitting on? When you only find yourself falling backwards -- no -- down! You’re falling down! Your scream is actually heard this time and you felt like puking. The burn in your throat reminded you the threat was there, and it just felt like everything was falling apart at the seams --
“____!”
Your scream is cut short when you hear a sound. Or was that a word? You could’ve sworn even your heart stopped just to listen for if it would repeat. For what felt like a short eternity, it didn’t. But then you hear words once more, you gasp, listening closely.
“Hey!” there it was again. “The fuck are you doing on the floor?”
You slowly started to collect your thoughts, your breath pausing to find out who was in your home. You locked the door, didn’t you? You were pretty sure a thief wouldn’t care to ask what you were doing on the floor, let alone crying. Not like he -- you think he -- did.
Looking up, your face almost collided with another. You let out a small shriek like squeak, throwing yourself back in surprise and to collect yourself. You needed room. You felt more drenched than you did outside, and you were now certain it was 80% sweat.
In a panic, you opened your mouth to ask who he was, but simply paused when your eyes instinctively squinted to see. Your eyes weren’t exactly adjusted to the darkness yet, but you swear something about him was familiar.
Then it hit you. “Oh my God,” you weren’t sure if you wanted to cry in relief because you weren’t falling into a black hole, or if you wanted to cry because you recognised Digger only by his beard. Coughing and trying your best to wipe the tears from your cheeks away, you let out a whisper, “What are you doing here? How did you get inside?”
“Your door was unlocked.” He paused, moving closer to probably help you up, but that action only made you move back. He then stopped, deciding to ignore the rejection. Which you found strange since he would normally complain, but you found no room to either. “You still didn’t answer my question.”
What? What question? Ignoring the urge to find the memory you try to stand on your feet, a wobble in your step. You immediately go to fall, but catch yourself on the floor before sitting back up. You notice he leaned in to catch you, but you give him a wave of dismissal, “I’m fine.” You shivered at the familiar words. Deja Vu.
“I came to get you for a drink.” You immediately knew he meant alcohol by the statement. “But I ended up with you screaming...on the floor. Not a sexy look for you.” You huff at his words, dismissing them because then you would have to explain why you were on the floor in the first place. You felt too tired to do so at the moment.
This time you decide to make a comment, “So. Why didn’t you knock?” You crossed your arms, but you knew very well he wouldn’t see the action.
“What the f…I did! You always nag to me about being bloody polite so I did! ‘parently you’re deaf.”
“Oh.” Was your sheepish reply, your heart racing to find another excuse. “I...was in the shower.” When you barely saw the movement of groping hands to investigate, you throw yourself back and hiss at him, “No touchy!” You slapped his hand like a mother to her child.
Letting out a small groan of disagreement, he looked around before announcing, “It’s dark in here. Do you only have your bathroom light on?” He looked behind him to find his own answer, only to see it was “no”. “I’m turnin’ on a light.”
Letting out an internal scream, you try to shimmy yourself passed him to make your way to your bed but he was much faster than you. He must have memorized your apartment, the creep.
With the light flicking on with no warning, you let out a holler of distress and instantly moved your arms to your chest, trying your best to cover yourself. You were covered in sweat and rain water, and shivering. Digger rose a brow, looking you up and down; studying you. If you didn’t know him well enough you would say he was checking you out, like the first time you met, but no. He almost seemed to be...reading you. Like a book. Like he ever actually read, ha, funny, but it literally seemed like he was reading you like you were some sort of mystery book. Asking himself what would happen next.
“Is there another guy in here?” He looked around, as if he would really find someone else in your apartment.
“No, Digger.” You hiss. He didn’t know it himself, but you actually had feelings for him. You dismiss the thought before your face bloomed into a warm blush. He would ask if you were drunk then.
Digger let out a small hum, seeming to be satisfied with the answer, before flopping down onto your bed with a loud “FWUMP”. “I walked all the way here, y’know. The beer’s at yer door. But I don’ think you’re in the mood to get drunk right now.” He seemed to give you a side glance before patting the spot next to him. “Sit down. Bet you’re tired too.”
“Digger.” Was your blunt answer. “I’m naked.”
“Then put some bloody clothes on! Not that hard to put some clothes on.”
You paused, giving a cruddy answer, “No. I’m sweaty.”
“Just get under the covers, woman! Goddamn.”
Your simple reply was a sigh, deciding to oblige to his order and snuggling next to him when the comforter welcomed you. You sighed again, this time in relief, not realising how much your bones had ached until you were no longer tense.
“There. Relax ‘n stuff.” He mumbled, brow furrowing as if he hadn’t expected you to listen. You two stayed like that for awhile, you sticking to his side like some squirrel on a tree, while his arm lumbered over you like you were a cheesy couple at the movies. It felt comfortable, at least. A bit awkward, since you didn’t know what to call this type of cuddling, but decided not to think about it too much.
Digger interrupted your peace and quiet, “I uh, saw you before that.”
“Before what?” You asked, heart lurching at the sudden confirmation. You felt like you already knew the answer.
“Before you screamed. I saw you before then.” He let in a breath that you mistook as an exhale, but when he continued you found the answer to be the opposite. “I came in when I heard a loud noise. As if you were falling. I thought you were gettin’ attacked or something. I guess. I don’t know.” He was getting frustrated now, scratching the back of his neck to say he was uncomfortable.
“The door was unlocked, so I assumed the worst. Come in, you were by yourself. On the floor crying. Uh. Like I said, not a sexy look for you,” He explained slowly and awkwardly, and it almost felt like he was shrinking in on himself. “For a second I really just wanted to walk out and come back in. And I guess I sort of did. I tried ta act like I just did. Like it’s some talent show. Some rehearsal.” He let out a breath, and you would even call him poetic for coming up with the words right off the bat. You didn’t even feel angry. Just...numb.
“...It’s..okay?” Was that an apology? You could only assume it was. That’s all he needed, right? Digger didn’t even seem to care when someone was mad at him. Well, seeing how childish he was you wouldn’t be surprised if it did make him upset.
“That’s all yer gonna say?”
“What do you mean “is that all I’m gonna say”? What else is there to say?”
“Yer not gonna give me some explanation? Or at least admit something?” He hissed, drawing back from you.
“No! There’s nothing to explain!” You felt yourself draw back as well, moving simply making you ache, but his words hit some kind of nerve you forgot existed.
“At least admit there’s something wrong!” He was now sitting up, and it seemed like you hit an unknown nerve as well.
“There’s nothing wrong! Nothing wrong with me! Okay? Just-” You felt tears start to spring in your eyes once more. “Just leave it alone, okay?”
He seemed to simmer down when he noticed how upset you were, and actually kind of...deflated. He laid back down, letting out a deep exhale before fumbling with something in his jacket.
“What are you doing?” You snap, irritated by his earlier words. He simply didn’t answer, before placing something in between you two.
His pink unicorn.
You stumbled, stammered, and mumbled out words, but nothing coherent escaped your lips. You never understood why he loved the plushie so much, despite knowing him this long. You realise you never really asked, either.
“Shuddup.” He mumbled, wrapping his arm back around you. For once, Digger didn’t want to talk. What? After that he just wants to make it seem like nothing happened? He opened his mouth, as if reading your mind. “It’s a peace offering.” He quickly added, “Nah I’m kidding. But...uh.” He squeezed you to him, “She just helps me relax.”
You shut your mouth then, looking down to the little plushie. The pink unicorn was tattered and obviously hasn’t been washed in years. It was easy to see the fingerprints that Digger had left, even on the hair and tail you could somewhat make out the prints there. It felt like it wasn’t ever supposed to be found, like it only belonged to him, but you knew you were most likely wrong.
You raise your hand to pet the toy, hesitant because you felt like he would slap your hand away as if she was only something to admire, not touch. But when you heard no snapping words you took it as a green light.
The first pet was a simple graze, shaky and questionable. Still, no red light, so you continued, but this time bolder. The pets slowly grew into gentle strokes, almost like you were petting an anxious chihuahua who would pee on you at any given moment.
You then felt a hand on top of yours, making you instantly stop. Did you somehow pet the unicorn wrong? How do you pet a toy? You fluster for a small moment, before he started to pet with your hand, guiding you to certain spots as if telling you the memories through plush crevices and dry hair. The hair reminded you of new barbie doll hair, dry and bristly, but smooth.
You let out a small huff, your eyelids drooping down instinctively so you could go to sleep. Given how comfortable you were, you wouldn’t mind at all. But you really still needed a shower. You stink.
But when you heard the small snore of a sleeping Digger, you decided against the shower for now. You could take one later.
Joining Digger to the land of sleep, you both drifted off with a pink unicorn in between you.
We’re hoping to run a pretty busy blog here, so get comfy <3 I imagine things in the beginning are going to run pretty slow but that’s alright. We’re pretty patient.
Not many rules, just please keep things sfw. Sprinkles of nsfw is okay but not too much. We’ll be opening a mod try-out soon <3
