#napfic

That sounds like my own fic, Tables Turn. You can also read it on AO3, if that’s your preferred fic delivery method. 

thanks anon for requesting here!!!!!!! 

2009 2:37 p.m. A Monday

 Mac yawns.

 “No,” Dennis says almost immediately, hitting the heel of his palm against the side of his steering wheel for emphasis. “Cut that shit out, Mac. We have to focus.”

 “Dude, I can’t just not yawn,” Mac protests, yawning again as if just to spite Dennis. “I can’t help it. Just ignore it.”

 “I can’t ignore it, you idiot, you yawn so loud it’s impossible to focus on anything else,” Dennis snaps. “If you yawned like a normal person I would be able to ignore it but you yawn so loud I can’t. So stop it.”

 “Oh my god,” Mac says, rolling his eyes. “Can we just move past it?”

 Dennis huffs a little, but, for all intents and purposes, he moves past it.

Chapters: 3/6 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Additional Tags: Fluff, History, The Sound of Music - Freeform, Eden - Freeform, Apples, Ducks, Temptations, Napping, Five Times, Snake!Crowley - Freeform Summary:

Five times Crowley tried to tempt Aziraphale to a nap (and one time he succeeded).

Ford was a nervous wreck as he paced the shiny floorboards of the farmhouse. He could hear the wind howling outside, branches and small stones being thrown against the walls and windows by the storm that had picked up during the night. He’d been upset when his wife had gotten up at the normal hour that morning, surprised that she was still going out to perform her normal chores, and for good reason! This was a hurricane raging outside; all three towns would be battening down their curtains for the day.

“I need to at least take care of the animals,” she argued, that sweet smile he’d fallen for creeping over a face that was still half asleep. “I promise it’ll be a short day.”

That had been hours ago. The doctor had never felt quite so helpless seeing his tough farmer wife slip out the door, racing down to the lowest fields to make sure the livestock were taken care of for the day. He was a doctor: He didn’t know which end of the pitchfork to use or else he would have followed her out past the rows of melons and corn and flowers. But in times of inclement weather, it was best to have personnel stationed someplace to take care of those who would be pulled out of the muck and mire. It didn’t help his nerves that she was pregnant with their first child, less than twelve weeks into the incubation of their son or daughter.

A pot of tea and fresh porridge was on the stone counter. He didn’t know why the game manor was done in an eastern style, he and his wife were from Westown, not Tsuyukasa. Maybe she just liked the look? He was waiting for the bath to fill with hot water, and he was doing his best not to vibrate out of his skin. What was taking so long? She had four barns, but they were all right next to one another. Did the llama get out again maybe? The foul animal was quite the con artist after all...

His thoughts screeched to a halt as the door opened, letting in a howling wind as his wife slipped in as fast as she could, panting as she leaned against the wall as the lock engaged with a snick. Blue eyes took in the site of her husband, and the farmer girl could only offer a sheepish smile, one hand on the wall and the other holding the lip of her dress to form a large pocket. Golden ears of corn contrasted against black and white stripes, the first harvest of the season. “I had to pick it before the storm ruined it,” she offered, blush painting over her cheeks.

Ford’s lips thinned as he marched up to her, gloves stripped away as he went into professional mode, taking in her pallor, temperature, the trembling in strong limbs. “Your core temperature has dropped, you have not had anything to eat this morning per usual, and you concerned yourself with vegetables?” He shook his head as he scooped up the offending produce and pointed her at the bathroom. “Get in the tub; do not come out till your core temp is back to nominal levels.”

“It’s sexy when you go into doctor mode,” she teased, but she was already pushing away from the wall to stagger into the warm bathroom, fingers plucky clumsily at the buttons of the dress. Ford could cluck at her all he wanted, but in this case a hot bath sounded heavenly.

She was feeling human again half an hour later, the resort clothes she liked to wear at the end of the day magnitudes better than the sopping wet dress drying in the bathroom. Ford was a little calmer now, but he still planted her down at the table, milk tea and porridge placed in front of her. “I may not be the best cook, but anything is better to nothing,” he scolded before returning to half shucked corn.

“It tastes great cause you made it sweetie,” she smiled, digging into the food with gusto. Now that her temperature was back up, she found herself ravenous. She found that she was running her free hand over her stomach. She was nearing the end of the first trimester and glad that the dizziness and nausea hadn’t lasted long.

Her worried husband took in that sight, sighing as he laced their fingers together. “I know I can’t stop you, but can you please take better care of yourself?”

The farmer girl could only sigh, pushing the empty bowl away and pulling the tall blond down into a hug. “Lie down with me? I need a nap,” she whispered, eyes already sliding shut.

Those long fingers cupped her forehead again, and Ford nodded after a second. “You’re stabilized, it’s safe to fall asleep. Sweetheart, please promise me,” he coaxed, knowing when she was trying to dodge a subject.

A heavy sigh. “I’m always going to help people. I can only promise to try.”

That was good enough for the doctor. With a small yelp, he scooped her up into his arms, carrying her over to the bed and depositing her between the sheets. He joined her after hanging up his lab coat, put on that morning out of habit, and she sighed as she sank into that delicious warmth. He seemed like a cold man, but her Ford was only awkward around people. She could see his warm heart, and was glad she had taken the time to get to know him.

2007 4:15 p.m. A Sunday

As he folds his laundry, Mac goes through the list. Dennis and Dee’s mom is dead. Their real dad is crazy or something (Mac never got a straight answer on that one) and the next best thing is Frank. Charlie’s mom is overbearing. He grew up without a dad, and then recently found out that his dad is probably Frank. Collectively, the gang could count all their living parents or parent proxies on one hand: Mac’s mom, Mac’s dad, Charlie’s mom, Bruce Mathis, and Frank. Mac is the only one with two confirmed living parents. He goes through the list again and again and again, much like he spent all last night doing-- except this time, he’s dealing with a pile of laundry on his unmade bed, not tossing and turning and flipping his pillow over.

 He’s been letting his laundry pile up. He only even started doing it today because he realized he was literally on his last pair of socks. He let it pile up for so long it turned out to be like four loads-- and then he washed the towels too, because if you’re already doing laundry, you might as well wash the towels too. It’s an unkempt mountain on his bed; tee shirts and pants and underwear and socks and towels. He’s just been adding to the pile all day, never stopping to fold between loads.

 Anyway. Dennis and Dee’s mom is dead, and their fake dad is Frank, and their real dad is apparently some weirdo. Charlie’s mom is bonkers and his dad is probably Frank too. Mac has two living breathing parents.

 So, he wonders bitterly as he shakes out a pair of jeans, why does he feel like he has the shittiest deal of them all? Dennis and Dee might as well be orphans, and Charlie’s mom is even crazier than Charlie. It doesn’t make sense, he tells himself. It doesn’t make sense that he’s so damn ungrateful and mushy about all of this.