#I need to find food and attempt to sleep some more

[nasreenfamily]

In this harsh winter, the cold is always with us. Every night, I pull my children into my arms in a desperate attempt to shield them from the cold air seeping through the small cracks in our tent. No heating, no clothes to protect them from the biting wind. This is our reality, where one nearly forgets oneself in the midst of the fight for survival. ❄️

Each day carries a new fear. Will we manage to warm ourselves tonight? Will we find food to feel warmth from the inside? These were my daily questions, as I watch my children try to sleep in indescribable conditions. 😔

Our support campaign started as a lost hope in a storm, but with every contribution, no matter how small, I feel a beam of light illuminating the way. 🌟 It wasn't just donations; it was moral support that gave me the strength to continue fighting. Thanks to God, and to all those who supported us, we managed to overcome some difficulties. But the challenges are not over yet. 🙏

I need your support now more than ever. Every contribution, no matter how small, means so much to us. You are the hope we cling to in this harsh winter. ❤️

• ️Vetted by @gazavetters ( #334 )

Thank you from the bottom of my heart 💕

[esotericbluntbaby]

bf! hamzah x reader headcannons (sfw!)

- i feel like his love language is acts of service. if you guys don't live together already, he definitely acts like you do. need to go run errands? he'll drive you. hungry? he'll cook you something. in fact, he has all the cabinets memorized so he really never has to ask you where anything is. he knows what you like and don't like, and obviously if you have any allergies, so everything he prepares is to your liking. stressed? he'll run you a hot bath, complete with candles and a laptop sitting on a table for you to watch movies. he would even sit down on the floor next to you to keep you company, just in case you wanted to talk. how sweet!

- though he's a busy man with his podcast and youtube channel, you rarely feel like you come second to his career the more the relationship progresses. although you probably reassure him that it's okay if he stays a little late to finish editing or filming, he makes it up to you by bringing you some food or flowers. he genuinely feels bad when he has to be kept away from his girlfriend, so he tries to make up for it afterwards by showing you that he thinks of you even when you're apart.

- he would definitely play games with you when he can. i feel like you'd get a random text from him while he's filming that says something along the lines of him playing a game with martin that he wants to play with you. if it's a horror game, he'd definitely have you sit on his lap. with each jumpscare, he holds you tighter as you both jump or possibly scream. you secretly know that it's just an excuse for him to hold you, but of course, you don't mind.

- whenever he watches you holding or petting red and blue, his heart melts a little. he enjoys when you take care of his cats since they're literally his children. there are times you'll sleep over and wake up to the sight of hamzah, red, and blue all cuddled up next to you.

- speaking of cuddle, hamzah seems like the type to have such a heavy grip on you when you're asleep together. i can imagine you trying to go to work or school and attempting to get up from out of bed but he simply doesn't let you. the grip he has on your waist is tight as SHIT like he's acting like he'd die if he let go. eventually you squeeze out of his arms and get ready, but he soon wakes up and asks you why you left him there.

- you are passenger princess. always. he HATES it when you drive because he doesn't see the point. he's always available to take you places and enjoys being your own personal chauffeur. he understands that you can do things on your own, but he wants you to understand that you don't have to since he's in your life.

- i feel like he's heavy on communication and comprehension. in the beginning of the relationship, he was probably scared to tell you when he got jealous or when you do something that bothers him, but over time he realized he has to talk or else nothing would change. if something's bothering him, he won't hesitate to talk to you about it in a respectful and meaningful way. he isn't accusatory, but talks to you with softness in his voice. you guys are a team. afterwards, he just basks in your existence and spends time with you to reassure you that you guys are alright.

- when you guys are out together, he acts like he hates when you baby him. he tries his best to seem as masculine and strong as possible when you two are in public. in private? the complete opposite. he prefers being little spoon and resting his head on your chest while you stroke his hair. he loves when you kiss him on the forehead and when you call him cute pet names. he looks at you with so much adoration when you treat him like he's your baby.

- when you're upset, he definitely tries to cheer you up by making you laugh. whether it's cracking joke after joke or pretending to fall or finding a funny game to play with you, he will not stop until he sees you smile. he hates seeing a frown on your face and will genuinely do anything to take any sort of discomfort or pain away from you.

--

authors note

i decided to write at 1:24 on a school night because i NEEDED more hamzah fics. ts is kinda ass tho but we thug! take care of urselves lovelies mwah i will write more soon!

[indecisive-dizzy]

Hi I’m having so many Latter/Eddie ideas im in love with them they are beloveds

I can totally see Latter having a crush on Eddie from the get go. He took one look at that beautiful southern mailman and fell in love

The idea of Eddie dating Latter while being Howdy’s ex makes me laugh so hard, especially if howdy gets bitter about it

I could totally see Eddie being sweet to Latter and Howdy complaining to Seeya about it. He pulls out the “I was bisexual first!” argument /hj

Latter writes poems about Eddie but keeps them to himself. Hes too embarrassed to share them

Ironically they’re actually some of his better work

Latter/Eddie/Frank is now something I need more people to love too because I do

They do little smooches. Like, they’re both so nervous they can barely kiss without herring all flustered and shy

Hugs, they hug a lot :)

Latter wraps his wings around Eddie EHEN they hug, but he never mentions it

They write letters to each other all the time, they love writing about the other

They go on walks together, its calm and they don’t have to deal with neighbors/family members that treat them poorly

They move in together /hj

I need them to get married

sniff theyre soooo <333

Took one look and fell in love you say? Of course he did who wouldn't! fr tho Latter had One Positive Interaction with Eddie (Eddie waved at him) and he was head over heels.

Damn Eddie I thought you were afraid of bugs- sjfhjdsgbjsghjds. Howdy is SO bitter. Especially because Latter and Eddie have a better relationship than his and Eddie's. Also bc Latter does Not shut up about him. He's throwing Eddie themed poetry left right and center and Howdy is this close to putting up a "No Latter" sign at the shop.

Latter's better poetry being his love poems to Eddie is so sweet. His best work comes straight (Ha!) from the heart <3

Idk how Frank and Latter would get along,,, I think Frank would enjoy some poetry but he may only tolerate Latter's extensive poetics for Eddie,,,, Hmmm

Call those Butterfly Kisses. jsfjsf they're so cute hhh just little pecks here n there but its got them both all flustered.

You got a mailman who is on his way to a Best Hugger Award and a Giant Butterfly with Six Arms. Those are some damn good hugs! And I am a sucker for "wrapping wings around partner"

ah writing letters, Eddie's personal favorite love language that he introduced Latter to. Eddie gets normal letters that also have poems attached. Eddie send him paper crafts with his letters.

Going on walks is nice! What if they held hands !

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

I love your work, could you please write a viktor x reader who takes care of him. like makes sure he eats, they make baked goods for him or make him go to bed in time. I think it would be cute

Heyo! Sure I can, even if it’s been a while since I wrote for Viktor (or anything) lmao

Caretaker!Reader

Viktor takes well enough care of himself, to his own standards

So we all know he can use a little more help and a little helping hand

I think Viktor is pretty independent so it takes a lot out of him to even be able to do this kind of intimate thing with you

If he does, it takes a lot of vulnerability as you would see him at his lowest

There have been times where he probably refused and would try and get out of any situation where you found out he needed help and to be taken care of

He doesn’t want to bother you or anything when he deems it able to be done by himself

It takes a while for him to be comfortable enough with you and your relationship to let himself be vulnerable in that way

As he has never done this kind of thing with anyone else before

But once it happens, trust me, you’re golden

I think he does like sweets and baked goods, so to have you bring him any on a whim and not because you have to, but because you care warms his heart absolutely

He often forgets to take care of himself and his basic needs, like eating and stuff like that for his experiments and research

So he relies on you for that a little bit once he knows you will always be there for him

He loves when you cook or bake for him and knowing it’s so he knows he’s taken care of makes each bite better than the last

At first when you attempted to get him on some sort of decent sleep schedule, he resisted

He went to bed whenever, or whenever his research was done or he passed out and often it was in the lab or at his desk or in the middle of his studying at the table

SOO you would often have to bring him to bed yourself

Once you wore him down enough, he acted like you won

You thought you did until you found out he was just waiting till you fell asleep and slipped out off bed, and slipped back in just before you woke up and pretended to wake up beside you

You had to scold him probably, or it was some sort of argument

He realized you just wanted him to be healthy, and for him to be well rested

Reluctantly, he began going to sleep with you and waking up beside you in the mornings

He found he actually did like this habit because sleeping beside you was surprisingly comforting

He loved hearing your breathing pattern as you fell asleep, and it helped him fall asleep to hear and feel your heart beating as you both snuggled to sleep

And he loved watching you wake up slowly in the mornings

It was all worth it

One thing he was very stubborn about you not doing was taking care of his leg I think

Probably because he feels as his sort of disability is a bother enough, he doesn’t want you to be burdened with it

He probably thinks that if you see that part of him, you’ll think he’s not worth it and leave

And that’s not the case

He only finds out on a particularly harsh day when it hurt so bad, and it was so sore all he could do was want to fall asleep and alleviate the pain by any means

You maybe kissed his leg, maybe rubbed out the pain, maybe helped him in any way

But as you did it, he loved the feeling and could only watch you do so and the warm feeling in his chest never left

So, on the hard days, he would drop subtle hints that he wanted to be taken care of

Like subtly saying “oh, it just hurts, I have no clue how to fix it…” and wait for you to offer to rub it

I feel he likes being babied a little bit, but not to much

He doesn’t like being treated as glass or like he is incompetent

But he does love being taken care of by you

Be it food, tending to him or showering or making sure he is fed and clean

He loves showering with you

He loves having you wash his hair and the feelings of your hand in it or feeling you lather the soap on him while he just gets to relax and close his eyes and know your there

And that he’s able to soak in all the love

Obviously he returns it all in his own way but

It’s just all the love you pour in

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC John Constantine's How To: Ghost Kids (pt.2)

[<- part 1]

"Oh, yeah," John jerks his head up like he just remembered the fact people are supposed to have names at all. He gestures to the kids, pointing to each of them as he introduces, "Daniel, Daniel, and Danielle."

This time, all three kids flip him off simultaneously. Bruce clears his throat, trying to figure out if Constantine is messing with him and, if so, in which parts. Since, so far, everything the man has said sounds like a poor attempt at pulling his leg.

"I don't think they like those," he cautiously says, and the kids whip their heads at him, nodding furiously. Bruce can't help but be just a little enamored with the way they behave.

"Of, sod off, at this point I don't care what they like," John straightens up with a dismissive, albeit weak, wave of his hands, and rubs his face, "They are menaces. Sometimes by accident, but mostly on purpose. Their grandfather thought it would be easier to handle them if they were not teenagers, and while I agreed with his reasoning at the time, I-" he glances at the kids, who all have displeased grimaces of various levels on their faces, "I have been made to reconsider. I swear that ancient bitch is laughing his ass off wherever he is now."

The kids suddenly grin. They are not very friendly, nor polite smiles - if anything, they look a bit nightmarish. An old grandfather's clock in his study makes a very loud ticking noise.

"See?" John whips his head to look at said clock, the expression on his face bordering on insane. His eye twitches.

If Bruce doesn't do anything now, he might become one of the very few people who managed to witness John Constantine, the Laughing Magician, have a meltdown. So he sighs and decides to solve the problems one at a time.

Which means that no matter how alarmed or suspicious he is, his first move would not be to interrogate either the man or the kids.

"You can sleep in one of the guest rooms, I trust you can find it on your own," he tells John, almost softly, as he catches the girl from slipping away from his lap, "Is there anything I need to know about children before you fall unconscious?"

John slumps with relief, so obviously that Bruce almost smiles. Hardships of raising - or, watching, for that matter - kids, he understands.

"Yes," he breathes out with an air of exhilaration and turns to the kids again, pointing to the middle child, "Danny is the original. He is from this dimension and timeline, that is. Dan," he turns his finger to the older boy, "is in the wrong timeline, he's Danny's future evil self redeemed into older bratty brother. Dani," he switches to the girl, "is Danny's clone, made by his arch-nemesis of a godfather. If she starts melting at any point, wake me up immediately. If any of them start floating, sprouting tentacles, speaking to walls in static, or glowing, don't."

Bruce looks down to the kids. So, definitely metas, that would explain the government trying to get them... Or, no, it wouldn't because he is fairly certain no government is going to blatantly ignore the Meta Protection Acts.

"Don't let them raise the dead, and if you give them food, make sure it doesn't have a face. If you find more than three of them, it means one of them has duplicated, don't worry, they will absorb it back later. Absolutely don't let them touch any guns," Constantine is backing down to the door as he speaks, his gaze flickering from the kids to Bruce and back every second. Like he is leaving a ticking bomb in Bruce's lap, and not three children. "Danny is, comparatively, the most responsible one, the other two are up for any dubious trouble they can get to at any moment. Oh, and their memories are wonky because of de-aging, they remember some things but not others, so if they say something particularly disturbing, it's most likely some random piece of knowledge they managed to keep."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. He did get the part about the kids being, well, abnormal in the matters of their origins, but the disjointed set of rules and advices doesn't help as much as Constantine probably thinks it does.

"Allergies, preferences, ages they were before?" He tries to get at least some more info down before John disappears through the door. Actually, maybe he should send someone to handcuff the man to the bed lest he disappears completely.

"None, but don't let them eat cutlery. Danny likes space, Dani has a thing for exploring, and Dan likes violence." The older kid stirs in Bruce's lap and says something in the direction of Constantine. No sound comes out, but the man seems to get what he's trying to say anyway, "Okay, yes, that was rude of me, sorry. Dan likes... exercise," he ends up with, and that placate the boy enough to slump down and cross his arms. John sighs, "They were seventeen, fourteen, and twenty respectively. Now," he snaps his fingers, and suddenly Bruce can hear the girl - Dani - humming a tune under her breath. So, he lifted the silence spell, it seems.

"Good fucking luck," John wishes to Bruce, earnestly, and all but vanishes away.

Bruce sighs and looks down to the kids.

"Are you hungry?" He tries, and all eyes are on him at once, attentive and unblinking.

"Fruitloops," Danny says, and while Bruce is positive that's the name for a cereal, he gets a feeling that's not what the kid meant.

[taeyongdoyoung]

daddy's home

summary: boyfriendless, jobless and hopeless, you rush to take the first opportunity you find, which is a nanny position. but the kids are not the only ones you grow fond of... pairing: seungcheol x reader genre: fluff, smut, single dad x nanny AU warnings: kids (triggering, i know), age gap (unspecified), mentions of past cheating, abandonment issues, potential therapy, male masturbation, confessions, blowjob, kissing, eating out, protected sex (unbelievable), dirty talk, size kink, pet names (sweetheart, angel, darling, little girl), sir+daddy kink, unprotected sex (with baby-making goal), breeding kink, creampie, more kids (sorry im ovulating) author's note: this is loosely based on the sitcom the nanny in that there's a single dad with three kids but minus the dead wife trope cuz that's too depressing for my tastes word count: 4.3k

You are desperate. Your shitty boyfriend cheated on you, broke up with you and you also lost your job. So it’s been a couple of terrible weeks. Now, you would take pretty much any kind of job as long as it pays enough for you to afford food and the bills. ASAP.

Single dad looks for a live-in nanny for his three kids. Full-time with Sundays off. Contact this number for more details.

Okay, truth be told, you’ve never considered yourself as someone who is good with kids. But how hard can it be? Have you mentioned you’re desperate?

“Listen, Miss L/N,” Mr. Choi, your potential future employer starts. “I appreciate your enthusiasm but I’m not just going to hire you. I’m looking for someone with experience.”

“Well, I have a bunch of nephews, if they turned out alright under my care, then I guess that counts for something,” you chuckle.

“That’s very nice but I’m talking about professional experience. Have you been a nanny before?”

“Technically, no, but how can I get experience if you won’t hire me?”

“Touché,” Mr. Choi laughs.

“How about a trial period? Let me spend some time with your kids under your supervision and prove myself capable.”

Mr. Choi nods reluctantly.

“Well, you’re in luck since my little goblins have driven away five nannies in the past month.”

Oh, dear. Five nannies…And here you were thinking this could be an easy job.

“So, what’s one more?” you chuckle nervously and Mr. Choi shakes your hand, agreeing to give you a chance.

You are excited when meeting his kids. The eldest daughter - Chaerry is 15, very elegant and polite. You think that you’ll have no problems with her and you’ll have lots to talk about. The middle child and only son - Dino is 10, extremely mischievous and loud. You’ll definitely have problems. Finally, the youngest daughter, Elsie, is 5, she’s such a cutie but leaves a mess of her toys everywhere she goes. It’s easy to trip if you’re not careful, but nothing you can’t handle.

The trial period goes by in a flash. Dino attempts to get on your nerves by pulling pranks like hiding fake spiders in your bag and spraying your outfit with ketchup, but you accept all that with an easygoing laugh. Elsie constantly asks you to play with her toys and you need an unlimited source of ideas to keep up with her wild imagination, but it feels more like fun than a job. Chaerry is quiet and doesn’t share much at the beginning but eventually tells you about this boy at school she has a crush on. So, you count that as a success.

“I must admit, Miss L/N, I had some worries at first but seeing how quickly my kids accepted you is remarkable,” Mr. Choi shares his observations with you at the end of the trial period.

“So, am I hired, then?” you beam with excitement.

“Absolutely, yes. The kids have taken a liking to you and changing nannies so often is probably not great for them, either.”

“So true. Kids need stability and I would be happy to stick around for as long as you’ll have me, Mr. Choi,” you are thrilled not only because you will have a bed to sleep, food to eat and money to spend, but because you are genuinely looking forward to spending more time with these little munchkins.

And spend time with them you do. You're not sure what exactly it is that makes the kids warm up to you, but whatever the reason, it's working.

With Chaerry, you talk about boys and high school drama and make-up. On one occasion, she tells you something that sincerely touches you.

“Thank you for being my best friend, Y/N. I know I shouldn't keep stuff from my dad, but he can be so overprotective sometimes it's difficult to talk about...well, going on dates with boys, mostly.”

“Aww, Chae, you can tell me anything. It'll be our little secret,” you give her a wink, followed by a hug.

You're not exactly sure what the correct response here is. But you'll make sure to maintain some kind of balance - both look after her safety so that Mr. Choi sleeps peacefully at night and not betray Chaerry's trust in you.

With Dino, after the initial phase of silly pranks passes, you notice that he's become more honest and calm.

“You won't leave us like our mom and all the other nannies did, will you?” he asks you one afternoon as you're watching TV together.

You haven't asked Mr. Choi what exactly happened with these kids' mother because frankly, it's none of your business, but something is telling you they're a lot more hurt than they let on.

“I'm not going anywhere, Dino,” you promise, though really, it's up to Mr. Choi to decide that.

“Good. It would really suck if you left.”

That's a lot, coming from the kid who damaged like half of your wardrobe with all kinds of sauces.

With Elsie, another strange situation takes place due to the fact that the kid has no filter.

“Let's play family!”

“Um, okay,” you agree without thinking much.

“This will be daddy,” Elsie points at a stuffed lion plushie and then grabs a tiger plushie, “And this is you, mommy!”

“Oh, honey. I'm not your mommy,” you try to explain as gently as possible.

“But can you be? Daddy says our mommy left and has a new family somewhere else.”

Okay, that's a lot to unpack here. Though you don't think it is your place, you'll need to have a conversation with Mr. Choi, because the kids obviously have some kind of unresolved trauma...

One evening, after the kids have gone to sleep, instead of going to your room, you wait in the living room for your employer to come back from work, so you can approach the subject as delicately as you can.

“Good evening, Miss L/N. Kids go to bed?” he greets you as he takes off his coat.

“Evening, Mr. Choi. Yes, they did. I was wondering if we can have a chat. It can be a sensitive topic, I'm sure, but for the sake of the kids, I think it's important.”

Mr. Choi nods and takes a seat next to you on the couch.

“About their mother...”

“I was wondering how long it'd take you to bring that up,” he chuckles bitterly. “Other nannies wanted me to spill the tea on day one.”

“Wow, seriously?”

“It's not like it's this big secret, I just prefer not to talk about it unless absolutely necessary. My ex-wife...cheated on me and got pregnant by another man, so we had a divorce and I kept the kids, because she said she wants to start anew with this other guy, and...well, the kids said this is their home and that they won't move. So, I suppose the judge took that under consideration.”

“My God. I had no idea.”

“You couldn't have known, considering I just said I don't enjoy revisiting those painful memories.”

“Yes, of course, I only meant that...I guess it explains some things. Forgive me for saying this, but I think the kids have some kind of abandonment issues. Elsie and Dino, in particular, they seem to have a fear that I'll leave just like...well, their mom and the other nannies.”

“And are you? Leaving, I mean.”

“Not if I can help it. Mr. Choi, your kids are very vibrant and precious to me. I genuinely love my job. But I'm worried that what happened with your ex-wife affected them more than they show. Maybe you should look into therapy?”

“I will definitely take that into consideration. Thank you for your candour, Miss L/N.”

“You're most welcome.”

“What about Chaerry?”

“What about her?”

“You said that Elsie and Dino express these abandonment issues. Does Chaerry not have them?”

“She probably does, but at the moment she's too busy thinking about boys.”

“Boys? At her tender age? I don't think so,” Mr. Choi immediately goes into ultra alpha protective dad mode and you honestly find it kind of funny. And hot.

“Oh, relax, Mr. Choi. It's just typical high school drama. There's nothing to be worried about.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly.

“I'm counting on you. Does it ever occur to you how quickly they grow up?”

“I suppose it's more difficult for you. I've only known them for a few months but I think I get what you mean.”

“Yeah...How strange, it feels like you've been part of this family forever.”

You try not to think too deeply about it. He...considers you part of this family. Elsie called you mommy. Dino doesn't want you to leave. And Chaerry talks to you about boys. A topic, which girls usually discuss with their mothers. Oh, sweet heavens. Maybe, this nanny gig is becoming more than a job...

One Monday Mr. Choi texts you not to come to work this Saturday, as the kids will be spending some time with their grandparents (aka Mr. Choi's parents). However, the moment you receive the text, you're too busy trying to escape from Dino who is chasing you with a water gun in the garden. So, you somehow forget to put it down in your calendar.

Saturday arrives and poor Mr. Choi thinks you'd be in your own apartment. Finally, some peace and quiet. His parents picked up the kids early in the morning to go to the park with them so he's all alone and free to do as he pleases.

But alas, you go down the stairs of Mr. Choi's enormous house and make your way to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast for the kids. However, it's too quiet. Hm, how strange. Maybe, they're not awake yet? You shrug as you pour some milk and cereal in a bowl.

Oh, you hear some noise from the living room. Is that the TV? Your curiosity gets the better of you and you enter it only to find Mr. Choi in a very compromising position. He is touching himself, watching very obscene things on the big screen!

You are on the verge of chastising your boss for doing something like that in the living room, where the kids could walk in any minute, when you remember. The kids...They're with their grandparents today. Which means that...Fuck, you're not supposed to be here. You should be at your own apartment instead of being witness to...your very sexy and very single employer taking care of his needs.

You are going to sneak back into the kitchen and wait for a more appropriate time to leave the house when you hear it. At first you think you're hallucinating but then you hear it twice. Your name.

“Y/N...please, let me-” Mr. Choi moans, his eyes closed, he is unaware of your presence.

However, he doesn't get to finish his sentence because you are so shocked that you drop the bowl of cereal, which shatters on the ground with a loud noise.

“Fuck, I'm so so sorry,” you murmur nervously as your boss finally notices you watching him.

His cheeks flushed, his lips pouting, he is the most adorable you've ever seen him. He hurries to tuck his cock back into his pants and turn off the TV.

“N-no, I'm sorry...Miss L/N, what are you doing here?”

Oh, so you're Miss L/N now...Very well, then.

“I apologize. It must have slipped my mind that the kids are with their grandparents today.”

“It must have,” Mr. Choi repeats coldly, obviously embarrassed by this situation.

You wonder if you should tell him what you heard. Would that be unprofessional? But then again, he is the one who said your name, so...what is professional anyway?

“Do you want me to leave?”

He sighs deeply.

“What's the point? You already saw me...fuck, I feel so humiliated.”

“Why would you feel humiliated? Am I so undesirable that my presence immediately turned you off?” you ask bluntly.

“That's not the case and you know it.”

“I'm not sure I know anything anymore,” you admit. “You...said my name. How is that supposed to make me feel?”

“You were never meant to hear that,” Mr. Choi hides his face behind his hands, the redness refusing to leave his complexion.

“But I did. So, what now?”

“Please, don't quit. I realize that what I did is unforgivable but...the kids care about you so much, it would devastate them to lose you.”

“I wasn't even thinking of quitting. But...are the kids the only ones who care about me?” you need to know.

“No...As it so happens, I care about you.”

“So, stop hiding from me,” you don't know where that boldness comes from as you grab his wrists and remove his hands, so you can look at his face. Fuck, he's so pretty.

“You're not...grossed out by me?” Mr. Choi blinks at you in surprise.

“Kinda flattered, actually,” you confess. “But I'd like it much better if you let me take care of your frustrations.”

“You would?” he is unable to believe his luck when you drop on your knees in front of him and take him out of his pants again, engulfing his cock with your pretty mouth. “Y/N...”

The way he says your name is enough to make you even more enthusiastic, sucking him deeper and bobbing your head to the best of your abilities. He grips your hair tightly and you make sure not a drop is spilled as you swallow his cum down your throat. You wipe off your lips and sit down next to him, unsure of what to do next.

“Mr. Choi...”

“Call me Cheol, please.”

“Cheol...may I kiss you?”

Seungcheol doesn't respond and instead kisses you passionately, grabbing your face with his hands. His tongue is exploring your mouth in ways you'd never imagined could bring so much pleasure and you can't resist the urge to sit in his lap. Somehow, against all reason, he's hard again, as you grind against him. Fuck. He's so hot and sweet and amazing you just want to make him happy. How anyone could cheat on this fine man is beyond you.

“Um...not to assume or anything, but do you have a condom?” you ask sheepishly.

“I do, yes,” Seungcheol goes to his coat and brings a package.

“I mean, don't get me wrong, I love kids, but I think we should be responsible considering this is our first time together and you already have three of your own,” you're probably talking too much but oh well. Better safe than sorry.

“No, I understand. You're totally right.”

“Will you fuck me?” you inquire.

“Here? On the couch?” Seungcheol is in disbelief.

“Well...you were touching yourself here, but I guess it's whatever. Your home, after all.”

He chuckles, suddenly embarrassed again.

“Come on, let's go to my room.”

Seungcheol offers you his hand and you follow him upstairs excitedly. Is this really happening? Are you seriously going to do this with your boss?

He lifts your chin up because he notices you're not meeting his eyes out of nervousness.

“Look at me,” he commands you easily and you're on the verge of falling apart and he hasn't even undressed you yet. The power this man holds over you... “We don't have to do this if you're not ready.”

“It's not that. I do want this. It's just...I don't remember if I told you but I was also cheated on. A little before I came to work here. And like, I haven't been intimate for a while, so I'm nervous. What if I mess something up?”

“Okay, first of all, give me that asshole's address, I just wanna talk. And second of all...darling, I haven't been intimate since way before my divorce took place. Trust me, I'm a lot more nervous than you right now.”

You shake your head.

“Whatever you do, I'm sure I'll find it like super hot.”

Seungcheol laughs and tilts his head, kissing you again.

“You're so cute,” he whispers against your mouth. “I can't wait to ruin you.”

And just like that, it's as if a switch is flipped. He pushes you onto the bed and leans above you menacingly, a devilish smirk painting his pretty face. Seungcheol pushes your dress up hurriedly, touching you all over.

“You really thought you could get away with it, huh? Walking around my house in those dresses of yours looking so sexy? Tempting me?”

“N-no, s-sir,” you murmur, not knowing where the title is coming from.

“God, I'm such a cliché. An old man unable to resist the gorgeous young nanny...”

“You're not old, sir,” you try to reassure him. You're not sure if he's just engaging in dirty talk or is actually having some insecurities. He's still young in your eyes. Whatever the case, you're there for him.

“Don't lie to me, sweetheart. I'm too old for ya...I have three kids. What do you have, hm?” Seungcheol speaks while caressing your pussy through your panties.

“I have you, sir,” you smile and palm his dick teasingly.

He sighs wistfully and buries his head between your folds, licking and teasing until you're a soaking mess for him.

“S-sir, p-please...C-cheol, don't stop,” you cry out helplessly.

It feels so good, too good. He holds you down, hands gripping your thighs as you cum against his tongue. He barely gives you any time to recover as he rolls up a condom on his cock. You stare at him hungrily, impatient to have him inside of you.

Seungcheol is like the drug everyone warned you about. Once you have him, you won't be able to quit.

“Are you ready?” he asks softly in sharp contrast with his previous behaviour.

“Please take me, Cheol,” you would beg if you had to.

And take you he does, entering you deeply with his big cock.

“Fuck, you're so tight, barely fitting me in,” he speaks, stroking your clit in circular motions with his thumb, while he fucks you harshly.

“It's okay, I won't break, sir,” you try to convince him.

“What if I want you to break, little girl?” Seungcheol inquires, his voice half-joking, half-serious, as he.

“Then, I'd be happy to serve you, daddy,” the word slips from your lips before you could think twice about it.

“Daddy, huh? You need daddy to make you cum?” you are grateful he plays along instead of making fun of you in this very vulnerable moment.

“Yes, daddy, please, I'll do anything for you,” you promise in a daze.

“Cum for me, sweet girl, let daddy take care of you,” his deep voice is enough to bring you to the edge.

“Fuuuck, daddy...Cheol,” you mumble repeatedly, as white appears before your eyes.

You're shaking in his arms but it feels like flying.

“I've got you, angel, daddy's right here,” Seungcheol comforts you, as he rides out his own high, spilling inside the condom. Then, taking it off and throwing it in the garbage bin, he hurries back to you.

You make grabby hands at him and he envelops you in a hug.

“I'm here, sweetheart,” he kisses your forehead gently and you melt against his chest.

“Cheol...I think you just murdered me a little,” you laugh.

“Well, then, I better make sure I revive you, because I can't imagine my life without you.”

“Good. You ain't getting rid of me.”

“That sounds perfect because me and the kids would like you to stick around.”

“Oh God, the kids! What time are they coming back?”

“We've got time, don't worry, they should-”

“Daaaad, we're home!” you hear Dino's loud voice from downstairs.

“Fuck,” Cheol curses under his breath and the two of you hurry to make yourselves look somewhat presentable.

Once dressed and back in the living room, you can only hope that you're not too obvious about what went down. However, you can't stop yourself from glancing at Seungcheol and he's just as flustered as you.

“Oh, hi, Y/N,” Dino greets you as if it's completely normal for you to be there. As if you belong.

“How was your time with your grandparents?” you ask, trying to act casual.

“We had so much ice cream!” Elsie squeals excitedly.

“Grandma and Grandpa took us to the park,” Chaerry starts telling you about everything they did in great detail and you are glad that the shy girl you first met is becoming a confident young woman.

Elsie is asking for more ice cream but Seungcheol is explaining that it's lunch time. Dino is painting the table with mustard and honestly, that's so on brand for him...

It is funny where desperation brought you. You realize this is the happiest you've been in a while.

Later, when Seungcheol catches you alone after spending the afternoon with the kids, he asks:

“I know we kinda messed up the proper order of things, but...would you like to go on a date with me?”

“Oh! I'd love that, Cheol. Is it okay to still call you that?”

“Yeah, it's alright.”

“What about in front of the kids? I'm not sure to what point you'd like to mix professional with...personal life.”

“In front of the kids is okay, too,” he laughs, scratching the back of his head. “Actually, do you know what Elsie keeps asking me?”

“What?”

“When will you make Y/N my new mommy?”

“Yeah, that definitely sounds like something Elsie would say.”

“So, um, no pressure. But I think you're more than the nanny to me.”

“Well, I would certainly hope so. I didn't raise you, mister!”

Seungcheol can't miss the opportunity for a joke. He takes hold of your hand and places it on top of his...very hard dick.

“You raised him, though,” he whispers.

“Mr. Choi!” you hiss, scandalized. “I mean...Cheol.”

“Did you mean daddy?” Seungcheol teases you relentlessly.

“Stop it, you deviant!” you shake your head. “Fuck, you'll never let me live this down, will ya?”

“Do you kiss your boss with that mouth?” he smirks.

“Don't mind if I do,” you reply and bring your lips to his.

A year passes by quickly. You love every day of your life. Whether it'll be spending time with the kids, or going on fun dates with your boss turned boyfriend, or having mind-blowing sex with said specimen, you are truly happy with how things turned out for the best.

With one tiny thing missing.

“Cheol, can I ask you something?” you mumble one evening, as you are playing with his soft, fluffy hair.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Seungcheol turns towards you, giving you his fullest attention.

“Have you ever thought about having more kids?”

“Hmm, it hasn't crossed my mind. I already have three kids. But it depends. Is that something you're interested in?”

“Not till now. But if it's with you, I'd love to have a kid,” you confess shyly.

“Well, then, let's make you a mommy,” Seungcheol quickly makes it his mission and for the first time, doesn't use a condom.

“Yes, please, daddy, give me your cum,” you moan wantonly, as he fucks you deep.

“Take it like the good girl you are, I'll give you all I've got, fuck a baby in ya,” he grunts in your ear, sounding even more excited than you are.

“I love it, feel so full,” you whimper and can't stop kissing him. You can't believe this beautiful man is yours and wants to give you another present.

“That's right, sweetheart, I'll stuff you full of it,” he moans and releases himself inside you. Your walls clench around him, pulling him deeper, as you reach your high.

Seungcheol gently pushes the cum that's spilling out of your pussy back inside and lifts your legs up.

“Do you think it'll stick?” you ask doubtfully.

“Can't hurt to try again until it does,” he shrugs, determined to succeed.

Nine months later, as you welcome the twins into the family, you realize you've never expected to achieve so much happiness.

“You really had to outdo yourself and give me not one but two babies,” you playfully push Seungcheol's shoulder.

“Is it too late now to say sorry?” he grins nervously.

“Don't be. I'm more than satisfied. But you'll have to give me a raise!”

“I'll give you something better than that,” Seungcheol promises and pulls a diamond ring out of his pocket.

“Oh my God,” you are in shock.

“Y/N...you've given me more than I could ever hope to deserve. You started off as a nanny but you became my three kids' best friend and now, the mother of two more angels. You became my closest person, my source of joy, my sweetheart. Knowing that I can come home to you is the best thing that's ever happened to me. Will you do me the absolute honour of becoming my wife?”

“Yes, of course, yes!” you say through your tears and kiss him, as he slides the ring on your finger.

“Can I call you mommy now?” Elsie peeks her adorable head behind the door, followed by Dino and Chaerry, who are all excited by the good news.

“Congratulations, Y/N!” Chaerry greets you with a hug and whispers: “Thanks for taking one for the team and making our lonely old man. happy.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Seungcheol complains loudly.

Dino jumps on the back of his dad with a loud squeal.

“You better treat her right, Dad!” the boy warns. “Or I'll ketchup your room!”

“Why do I feel like I'm the one being welcomed into the family?” Seungcheol bemoans his fate but he's never smiled wider.

“You'll get used to it,” you joke. “Come on, guys, meet your new brother and sister.”

“Hii, babies!” Elsie and Dino jump excitedly around the twins.

“Oh, they're so cute! Aren't they so cute, Dad?” Chaerry coos at the babies.

“They are, but it's too early for you to think about how cute babies are. Look at me...I already have five. Isn't it tragic?” Seungcheol keeps messing around.

“It could have been twelve or something,” you play along.

“I can't imagine,” Seungcheol cries out indignantly. But deep down, maybe he can.

The End

[moonstruckme]

a thought:

reader is literally so grouchy and bratty and tired and is accidentally snapping at (whoever u want) and thennn they take initiative to casual dominance her to take a nap after some tea and it’s just so crazy fluffy!!!

Thanks for requesting!

cw: d/s dynamics

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 708 words

You’d claimed to want to read with Remus on the couch, but you keep huffing like your book is your least favorite thing in the world. Remus wraps a hand around your thigh, rubbing a slow back and forth with his thumb in an attempt to pacify you. He knows precisely what this mood is about. 

“Ugh, this construction noise is the worst!” You glare out the window as if hoping the men across the street will see. 

“Why don’t you use my headphones and try to have a nap, dove,” Remus suggests mildly. “You didn’t get much sleep last night, sounds like it’s catching up to you.” 

You bristle at the implication. “I’m not tired, I’m just sick of this. Nobody asked for the road to be redone. It was perfectly fine before.” 

Remus shoots you a sideways look. The road outside your house was riddled with potholes, and you both know it. If you were in a better mood, you’d be baking cookies for the construction workers to thank them. 

You ignore it, huffing again. “I’m gonna get some dinner,” you say, setting your book down roughly as you stand. 

“Last night’s leftovers are in the fridge.” 

“Don’t feel like those.” 

Remus gives your bum a light swat through your sweatpants as you go by. “Eat something real,” he warns. 

You make a vexed harrumphing sound. He chooses not to hear it. 

What he does hear, less than a minute later, is popcorn popping in the microwave. Remus sighs through his nose, tenting his book on the coffee table and pursuing you into the kitchen. You don’t turn around as his footsteps approach. 

“Dove.” Remus takes your hips, turning you manually. “That’s not a real dinner.” 

You shrug, obstinate. Your stare looks like you’re itching for a fight. “It’s what I feel like.” 

“You haven’t had anything with a vegetable in it all day. You need to pick something else.” 

You roll your eyes, turning back around. Ignoring him. Remus hits the button to shut off the microwave. 

You spin back around, eyes flashing. “You can’t—” 

“That’s enough.” He takes your jaw in his hand, your chin resting at the apex of his thumb and forefinger. “You’re being a brat,” he says in a low, steady voice, “because you’re sleepy and probably because you haven’t eaten a real meal since yesterday. That stops now. You’re going to eat the dinner you made yesterday, which you liked, and then go have a nap. Understand?” 

Remus isn’t really irritated with you. You’re being unruly, sure, but these moods always end once you get what you’re looking for from him. Now he’s given you it, you’ll calm down. 

It’s fucking precious, the way your temper melts away under his hard gaze. Your eyes round out and your head sits heavier in his hand, remorse finding its way into your expression. 

“Sorry,” you say, tone about ten degrees milder than it had just been. 

Remus rolls his eyes at you, squishing your cheeks between his fingers. “I know, darling. You can still make it up to me. Heat up those leftovers, okay?” 

You hum, and he lets you go, kissing the hill of your cheek. 

A minute later, you join him in the living room, curling up next to him on the couch while you eat and he reads. Your posture is already less rigid, the both of you enveloped in companionable silence and the smell of warm food. Your fork clinks as you set your plate down on the coffee table, and when you don’t get up to go to bed, Remus looks over at you. Your eyes are already on him, a question in them.

He fights to repress the smile that curves his lips. “What?” 

“Can I sleep here?” you ask hopefully. “Would it distract you if I put my head on your lap?” 

Remus coos. “No, sweetheart, of course you can.” 

“Are you sure?” you ask, though you’re already lying down, him uncrossing his legs to make his lap more comfortable for you. “You’re not still mad at me?” 

He tsks, petting your hair while you get comfortable. “I’m not. Wanna know a secret?” 

You hum, eyes already closing. 

“I’m never really mad at you, dove.”

[thegnomelord]

just read about demon hunter reader and demon ghost cuddling, and the first thing i thought was how ghost would react if, one of these times, reader ends up having a wet dream and dry humping his ass 😋

about time that our demon thinks of getting laid, he's disgusted and turned on at the same time

Sorry this took a while lads :Dd, I'm getting back into writing after all that shit with my school but I got a summer job as an assistant medical worker with 12h shifts every other day so It might take a bit for me to write stuff.

Hush, Hunter

CW:NSFW, MDNI, demon Simon Ghost Riley x male hunter reader, grinding, wet dreams, handjob, blowjob, size difference (demon ghost is like 11 feet tall.)

Your ‘husband’ is strange, even by demon standards.

He grumbles about the inconvenience brought on by your mortal failings and fragility, growling whenever you have to stop at a gas station to buy food or at some dingy motel to sleep. He grumbles even more about being confined in the stolen human skin suit he's forced to wear to blend in.

You can ignore the stranger with the stolen face and hellfire eyes throwing dark glares at you for the most part, except for when the demon decides to make the binding ring around your finger heat up when you spend too long talking to the pretty cashier. And it only takes a few more seconds of not paying heed to the incessant burn before Ghost Simon looms behind you, glaring at the flustered cashier like she’s a fey trying to trick you into the Fey Lord’s court.

And the big bastard never gives you any explanation on why he’s acting like that, just drags you back to your car, slamming the doors closed with enough strength to shake the entire vehicle. He’s like a cat honestly; hisses at you, but doesn’t want to let you out of his sight or claws.

But when your nightmares get so bad your only chance of sleeping is on the floor, well hidden behind the bed with your back flush with the dingy motel wall, Ghost surprises you by laying down with you. Sure he grumbles about the demeaning position - laying like some mongrel dog - but he still does it.

Ghost is on his side, his broad muscular back to you, rough inky scales swallowing all the moonlight that filters through the blinds and turning him into a pitch black wall of muscle. He’s so still you might even think he’s sleeping – you know he’s not; demons aren’t tied to mortal laws, nor are they subject to time’s iron grip, that’s what makes hunting demons so dangerous. The only indication you have that he’s awake is the occasional twitch of his tail and the slight shuffle of his wings when you accidentally get closer to him in your attempt to get a comfortable position.

You flinch when his one wing spreads out and back, but the blanket of black and blood dyed feathers soon eases the tension in your body. Probably too quickly, definitely too quickly, but Ghost doesn’t draw attention to it and neither do you and the night is cold and he is blissfully warm and he stays stock still when you shuffle a bit closer. You're glad he pays no attention to you when you get comfortable against him, barely an inch of space between you two.

His feathers tickle your face, they’re softer than you’d expect a wrath demon to have, fluffy like the down of chicks. His scent invades your nose, rough leather and steel oil and something distinctly demonic you can’t name. . . but it’s strangely comforting.

Laying only an inch or two away from a demon goes against everything you’ve ever been taught. Your nerves should be on a razor’s edge, but instead you’re calm. You don’t know why your fucked up mind finds comfort in the fact a possible threat would need to go through half a ton of murderous wrath demon to get to you. And you don’t want to think about it either, you’ve had far too many sleepless nights for your brain to care how you manage to sleep so long as you do. And the moment you close your eyes, you’re out like a light.

Ghost has gotten used to your nightmares.

Just like his father’s absent love, your nightmares are consistent. He’s almost impressed how such a frail thing like you could hunt the likes of hydras and Hell Dukes when you barely sleep a wink most nights. The longest you’ve gone is a couple of hours of restful sleep before you woke up trying to claw your eyes out. You never talk about it, nor does he, Ghost may be a demon but he knows far too well how the mind can haunt someone.

And Ghost has gotten good at telling apart the individual nightmares by how you squirm in your sleep.

It takes a little longer for the nightmare to start than usual, but he knows you’re neck deep in it when you heart starts it’s frantic drumming in your chest. He ruffles his feathers as your hands grip his sides, your breath fanning over his skin. He thinks it might be the basilisk haunting you this time by the way you press yourself flush with his back, burying your face into the space between his shoulder blades until your nose is flush with his spine, back hunching to further shield your eyes.

Ghost doesn’t, nor will he ever, mention the low happy rumble that escapes him when you snuggle up to him. His feathers fluff up, the scratchy hair of his tail flattening down - about as silk soft as he can make them. It’s little better than throwing pearls before swine, you won’t remember any of this after all, but doing this strangely doesn’t feel as much of a burden as it should.

Usually the low deep purring growling will chase away your nightmares and lull you into a dreamless sleep for a little while, but not this time. You squirm against his back like an eel, muscles tensing to grip his sides until dregs of pain dance along his spine. Your breath fans across his scales, your heart pounding in his ears like that of a rabbit’s caught in a snare. He’s just about ready to turn around and wake you before he feels it—

Your arousal pokes his back, hard like iron.

Only now does he pick up the slight sweetness of arousal in your adrenaline rich scent. “Hm- fuck.” You mumble as you roll your hips to grind your cock against him. “Slow- fuck fuck- slow down.” You breathe out, and Ghost swears this must be another part of his father’s eternal punishment. The sudden thought that your dream is of a sexual nature smites him with all the intensity of his father’s rage.

Who do you think you are, taking his little mercies for granted? Who do you think you are, grinding against him like some mongrel mutt? Who do you think you are holding him as if you are more than the eventual reward for the maggots fervent prayers? Who do you think you are—

“Ghost- Simon. . .” His name, his original name, leaves your lips; it’s the softest he’s ever heard you speak.

“Human.” He seethes and rolls around, pushing the warm feeling –warm like a campfire compared to the blistering pits down below that usually dwell in his chest– out of his mind. “Disgusting.” You’re so small compared to him, your head could easily fit in his rough hand, a momentary lapse in the binding’s protection all that it would take for his flesh rending claws to cleave through your skull. He’s thought about it often, of the look in your eyes as your life fades, of how good your blood would taste, of how nice your shoulder would look with his teeth marks on it. . .

His hand is gentle as he reaches to brush your cheek, like he’s handling glass, rumbling when you lean into the touch. “Wretched thing.” He growls, hand sliding from your cheek to your back and pulling you close. He feels you nuzzle into his wide chest, carefully bullying his thigh between yours, steel hard muscle tensing to give you a good surface to grind on. “Nothing more but a mongrel waste of flesh.” He doesn’t notice how quickly his voice has lost heat, barely above a murmur as he listens to your breathless gasp and watches your back arch.

For someone usually so guarded, you are painfully naked in flesh and soul, responding so wantonly to his touches; from low moans to soft little murmurs of ‘Simon’ and ‘more’ that has him mindlessly rubbing his thigh against your crotch in hopes of getting more of those so painfully human sounds. You moan and nuzzle into his chest, your body like soft clay in his hands now that you’re no longer shackled by the chains of pride and prejudice that your mind conjures around him

You’re like a strange bug to him; a part of him wants to pin you down, to tear you apart with vicious claws and see if there’s anything different in the way your heart beats, in the way your lungs move, in the way you exist — something substantial to show why holding you in his arms doesn’t feel as degrading as it should.

He wonders, briefly, if this is what God saw that made him love Adam so much. Why God did not have the heart to kill Adam for his disobedience.

Greed moves his hands like they’re puppets on strings, flesh rending claws carefully tracing the bumps of old and fresh scars that dot your abdomen — perhaps you aren’t so pathetic, it takes strength to survive this long. Your skin prickles from his touch, your breath fanning over the rough belly scales protecting his front as his hand slowly moves down. He hooks a claw under the band of your underwear and pulls down until your cock springs out right into Ghost’s hand.

Ghost hasn’t seen many cocks before, why would he?, but a low sound comes from his chest at how neatly your cock fits in his hand, how neatly all of you fit against him. And only now does it dawn on him that he doesn’t know how to do this— he’s a wrath demon for fuck’s sake, he understands war and bloodshed like it’s the back of his hand, but this? This is new territory.

Well, he’s never been one to back down when he’s gotten this far.

His hand slowly closes into a fist, just a little loose around you. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t be anything but gentle in the way he strokes you. Your hips move on their own, gentle little rocks to fuck your cock into his fist and he follows along with the motion. It’s a little rough at first, he feels how the dry slide of his hand makes you shiver, but he soon finds a nice pace as your precum eases the glide of flesh on flesh.

He wants to see your face when you moan, but he can’t bring himself to pull you away from his chest when you cling to him so sweetly, your lips mindlessly ghosting over his scales. So he contends himself with coiling his tail around your leg, draping a wing over you so there’s a barrier between you and the rest of the world, so no creature from heaven high or deep below may entertain the thought of taking what’s his.

No good thing lasts for long.

He feels you wake like the first thaw in spring, slow and gradual, eyes fluttering open, mind still clouded with pleasure to really understand the position you’re in. He takes advantage of that, gripping your hip to keep you close, swirling his tumb in the precum beading at your head and squeezing his hand just right to coerce a breathless moan from your chest.

Then your eyes snap open, realisation hitting you with the same intensity as the punch you throw at his skull. But the ‘marriage’ turns that show of force into a gentle caress of the skull cheek of his ‘face’. “Ghost what the fuck are you-” You begin, cut off as another clench of his hand has you gripping his forearm and biting your lip to silence yourself. 

“Oh hush hunter.” Ghost rumbles low in his throat, his wing tensing behind your back to bring you in closer, soft blood dyed feathers encasing you in a cocoon of warmth against his cool belly scales. “No need to wake the other worms.” Disdain and mockery drip from his voice like molasses, yet strangely it doesn’t feel aimed at you. . . it must just be the pleasure making you believe that.

“You- bastard!” You snarl, trying to summon the hunter savagery that had been meticulously beaten into you, but it slumbers like a fat cat. “Fuck off- get away from me.” You aim to slam your fist against his scaled abdomen, just a little lower and to the side where the floating ribs should be, but all you manage is a slow caress of his side and back up his chest where you can feel his eternal soul burning beneath the flesh.

He laughs and slides his hand down, rolling your balls in his wide hand and squeezing just enough to be at the edge of pain– shit, that should not feel so good. You hiss and throw your head back despite the inherent danger of exposing your throat. He tilts his head down, ghostly breath washing over your ear, “We both know if you wanted this to stop you would have done so.” Oh, now you can just feel the mockery in his voice, sweet like honey that it is.

Some petulant part of you thinks of arguing, anything to retain what remains of your damn pride, but then he slides his hand back up, pressing your cock against your stomach and grinding the palm of his hand against your shaft and all the thoughts of arguing are pushed to the side by the tide of pleasure. Fuck, it’s been far too long since you ‘took care’ of things, it’s not like you have much time to wank off, let alone with Ghost hanging over your shoulder like some grim reaper. And hell, if any other hunter heard you let a damn demon jack you off, yours would be the next head put on the stake but. . . but Ghost is surprisingly gentle with you, not a single hint of pain coming from his touches, not even from his claws gently running down your side.

“Fine-” You suck in a sharp breath, head fixed to stare directly at his chest. “Make it quick.”

You feel him smirk against your ear, “As you wish, hunter.” He laughs lowly, like you’re nothing but a cute puppy chewing on his shoelaces, “Though, you should thank me for debasing myself like this.” He growls, and with a sharp move of his wing he rolls you on your back. 

You gasp as your back hits the sleeping mat, and before you can even struggle Ghost looms over you, a wall of muscle and dark scaled flesh. “Fuck no.” You growl, some scraps of pride still clinging to your mind, though even those are threatened when his broad hand returns to stroking your cock, faster this time, the drag of his palm making pleasure sizzle up your spine. Your head rolls back to rest on the mat and you don’t even notice when you close your eyes. You’re not sure how Ghost is so good at this, something sharp like jealousy curling in your stomach at the thought of him doing this to someone else. But it’s hard to think when you can feel and hear him purring, his claws gently tracing your stomach and leaving lingering heat everywhere they touch.

You jump as something slick brushes over your balls, “Look, good hunter.” He growls and you listen without thought, eyes wide when you see his tongue— it extends from the darkness of his head just beneath the rotten upper teeth of his skull, long, black, thick strings of oil coloured spit dripping off his tongue. “That’s better,” He purrs; you’re not sure how he can talk, and you’re unable to ask because he leans in closer until your cock rests against his skull, his hellfire eyes burning in the darkness and giving just enough light for you to see his long black tongue curl around your base like a snake. 

Shit– he wants to kill you.

“Holy fuck Ghost-” You breathe out, lungs burning before you remember how to breathe. His tongue moves, squeezing your base and sliding lower to lap at your balls. You’re forced to bite your finger to stop the painfully pathetic sound burning on your tongue.

He stops moving and you’re thankful he doesn’t mention the whine that slips past your lips. “Simon.” He demands, oily spit clinging to your skin and making it tingle with heat.

“Simon.” You nod along dumbly, “Fuck- Simon.”

“Good.” You imagine he’s smiling when he says that, his hand returning to stroke your cock in reward. “Call me that again.” He says, a purr rumbling in his chest and you can’t help but moan at how the vibrations travel through his tongue, making it act like a vibrating toy.

Your hands fly to grip his horns, the pleasure making you throw your head back yet you try to keep your eyes on him, hiccuping his name between harsh breaths. He doesn’t mind the touch on his horns, leaning into the touch before flicking his tongue at your taint. He rewards you for each time you say his old name, tongue and hand working in tandem to slowly and steadily march you towards release. 

You try to tug on his horns to warn him, or maybe to pull him away, but he pays no heed; he doubles his efforts, wetly slurping at your balls and base while his hand toys with your crown, his free hand holding your hips down so all you can do is weather the pleasure until you’re finally pulled under the waves. “Simon-” You gasp, cum spurting all over his hand and your stomach. 

You watch through lidded eyes as he retracts his hand, keeping his gaze on you as he lazily licks up your cum from his hand. “Better than I expected.” He rumbles, more to himself than you, leaning up to drag his long slimy tongue across your stomach to gather up all your cum.

 Shit, that sight got you hard again before you could even soften.

You’re not sure if the greed you see spark in his eyes makes you scared or even harder, but you’re not left any room to think further about it before his tongue wraps around your cock again.

Unfortunately for you, demons have no concept of time as mortals know it, so his ‘quick’ ends up being the entire rest of the night. At one point you get to the point you’re sure Ghost is trying to kill you with all the pleasure, spit polishing your cock until he’s satisfied and by that point the sun is rising and your voice is hoarse.

You can’t meet the gaze of the motel receptionist in the morning, but Ghost Simon, looks smug like the cat who ate the canary.

[radiance1]

Danny often felt tired, as of late.

He wasn't certain as to why he did, though. It happened after his, apparent, coronation as the Prince of the Infinite Realms and after finally getting a boyfriend out of that damsel in distress who made him into one.

Which was unfortunate, because though he may try, it was very hard to pay attention on dates when Danny felt he just came from using the Ecto-Skeleton and no amount of sleep would make it go away. Fortunately, however, Billy was very understanding and accommodating of his plight, letting him sleep on him whenever he wanted and having their dates be less mentally/physically demanding things.

Man, Danny loved his boyfriend.

Unfortunately, he was away on one of his Justice League mission things.

Another thing he noticed, is that he liked to sleep in more cold places now. Very, very cold places.

So much so, that he genuinely debated moving to the Far Frozen if not for his parents turning his room into a literal walk-in freezer for him.

Did he ever find out why he needs to sleep so much? No, not really. But man.

Danny could go down for a nap right now.

---

Pariah was having a good, very good day.

He woke up, stretched, ate some food he didn't actually need to, did some light exercises after aeons of not using his sword and just fighting in general and sat down for some tea.

Even had a letter from the Master of Time with a P.S that two humans would be busting down his door!

Wait what-

"Ghost King!" Came the rather loud, effeminate shout accompanying the loud slam of his castle doors. "Where is our son!"

Honestly, Pariah is impressed by the lungs on that human.

"You heard her!" He looked down calmly at the... Actually, what in the infinite is that? Since when did humans go walking around with cannons??? "Tell us where our son is our so help me! Ghost King or not we'll exorcise you right where you stand!"

Pariah blinked slowly, very, very slowly.

Then took a sip of his favorite ghost blend then calmly placed the cup back down.

"You must be the boy's, human, parents I presume?" He asked calmly, gaze sweeping over them both. They seemed to be prepared for war, a burning fire in their eyes as they stared down the very King of Infinity and saw only an obstacle.

Oooooh, how that made the part of him that longed, sung for battle purr in sheer delight.

"Why don't you join me for tea?" He said, waving a hand and conjuring forth two extra, human sized, chairs on the opposing end of his table alongside two more tea cups. "And explain whatever is going on, while you're at it."

The two shared a glance between each other, then slowly lowered their weapons down to a point where they could still draw them at a moment's notice, yet not actively antagonizing the king at the same time-

Oh, he just loves these types of mortals.

-before slowly making their way to their seats, which were right next to each other of course. Married and whatnot.

"Tea?" He flicked a finger, filling their cups with the same that was in his cup but before remembering. "Ah, right. Human and your mortality." He casually mentioned, flicking his finger and changing the liquid to one of the few mortal blends he could still recall. "Worry not, for they are not poisoned." He chuckled lightly.

Honestly, doing such a thing would be beneath him, especially when faced with mortals of such fire.

"Now," He brought his cup to his lips. "Why don't you inform me as to what, exactly, has brought you to my doorstep prepared for battle?"

They, once more, exchanged a glance between each other, making sure the king was still in sight before Maddie opened her lips.

"Our son is missing."

---

The summoning was a success.

A terrible, terrible success.

One that the Justice League, One John Constantine especially, had valiantly attempted to stop.

But, unfortunately, once it got going it seemed to be incapable of stopping.

Faced with an entity being summoned from the Infinite Realms, they had called all of the heroes who were capable that weren't occupied. Shazam, unfortunately, was one of said heroes occupied.

Superman and Wonderwoman? Were not. So, at the very least, they had two of their heaviest hitters available.

The circle glowed a toxic green, growing and growing in glow until it reached its zenith.

Then was snuffed out as brightly as it glowed.

The air stilled, followed by a chill that rivaled the chilliest of snowstorms as if they were standing within one that very moment.

The next moment?

Ice.

Pure, unflinching, jagged pillars of ice rose from the circle the same moment it glow returned. Sticking out from the circle haphazardly and nearly impaling those that stood too close.

Mist, thick, blue mist. Rolled from the pillars of ice, descending down onto the floor with a gentleness that was almost deceptive if not occupied by such cold and being completely and utterly unnatural as it was.

The Justice League readied themselves.

[genderless-naper]

healing hearts

trafalgar law x gf!reader

↳ requested, sfw, fluff!

wc: 2.2k, lowercase intended!

after exploring a new island law finds himself having to care for you due to your weak immune system

⇣ credits to the original artist

the island the submarine docked at had a bustling town that was ready to be explored by the heart pirates. you followed your crew mates as they venture through the different stalls and try exotic foods. the overflowing of the townspeople caused you to lose track of your crewmate. you didn’t worry much, and decided to use this opportunity to do some solo exploration.

you talked with some vendors, played with some kids, fed the stray cats, and so much more. at the end of the day you met up with your once lost crew mates at the docked submarine. you all chatted and exchanged experiences regarding the now explored town. you found yourself engulfed in all the fun stories being told, and you hadn’t realized you had started coughing.

the cough wasn’t horrible. it was light enough to be brushed off without a second thought. the only person which the cough raised concerned for was your captain, and beloved significant other. he recognized the patterns of what he called your ‘weak immune system’. it would always play out the same; you go exploring a new area, you meet people and try new things, you seem fine during the moment, but then come down with some of the worst ailment law has seen.

just as he predicted you spent your night in a mess. your cough would become so aggressive it would jolt you both out of your sleep realms. your sneezes would fill the bed with used tissues. an extra bin was readily placed on the floor next to the bed in the situation where you might’ve a bad case of food poisoning and had to throw up. law always prepares supplies the nights he expects you to need them.

this wasn’t the first time your weakened immune system caused law to have to play personal doctor. these strange occurrences leave law to work overtime to be able to cater to your road towards a healthier reality for you. it was natural for him, and be wouldn’t want any other person to be the one to care for you. he made sure he was the only person in attendance to help during these times.

he rubbed your back as you blew into a tissue, “bad night huh? you need to drink some water y/n-ya.”

you blew one last time before responding in a slight raspy voice, “i cant drink anything. my throat hurts too much…”

you attempted to throw the used tissue into the trash, but ultimately missing causing you to sigh in frustration. law sits up in bed and rubs the sleepiness out his eyes. he uses his devil fruit abilities to move the tissues into the trashcan.

he got up to retrieve his kikoku in order to assess your symptoms correctly. he made his way back as he ordered you to lay down and get comfortable. he called out ‘scan’ as he hovered the kikoku back and fourth over your body. once he’s finished he put it away, “it isn’t horrible. it’s just some respiratory virus. were you near anything that could have caused it?”

“i don’t know.”

law didn’t expect you to know the exact cause for your ailment, “it’ll be okay. nonetheless it will take a week or so for you to feel better. maybe this might finally strengthen your immune sy-“

you interrupted the tattooed man as you started to cough up a storm again. law mentally accepted the fact that he would be quite busy for the next week.

throughout the week your symptoms seem to worsen. they would especially peak during the night. law could easily recognize the moments when you were unnaturally out of breath, had a runny nose, slightly puffy eyes, and especially when you’d sleep for hours on end daily. he pitied you because of how susceptible you were to getting sick. when the day for chores came around you protested against the man to let you out of bed, “i need to get my chores done! they’re my responsibility law.”

“i’ll have penguin and shachi complete them.”

you continue to object, “i’m not gonna drag other people into my messes. i’m gonna do them myself.” you tried your best to get out of bed, but in the end your struggles were meaningless. law sat right next to your laying position in bed, and gently rested an arm on your stomach to keep you down.

“you can’t finish your chores if you can barely get up yourself baby. i know you want to help, but as your doctor i need you to focus on getting better first.”

you huffed and shook your head to refuse.

law gave you a look which made you stop your antics. it was an earnest look which alerted you of his serious character, “you need to recover, not do irrelevant chores. you don’t listen to what i say.”

law was tempted to use his authority to command you to listen. the only thing stopping him was that he didn’t want to create a power imbalance between you both. he wanted to show you that he really did care for you instead of just forcing you to listen to what he has to say.

he leans down to your laying position and kissed your hair hoping it will lower your walls, “just let me take care of you y/n-ya”

“but i don’t wanna distract you from your work.”

he shook his head, “it’s not a distraction if it means i get to help you feel better.” he thought of a way to finally convince you, “don’t you always say i work too hard? well i’m taking a break to be with you while you’re sick.”

his logic was too good for you to fight against this time. as you tried your best to find a way to fight back law’s reasoning until a knocking came from the door. you both avert your attention to the door opening.

penguin and bepo poke their heads in. bepo speaks up, “captain! y/n! we were looking all over for you.”

penguin nods, “we’re planning ikakku’s surprise birthday party that’s tonight! you guys have to to make sure you’re there.”

law shook his head and spoke in a protective voice, “y/n is sick. she isn’t leaving from here. the submarine is too cold for her.”

both penguin and bepo whine to the captains response. you pout as you sit up. you gave look a law that could break his heart. it was the saddest puppy eyes he had ever seen you pull.

“but i wanna go to the birthday party…”

law had to stay firm in his decision, “i know you want to go, but we have to focus on you getting better.”

you tried to compromise knowing it would be the only thing to get the logical man to budge, “i’ll bundle up! and i wont have anything that could make me feel more sick! please please please law!”

your pleads were followed by penguin and bepo’s pleads as well. your begs fill the room until the tattooed man’s patience wears thin and he agrees, “you can only go if you’re with me all times. i need to make sure you don’t do something dumb to worsen your symptoms.”

as opposed to the idea as he might’ve seemed law wasn’t that against it. he wanted to make the environment you’re in as comfortable as it could be. that was a difficult task to do on his own since hospitality wasn’t exactly his strength. he figured being with the crew could lift your spirits.

you found the party fun even though your symptoms held you back from doing a lot of things. you couldn’t dance or sing with the members. you had to stay seated on law’s lap as everyone enjoyed themselves. the agreement you two made let law run wild on layering you up. when you questioned why you had to wear 4 pairs of socks he simply stated that he was not taking any chances of the symptoms intensifying. nonetheless you were grateful he cared enough, and agreed to let you have fun during this frustrating time.

your coughing continued their violent attacks. law was next to you during every battle you had against your symptoms. eventually you decided to try to move away from him in fear of infecting him as well.

he immediately pulled you back to him and holds you tight, “what are you doing? we had an agreement y/n-ya. you said you’d be with me the whole time.”

guilt was written all over your face, “i know but..”

“but what? what’s wrong? is something bothering you my love?”

you exhaled, “i just don’t wan’t you to get sick..”

law had to push away a chuckle that threatened to escape him, “not everyone gets sick as easily as you do.”

“hey! that was so backhanded law!” you felt your cheeks redden as the man next to you lets out a murmured laugh.

you crossed your arms and face away from him pretending to be mad, “you’re so rude law. is this how you treat your sick girlfriend??”

you hadn’t noticed a hat being placed on your head. you looked back at law slightly confused just to see law’s ruffled hair without his hat on. you felt the soft plush cover your head, and the brim of the cap hovering over your eyes. the hat looked oversized on you, so law adjusted it to help you see better, “your ears were red. we forgot to cover them up with the rest of you.”

law examined you now fully covered from head to toe (quiet literally). he was proud to see you like this. proud that he was the reason why you were being cared for. he was glad to be the one there for you when you needed it the most. he wouldn’t know what he would do with himself if he couldn’t care for you. it was moments like these he was thankful he committed himself to the research of medicine, and could be the one to care for his loved ones when they need it most.

he pressed a gentle kiss to your still reddened cheek, “hopefully you’ll feel a lot better by tomorrow my sick rabbit”

you giggle at his sudden affection, “sick rabbit? whats that supposed to mean?”

“your nose is red like one. it’s from all that wiping with those tissues.”

you giggled again and rested your body against your boyfriend thankful for the fact that he’s always caring for you.

at that moment you hear the members decide they birthday cake is about to be cut. everyone gathers around ikakku as she cuts the cake with ease. plates of cake were soon being passed around to celebrate. bepo makes his way over to you and law sitting out the way. he held two plates of cake, “i got you guys cake! it’s ice cream cake. we got it from the last island.”

you reach your hand out to take it until law speaks out, “you can have them bepo. ice cream won’t be good for her.”

you were upset, but knew not to argue against law. he was already agreeing to let you do so much when you should be resting in bed. you didn’t want to push his boundaries. disappointment painted your face as the mink rejoins the others taking the rejected cakes along with him.

law senses the shift in your demeanor. he knew he had to stick with his decision, but he couldn’t help to feel bad for you, “i’m sorry y/n. it’s just not the time to have ice cream cakes.”

you hummed quietly, “i know law..”

your shoulders visibly slump as you watched the crew rave about how great the cake is.

the guilt really pulled at law’s heart strings. he didn’t want you to feel left out because of things you couldn’t control. in that moment a lightbulb idea pops into law’s mind, “i’ll be right back baby. wait here for me.”

you were confused as you watched the tattooed man make his away out the room. nonetheless your attention averted back to the crew celebrating and having fun. you continued to eye the cake for a while until law suddenly appears next to you. you figured it was the work of his devil fruit and didn’t question it.

he handed you a mug. you looked at the contents of it. the warmth of the contents emitted steam from the surface which carried a thick chocolate smell. law sits back down in his original position, and pulls you to his lap, “it’s hot cocoa. i know it’s not what you wanted like ice cream cake, but it is warm at least.”

a smile crept onto your lips. although law would prefer you to take something more natural, such as some herbal tea, he knew that you just wanted a treat. sometimes he had the fight the doctor logic in him. he could tell that you’ve been feeling generally disconnected from the crew due to your constant illnesses. if having a treat that wasn’t the best suited for your conditions meant you could find that connection again, then law figured having to take care of you a little longer wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. he would do it as many times as he needed to as long as it was for you.

[orteil42]

some undifferentiated thoughts about my Starfield playthrough as i have them. i am a game developer with a strong interest in procedural generation and i've enjoyed a bunch of other bethesda games so this might get pretty mean sorry

(this is a long one)

starfield dialogue is already exhausting me "oh you must've been living under a moon rock ;)" get it! because they're in space! this would've been too corny for the Jetsons

there's a kind of cheap dusting of space theme over everything. the food isn't salmon but alien salmon. it's not seaweed but alien seaweed. cooking alien stir-fry. come on

cannot get over how clumsily the theming is handled. books, board games, weapon names revolve heavily around space. these people have been living on alien planets for hundreds of years yet have this unending sense of novelty about it. the game takes itself completely seriously but feels like it's attempting to parody itself

people's EYEBALLS are CLIPPING THROUGH THEIR EYELIDS

a woman is speaking to me in french. her accent is about as believable as her haircut

these are some of the worst reflection maps i've ever seen

next to nothing is interactive. you can sit in chairs and sleep in beds and that is about it. can't even drink from people's toilets. disgraceful

game helpfully crashes 5 seconds after i decide i should get some sleep. very handy!

my character has not said a single thing since i started playing. not one peep. this is an unmitigated improvement over Fallout 4 i'm so glad honestly

the more i poke around the big city the more the NPC quips feel like something out of gen-1 pokemon. can't get enough of this coffee :) this city is where it's at :) spacesuits are comfy and easy to wear

very strange sense of altered reality from the quest dialogue too. has anyone at bethesda met a person before? i move on to some mission that has me scanning wildlife on a faraway planet hoping this will, somehow, feel less alien than human conversation

just as with No Man's Sky, every planet is uniformly dotted with equidistantly-placed points of interest that you slowly make your way to (no vehicles besides your jetpack) which always turn out to be some cave or building identical to those you've cleared before

unlike with No Man's Sky, the seamless exploration is faked and the biodiversity is nil. you do get an impressive amount of raw loading screens however

the prefab bases and power stations found everywhere on planets seem to have very sparse, very specific slots for spawning consumables, which results in encountering some giant industrial installation in the middle of nowhere with, i don't know, a loaf of whole-grain sandwich bread just casually sitting next to it all proper. there is no breathable atmosphere here. who is eating this

planetary traversal is a CHORE. i am saying this as someone who loved Death Stranding

heinous "hold to confirm" buttons sprinkled in various flow-breaking places throughout the interface

enemy AI is abominable. nobody is pathing their way to get my ass. "must've been the wind" taken to the next level. an infant playing peekaboo has more object permanence

hoisting yourself up on ledges when jumping is…nice

companions randomly nowhere to be found. persists through multiple fast-travels and loading screens until, just as randomly, they pop back up

storage space is now limited! unlike in Fallout 4 and virtually every other bethesda game, your containers now hold a finite item capacity. god forbid we let the player have fun

baffling inventory UI. i imagine there's a mod out there that completely overhauls it the way SkyUI did for Skyrim. this should not be needed! how are your UIs getting worse a decade later!

scanning the precious few species inhabiting some dusty planet; one of them is this arching red root i've already seen several times before. my job done in this biome, i travel (read: teleport with a loading screen) to the polar region to find some other species. the first one i catalogue is the exact same red root again but this time it's named "boreas root" todd howard is a genius

some alien horror comes at me full fangs out. i hop on a pebble. obscenely, i am safe

procedural terrain generation beyond dull, impossibly unimaginative. these people have not had one critical thought on what makes a procedural world interesting. beginning to feel validated in my belief that only i should be trusted with proc gen. along with perhaps tarn adams

jokes aside this is making me feel genuinely insane. there have been excellent procedural generation techniques that produce compelling explorable maps for decades now. bethesda absolutely has the budget and know-how to do miles better than this yet somehow they just…do not? the same way Pokemon has decided to just no longer bother with their mainline games despite being the highest-grossing media franchise in history? hello? what is for real going on

some of the most cynical breadcrumbing i've seen in years. approaching some random cave and this person in space gear, who in the vast immensity of the infinite cosmos just happens to be snapping pictures right here, tells me more-or-less verbatim "if you like this place, you should see this other place" [other random cave has been added to your map.]

i do not like how good this makes No Man's Sky's gameplay look. it depresses me how much i have to hand it to No Man's Sky for at least not fucking up this bad. please stop making me wish i was playing No Man's Sky instead this is grotesque

i think i've exhausted my interest and patience for this game at the moment. i'll get back to the main story at some point and try some other systems ie. crafting and base-building to see if there's any engagement to be found but so far, my god. my god

[mydearlybeloathed]

── 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐍

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: without a major, eye catching skill, you attempt to make up for it by doing everything for everyone all at once--the crew only notices when it all comes crashing down.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: strawhats x sanjissister!reader, minor zoro x reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.6k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: reader is sanji's sister, reader is bad at emotions (same), first fic of college! woo!, injuries, stitches, blood, angst and comfort, requested

𝐎𝐏 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈'𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐀

Being the Strawhat Boatswain was no easy task, but you held it with determination and pride. Even when your crew made the job more than difficult.

You took in a deep breath and let it out slowly; Someone had messed with your inventory. 

Again.

You stood in the storage room, wondering who had the gall to come and move things around. The cannonballs were no longer in the crate by the window, but behind many other crates of lantern oil. The box once full of toothbrushes and toothpaste was down to its last bottle when it should still be half full. And to top it all off, the medical supplies shelf was out of order. The bandages were at the bottom and the disinfectant was next to the gauze!

It was enough to make your skin crawl.

Taking another deep breath, you shook out your shoulders, went through five stages of grief, and accepted the mess at hand, swiping a roll of bandages from the shelf and leaving the room to deal with some other day. 

Inventory was a job you liked. You took your role seriously, always on top of what was needed or wanted, ensuring it was acquired. Day in and day out you thought of everyone else, desperate to be useful.

You took this responsibility so seriously that your own self-care had gotten lost in the mix of Luffy’s food requests, Nami’s financial ledgers, and the weekly task of inventory. You’d lost sleep and skipped meals in the name of keeping order. 

Because if you didn’t, who would?

It didn’t matter anyway. You loved taking care of everyone. It made you feel useful. And as someone not as skilled with a sword or as knowledgeable with maps, that was worth a million hours of (much needed) sleep.

So you yawned and pushed open the door to your and Nami’s shared room, finding her hunched over her makeshift crate desk, squinting through the lamplight. Her forearm was still bleeding, splotches of red seeping through the first bandage. 

“I’ll handle this,” you startled her. “You fix that.”

Nami hadn’t seemed to notice the condition of her injury, chuckling dismissively as she worked at redressing the wound. “Thanks. My eyes needed a rest.”

Your own eyes longed to rest as she said it, straining under stress and overwork to finish doing the math of how many pounds of sugar, flour, and grain you’d need for the next stretch at sea. You picked up the sheet and made to your own desk, plopping down.

You underlined the last calculation as Nami tied off her bandage. Leaning back in your chair, you threw down your pencil and rested your eyes, knowing there was more work to be done despite the dark hour. As if on cue, the potter pattering of small hooves led up to your door, followed by a soft knocking. A smile spread on your face instantly. “Come in, Doc.”

The reindeer peeked his antlers and eyes in first, stepping inside when all was clear. “Is it a bad time?”

Nami swiveled to straddle the back of her desk chair. “Never. What’s up?”

His eyes blinked up at you first. “It’s time for your physical. Do you want to do it now?”

Immediate sirens went off in your head. “Physical?”

“We’ve all had one,” Nami piped in. “It’s just to make sure we’re all healthy. Your turn.”

“Good one,” you chuckled dryly. “I don’t do check ups, Doc. Sorry.”

Chopper’s little brows met instantly, his hooves falling to his sides. You shifted around to avoid his narrowed gaze. “Y/N, it’s important. I need to know where your health is so I can plan for the future.”

“My health is perfeclty fine and if anything changes,” you laughed, “I’ll let you know, Chop. I’m fine.”

But Nami wasn’t giving you a grin when you turned to her for support, her lips downturned. “I dunno. If Chopper thinks he should check you out then—”

“I said I’m good,” you snapped more sharply, going on in a concerningly peppy tone, “If I need help, I’ll ask for it.”

The way Chopper defleated nearly had you taking it all back, but you stood your ground, trying to make him feel better with a smile. His ears only drooped further until Nami said, “Can you help me, actually? I need to redo this bandage.”

She raised a brow over Chopper’s shoulder, silently asking a question you didn’t catch, so you grinned and shrugged it off. Standing, you caled over your shoulder, “I’m seeing if anyone needs anything.”

Chopper heaved a sigh as the door shut behind you. Nami pat his head gently, lips pursed. “She’ll warm up to it. Give ‘er time.”

“I know,” Chopper sighed. “I’m just… getting worried, I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

Chopper thought back to the past few months he’d been on the crew. Overall, you didn’t exhibit any alarming behavior. You worked hard and cared deeply, that was all. But… Chopper couldn’t place it, but he wanted to make sure everything was really all right. “It’s nothing.”

Hopefully, you warmed up to check ups quickly, at least for his own sake.

જ ⁀ ➴

You'd been careless—that’s what you blamed it on, at least.

The opposing pirate crew hadn't exactly caught the Straw Hats off guard. Nami was on watch that early morning, and she had a great record of raising the alarm. So when the enemy ship sidled up to the going merry and the dozen or so pirates jumped aboard, most of the crew was ready.

But you hadn't been at your best for days, maybe even weeks if you really admitted it. Sleep was so far away and your hunger was on this odd anxiety–induced strike. You barely felt real anymore, simply wandering through the ship doing various tasks that presented themselves, but never really taking time to breathe. 

You weren't entirely surprised when a pirate caught you off guard, coming at you from behind and getting a nick at your side—not a nick, actually. His sword had marked a pretty deep gash at your waist, and even when you thought the flow of bleeding was done, you somehow had more to give.

In the aftermath of the fight, as much as you attempted to brush off the concerns of the others, your heaving breath and greenish complexion were giving away everything. Besides, Sanji had known something was up since the first time you'd told him you "weren't hungry enough for dinner."

So as the sun rose above the horizon and the cleaning of the Merry's deck was completed, there was no escaping your fate. The haze of night no longer concealed your wounds.

Usopp was the first to notice. His gaze caught your stuttering breaths and the very obvious grimace you gave when trying to haul a dead pirate over the railing. He took the weight of the body in seconds, tossing it over.

"You don't look too hot," he observed, to which you scoffed and flicked your hands in nonchalance.

"It's nothing I can't fix." But you hadn't realized just how much blood was soaking in the fabric of your shirt, and one turn of your body displayed the vast crimson to him. Usopp's sharp inhale caught your attention, and with a grunted snarl you griped, "What?"

By now, nami had walked past, her own eyes catching your shirt. You glanced down and cursed at the sight. "I'm fine, okay? It's not that bad—"

But Nami already called out, "Sanji!" 

You rolled your eyes, gut bubbling anxiously. "Relax, would you? It's just a scratch. Honestly, we should use supplies for worse wounds—"

The breathy gasp behind you was unmistakably your brother's, and you swiveled to find him staring at your abdomen. "Pip…”

"What?" you snapped, self-conscious as your crossed your arms.

Luffy and Zoro had joined the show as well, causing anxiety to burn a hole in your good sense.

Sanji couldn't move, couldn't say a word. As you fumed up at him, all he saw was his baby sister, her face growing paler by the second, the flutter of your eyes weak, the red staining your clothes growing larger—

And then it hit him: The battle had occurred several hours ago. His eyes snapped to meet yours. "How long have you been bleeding out?"

"Sanji—"

"Stop," he said, and you did, your jaw snapping back up. His eyes skimmed you over with a hundred different thoughts, before he broke the contact and gently approached you. “Let's get this cleaned up, yeah?"

He sounded so soft, so much like how he used to when you were just young enough to still get by not knowing how shit the world was. It made you flinch away from him, not at all fond of the warm feeling of vulnerability welling up inside. "Shove off, Sanji. You're shit at dressing wounds."

"I'll do it then," said Chopper, stepping forward. In the little reindeer’s eyes was far too much concern. It left your skin crawling.

"No." You backed away from them till your back hit the ship's side and tried to ignore how featherlight your head felt. "Don't waste good supplies on me. It's not worth it."

Sanji gaped. "... What?"

You sighed, frustrated, and made to storm back to your cabin to sulk away the pain seeping through your limbs, raising your head to snap at them again.

Immediately, you found Luffy's eyes locked on you, all your words falling flat. He had never been scary—he was Luffy—but right then, well, you were frightened by the look in his eyes; it was something like confusion mulled with frustration.

"Not worth it?" He echoed.

Glancing around for help and finding none, you shrugged.

Luffy blinked, and you felt like apologizing, but he spoke before you could. "It's not waste if it's used on you, Y/N."

"I..."

Sanji sighed like he was suddenly out of breath, catching your eye again. His eyes were shining, and not in the charming way. It was a heartbroken kind of look, and it ate away at your insides. "You didn't tell anyone... because you thought it wasn't worth it?"

"Well," you stammered. "I mean—it's not as bad as it looks."

You felt their stares—how each of them was looking at you with such pity it made you sick—and you cracked, sputtering. "Just back off! It's a little blood and I'll heal. Zoro did!"

The swordsman in question stiffened as you thrust a hand at him, his ever-deathly gaze boring into you. “Yeah, ‘cause I wasn't being a stubborn bitch about it."

You were in the middle of an eye roll when the headache started. Honestly, why did they care? It was you keeping up with their asses half the time. You didn't need the same treatment. You had your own shit handled.

You tried walking away, and you thought you'd had it handled, but then the world started spinning, and your side really did ache, and suddenly you were in sanji's arms as he gritted out your name.

You were tired, very tired, so you blinked up at him, and fell asleep.

As one can assume, the entire crew lost their shit.

જ ⁀ ➴

In the eight hours you were unconscious, nobody sat still. Someone was always pacing, arguing, tapping something—agitation just sat over the whole ship. 

Sanji would say those eight hours were the longest hours of his life. He would say it rivaled the eighty-five days on that damn rock. It rivaled everything, because it was you. His sister. 

He couldn’t bring himself to debrief all that you’d said and what it meant… but him mind brought him there anyway. Sanji beat himself up over and over. If only he’d noticed something was wrong—he should have noticed… which made him realize he hadn’t a clue what was wrong.

He was in the middle of cooking your favorite meal for when you woke up when the image of you fainting in a graceful arc crossed his mind, and how he’d lunged to catch you. Maybe it was just being in the kitchen, but it somewhat reminded him of when you were kids.

You, so much younger and frailer, were prancing atop the counteertops of the Baratie, playing the part of Red Leg Zeff with your boots covered in marinara. The real Zeff, not so Red Legged, battled you with a wooden spoon as he simultaneously fought of his growing fondness. You tripped over your own slimy boot laces and, ever the dramatic, used the opportunity to swan dive to the floor.

Yet you hadn’t made it to the floor, not even close. Sanji had you safe in his arms the second your foot slipped off the counter. When he scolded you for being reckless, you grinned and chirped, “I knew you’d catch me!”

Sanji had caught you again, but not fast enough this time. Lately, he was never fast enough to keep up with your ever-growing mind. Each day you got quicker on your feet, jumping to accomplish task after task after task—Sanji paused as he prepared the food. When was the last time he saw you take a break?

When you woke up, your head was anywhere but in your body, the sensations of the room around you slowly drifting back to you.

Groggy, you shuffled in the sheets, skin sticky with sweat. Your eyes adjusted to the brightness, fluttering open. You sat up groaning, blinking fully awake, only to pause. Sat on the stool across from your bed was Zoro, solemn as ever. He looked half asleep, but the sound of your rustling startled him awake, eyes lazily widening to take you in. 

He made to ask something, but you beat him to it, woozily wondering about the odd tick in his brow. "What's up with your face?"

His brows screwed together, but that look never left his eyes; you couldn't place what it was. "What d’you mean?"

"You look..." Your eyes flickered all over him, and you thought maybe, he looked relieved. "Nothing. Sorry. I feel weird."

“I’ll bet.” He leaned forward to glance you over, and you settled on yes, Zoro was definitely concerned. He'd never looked that way before, and the oddity had you leaning closer subconsciously. Zoro jerked back instantly, blinking quickly. "You feel better, though, right?”

You did a quick check of your body, sensing your limbs and tapping at the bandage covering your abdomen. “I think so.” 

Zoro nodded stiffly, eyes flickering all over the floor. “Want me to get Twirly? I mean—Sanji?"

Typically, you weren’t the transparent type, but your head wasn't where it should be, so all your thoughts suddenly came out as words. "Is he mad? He usually gets mad when I get hurt."

Zoro moved to kneel at your bedside when you started to prop yourself up, eyes glued to your lap. He watched you carefully. "I don't think he's mad at you."

"But I got hurt," you exasperated. "I wasn't watching my back and got—got skewered! He hates it when I get... skewered." You rubbed at your temples and let out a weak laugh, brain fog fading. "Am I making sense?"

You raised your gaze to find a hint of amusement on Zoro’s face, his lips tipped upward. "Barely, but I follow."

You felt at your side, wincing at the pricking pain of the wound and the bruise forming around it. Chopper had done a good job with the bandage, though it was about time to change it.

"Hey," he said, dragging your wandering attention back to him.

"Yeah?"

Zoro's face grew cold. "Don't ever pull that shit again. You get hurt, you tell someone. Even if you think it's a waste."

You averted your eyes. "Yeah. Cross my heart and shit."

He wasn't satisfied, but he leaned back and raked a hand through his hair, leaving it alone for now. That was when the door opened, and you felt his presence before you ever turned your face.

"Oh, God," Sanji gasped. He rushed to your side, falling to his knees and setting a hand on your shoulder, just staring at you like you weren't even real. He passed a hand over your hair and sighed like he had the weight of Atlas on him.

"You're okay," he said, not so much a question, more of a reassurance. Neither of you noticed when Zoro slipped out of the room, nor when he knocked into the doorframe as he went.

"I'm okay," you said.

Sanji's hugs had always been lethal, always too tight for comfort but too sweet to turn away—and this was no different. His arms were careful to avoid your side as he pulled you to him, your head finding a nook against his chest as his chin rested on your head, and he squeezed you tightly.

Silently, you let him hold you, remaining still against him. You felt his tears, but never heard them. You felt his grip on you like a brand, that same old discomfort crawling through your gut the longer the intimacy went on. But you withstood it, an odd kind of burn creeping up your throat.

You choked on a cough—no, you weren't coughing. You couldn't fool yourself into believing such a lie, not when your eyes slammed shut and forced streams of tears down your cheeks. Your hands clawed at his sleeves as a warbled cry claws its way from your lips. 

"You're worth everything," he whispered into your hair. "Oh, God. I really thought..."

"But I didn't." you calmed your ragged breaths. "I'm fine."

He nearly laughed. "Fine? Pipsqueak, you were out half the day!"

You pulled back with a grin. "Eh. Just a scratch."

Sanji shook his head, smiling, before it fell instantaneously. He held you by your shoulders, shaking you slightly. "Why would you... was it something I did? I would never—"

"No! No, it was nothing you did."

"Then why in hell would you try to walk off a wound that needed sixteen stitches!"

"I don't know!" you looked away. "I just... there was too much to do. Everyone would need things done after a battle like that. I wanted to be, I dunno, ready and able."

Sanji still didn't understand. "What things?"

"You know," you started. "Things." He gave you a look. You sighed. "Like... sometimes Zoro lets me polish his swords, and in exchange he'll clean the little nicks he claims won't give him infections. And I think Luffy's hat needed fixing. Usopp never organizes the canon balls right and it makes me nervous, so I always go back and redo it… And on top of all that someone went through my inventory."

He took you in for a moment, and you felt very, very transparent all of a sudden. "None of that is your responsibility alone."

"Yeah, but, who else is gonna do them? Everyone’s so busy doing their things. I don't have a thing, so I do everything, I guess."

Sanji tilted his head, brows knit. "You do too have a thing."

"I really don't, Sanji. I don't cook or kick people like you. I'm not amazing with swords or a slingshot. I can't navigate for shit or heal wounds... so I help. If I don't, I'm pretty much deadweight." In the following silence, you mumbled something you never thought you’d have the courage to say. “Face it. Luffy only invited me because I’m your sister.”

Perhaps you should go back to the Baratie, as much as the thought sickened you. Zeff would never turn you away, and he’d even be happy to have you back. 

“Not true.” You looked up, heart dropping at the sight of luffy in the doorway, the rest of the crew behind him. You shot Zoro an accusatory glare, wiping furiously at your face. Perfect. A waiting audience.

You rasped, “What?”

Luffy moved into the room, face sullen, his hat and curls shadowing his face. “I didn’t invite you because of Sanji.” Luffy ducked down to be eye level with you on the bed. “Honestly, I didn’t know you were related till a few days after you joined.”

“Oh.” Sniffling, you ducked your eyes. “Then why? I… I don’t contribute much of anything, and when I try I wind up passed out for half a day.”

Nami scoffed, “That wasn’t your fault.”

You scoffed right back. “I shouldn’t have left my back unguarded.”

“You shouldn’t have been skipping sleep,” Zoro rebuttled, eyes steely. “And meals.”

Swiping at your cheek again, “Screw you.” You picked at your nails and refused to look up at all costs. It was difficult with Luffy right in your face.

The captain had his brows screwed together. His eyes bore into you till he grew tired of your avoidance and lightly pushed at your shoulder. Your gaze flicked up to meet his, quick to glance at the wall over his shoulder. 

“Y/N,” he muttered, “We care about you. And you worried us.”

And just like that, all your work to keep the tears in crumbled; one rebellious tear escaped, leading a dangerous path down to your chin. “Yeah. I know.”

That got a whisper of a smile back on Luffy’s face, and his hand came to plop down on you shoulder. “You’re part of this crew because we need you.”

“For what?” you dared to scoff. Instantly, Luffy’s eyes narrowed further than you thought possible. 

He echoed your words back to you like they felt weird on his tongue, and gave no further reply, simply staring right through you. You had already shirvled into yourself by the time Sanji stepped in.

“I can never keep track of how much food we go through,” he said, nudging your shoulder, “but somehow you always know exactly what we need and how much. As a chef, you inventory is vital to me.”

“I’m convinced you’re a mind reader,” Usopp added on. “Still no clue how you knew I wanted marshmallows last week.”

You chuckled dryly, gaze still heavy, obviously hesitant to take them serious. Nami sighed deeply.

“Listen,” she started, moving to kneel in front of you. It was times like this Nami felt much older, when her eyes peered into yours and it felt like home (a home so distant you ached to remember it). “It doesn’t matter what you believe. You contribute so much to this crew, more than you need to most days.”

Chopper bobbed up beside her. “Yeah! You do everything and then you never let me look after you!” It was hard to focus on what he said when he was so cute, but somehow when he narrowed his eyes all angry like, he held your rapt attention. “Let me do my job, so you’re able to do yours!”

“On the topic,” Zoro grunted, “quit overworking yourself. When Usopp fucks up the canonballs let him fix it himself.”

“Hey!”

You barely withheld a smile. “But… there’s still so much I can’t do—”

Zoro rolled his eyes. “You wanna learn how to fight? I’ll teach you. Just—quit being stupid and sleep, dammit.” His cheeks dusted pink and his eyes darted to the wall, unable to catch your tentative expression.

Luffy squeezed your shoulder. “You’re our boatswain. Just like Nami is our navigator and Sanji is our cook. The only one questioning your position is you.”

You sniffled, looking right in his eyes, and something in what he said finally broke through. You couldn’t cook or fight or navigate—but you had a damn good memory, you kept the ship organized, you made sure no one ever wanted for anything. You were the Strawhat Boatswain. Surely that held some weight.

“Okay, yeah, I get it,” you muttered, palms pressing against your cheeks as you cleared your throat. Glancing around at them all, you shoved down the creeping feeling in your chest and grinned cheekily. “But whoever’s been screwing with the storage room better knock it off, or I’ll be up all night fixing their mess.”

Silence enveloped you as everyone glanced around for suspicion, when Chopper burst forth with watery eyes. “I’m sorry! Really sorry! I didn’t realize I messed it up, I—I—”

“Slow down,” you smiled. You caught Chopper’s hooves in your hands and squeezed them tight. “It’s okay. I’m not really upset.”

If it was anyone else, maybe the story would be different, but all you felt was warm affection staring down at Chopper. He nodded swiftly. “I’ll help you fix it! Don’t worry.”

“I’ll help too,” offered Nami, none too subtle as she jabbed her elbow in the crook of Luffy’s side. 

“Ow! What—Quit that!” Luffy nursed the sting in his side, brows screwed together. “Me too, I guess…”

“We all will,” Nami declared, eyes scanning the room in search of an objection. She found none, a pleased smile gracing her lips. “See? You don’t even need to ask. We want to help you. Remember that next time you feel like everything is on you.”

“All right,” you conceded warmly. That familiar affection tugged on your heartstrings. You slid your legs off the bed and made to stand when a hand clamped down on your shoulder and nearly knocked you down. “Sanji, let go.”

Your brother’s jaw was set and gaze resolved, scaring the stubbornness right out of you. “You need rest. We can fix the storage room tomorrow, Pipsqueak.”

“But—”

“You’re actively bleeding through your stitches,” he cut you off, grinning when you pouted. “Tomorrow. Your inventory isn’t going anywhere.”

You were left gaping at him, eyes scanning for someone on your side. Nami raised a brow. Zoro’s expression was blank. Usopp avoided your eye. Chopper looked so sure of himself that you didn’t even try. So instead, you puffed out a breath and readjusted yourself on the bed. 

“I expect everyone’s attendance tomorrow morning,” you grumbled.

Usopp gawked at you. “Morning?”

One glare was all it took and his jaw snapped back up. Your temples began to throb fiercely, the gradual increase in pressure suddenly erupting into a full ache. The base of your neck was sore too and your lash line weighed down in gentle flutters. Sanji’s hand on your shoulder kept you from floating away into the delirium, your gaze searching as it swept over all your friends.

That tight tendril of awkward affection curled around your heart, as it often did, and it felt as undesirable as always. But no one pressed for any outward expression of it; your friends simply stood in your midst, wearing there hearts on sleeves of various vulnerability, not a hint of expectation anywhere on their faces. 

Times like this, you thought maybe you could bare to ditch your fears. Then again, maybe not, but you dismissed the hope fondly. 

“All right,” Chopper grunted, cheeks puffed. “Everyone out. She needs lots of rest—starting now!”

You chuckled dryly as the little doctor shooed everyone away. Nami shot you a quick little wave and disapeared into the hall, Sanji squeezed your hand, and Usopp gave a brief thumbs up. Zoro was left holding the door, solemn as ever, and paused int he act of closing the door. He appeared between the door and the frame, not quite in yet not quite out either.

“I was serious,” he said lowly.

You tilted your head. “About overowkring myself?”

“Well, yeah, that,” he stammered. “I mean about learning to fight. I’ll teach you.”

You’re sure your eyes glimmered, heart thrumming unexpectedly. “Really?” He nodded, crossing his arms. “Sanji won’t like it.”

“He doesn’t like a lot of things.”

“Primarily you.”

A scant smirk, one born of mischief and misdeed, crept up his face. “Primarily me, yeah.”

You shook your head and fought back a smile. “I don’t have a sword.”

He paused long enough for you to notice. “I’ve got three.”

“I couldn’t,” you said instantly, jaw falling open. “Those’re important.”

Zoro rolled a shoulder and combed at his hair. “I trust you.”

He was gone before you’d finished gasping, eyes wide as the door swung shut in his wake, and unsure when a sudden heatwave had flooded the room.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @100520s @murnsondock @kryscent

[kaleldobrev]

Just Right

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester

Summary: Dean hates when you’re sick. Not only can he not kiss his best girl without the possibility of getting sick himself. But you also can’t make one of his favorite things to start off his day: his morning coffee.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Cursing (2x)

Author's Note: Apologies for not tagging people | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

As much as you hated being sick, you knew that Dean hated when you were just as much, maybe a bit more. Whenever either of you were sick – which wasn’t often thankfully – you two had your own sick routine, a routine that Dean despised doing, but understood the reasoning behind it.

When you had found yourself sick, you would sequester yourself into another bedroom of the Bunker and curl up in your favorite blankets while wearing your designated sick pajamas. Your sick pajamas as you called them consisted of some of your favorite things that always tended to bring you comfort: a pair of Dean’s gray sweatpants, one of his band t-shirts that you borrowed with the promise of returning it but never did, one of Dean’s flannels, and a pair of fuzzy socks.

Over the course of your sick time, you had found yourself doing an assortment of different things: trying to find something to watch on Netflix that you and Dean weren’t currently watching together, attempting to read one of your favorite books, or just straight sleeping. Dean would either text or call you, sometimes even knocking on the door and talking through the door to you. If he was feeling extra cheesy, he would slip you a note underneath the door. He would always ask you the same question: Do you need anything? Your answer would always be the same, “My usual sick meal.” A meal that consisted of a hot cup of tea with lemon and honey, Dean’s version of chicken noodle soup, Ritz crackers, and a ginger ale. Whenever he made this meal for you, you would always tell him to leave the tray outside the door so you wouldn’t get him sick, but without fail, each and every time, he would come into the room with tray in hand, and either kiss you on the top of the head and forehead and say, “My gorgeous sick baby,” before you rolled your eyes and threatened to throw a pillow at him.

When Dean had found himself sick, you would still be the one to leave the bedroom – despite your beloved boyfriend being the one trying to get you to stay with him, because all he really wanted to do was cuddle with you; he was extra clingy sick. But you had to play bad guy, telling him that as much as you had wanted to cuddle with him more than anything, you didn’t want to get sick.

You would tell Dean that he needed to try his best to stay sequestered in his room as to not get you or Sam sick – Jack and Cas were the ones that you didn’t have to worry about thankfully; but without fail, Dean would always leave the bedroom, walking around the Bunker coughing and sneezing. You would be close behind him, with a couple rolls of disinfected wipes the moment he left the room, your shirt covering your mouth and nose as to not inhale the germs.

You would do the same thing that Dean would do for you, calling, texting, or slipping a note underneath the door asking him if he needed anything from you. Your usual answer would be your sickness meal, his usual answer would be: “I wanna cuddle with my Sweetheart.” When you would reject that, he would ask for the second best thing: “My usual sick meal.” A meal that consisted of a not one, but two grilled cheese sandwiches, a side of tomato soup with saltines on the side, a can of ginger ale and a tiny glass of whiskey. Although you would tell Dean not to come into the room when you were sick to drop the food off, you never listened to your own advice. You always walked into the room with the tray of food and promptly kissed him on the forehead or cheek and say, “My handsome sick boy.” Followed by him smacking your ass as you walked away.

Although Dean and you hated when either of you were sick because you couldn’t be intimate with each other, one of the biggest reasons Dean hated when you were sick in particular is because you couldn’t make him his morning coffee. Yes, Dean was more than capable of making his own coffee in the morning, or he could easily go to the café downtown to grab a cup; but ever since you moved into the Bunker, those two things just never tasted right again to him. Because once having a taste of the way you had made it, he couldn’t have it any other way.

It was one of those rare times in which you were sick, and you knew exactly how you had gotten sick too. About a few days ago, you, Sam, and Dean went on a case together in Topeka where each of you interviewed a different member of the family. Sam and Dean interviewed the parents while you interviewed their child – a child who happened to be insanely sick. While interviewing the child, she kept on sneezing and coughing and at one point had wiped her snot coated hand on your arm when trying to reach for the tissues behind you. As soon as the three of you had gotten to the Bunker, you knew that something wasn’t right, as you were starting to exhibit the same symptoms as the little girl was.

You were sequestered in your designated sick room, wearing your designated sick pajamas, completely under the covers; a combination of being hot and cold at the same time. Your phone was propped up on a pillow that was lying next to you; Dean was on Facetime with you in your shared bedroom. “I think this is the worst I’ve ever felt.” You said, your voice sounded super nasally, and weak.

“Well, you still look and sound hot to me.” Dean told you, a grin on his lips. You couldn’t help but shake your head at his comment, disagreeing with him. “What? I don’t give a rats ass if your nose is running like a faucet and you look like Rudolf. You’re still fucking hot to me.”

“Dean, I look like I haven’t slept in days and on the verge of death and I sound like a toddler. I honestly have no idea how any of this is remotely hot to you.” You sniffled, grabbing a tissue from next to you in bed and blowing into it.

“To be fair Sweetheart, I always look like I���m on the verge of death and you still think I’m hot.” Dean said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Dean, you manage to look hot no matter what you do. It’s an oddly weird talent that you have.” You sniffled again, tossing the tissue you just used into the trash can.

He shrugged his shoulders again, almost as if he was agreeing with you. “Do you need anything from the kitchen? I’m about to go make my own coffee cause somebody can’t do it.”

You rolled your eyes and coughed. “Well, I’m sorry that your barista is sick. She can always make it for you, but I can’t promise that there won’t be hints of mucus in it.”

Dean gave you a disgusted look, shivering at the thought of your comment. “Okay, okay. Please, don’t ruin coffee for me. Coffee is one of the few joys that I have in this life.”

Dean walked into the kitchen, and gave Sam a slight head nod in his direction who was already sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and his laptop. “There’s still some coffee in the pot if you want any.” Sam said, turning in his chair to face Dean who had started to make his way to the fridge. “I know it’s not how Y/N usually makes it but, I know you like the way I make it too.”

“Correction, I used to like the way you made it.” Opening the fridge Dean grabbed some milk and chocolate syrup and placed them on the counter in front of him. “Do you know how Y/N makes it? Cause she won’t tell me. And I feel like if anyone would know, it would be you.”

Sam gave Dean a questioning look. “Me? Why would Y/N tell me how she makes it?”

“Cause you’re her best friend. She tells you everything.” Dean knew for a fact that you had told Sam a lot; because more often than not, Sam would casually bring up something that Dean knew for a fact that him and you had talked about, and there would be no possible way for him to know that unless you were the one that told him.

“But you’re her boyfriend Dean. I feel like boyfriend trumps best friend in most cases.” Sam took a sip from his mug before closing his laptop and walked over to the counter, bringing his mug along with him.

“You know what they say Sammy, bros before well…hoes.” Dean gave Sam a grin, shrugging slightly.

“I think you might have insulted yourself with that one.” Sam said, finishing up his coffee. “So you really have no idea how she makes it uh?”

Dean shook his head. “No freaking clue. All I know is she puts milk and chocolate syrup in it.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret Dean.” Sam began to say.

“What?” Dean asked.

“I…She told me to never tell you how she makes the coffee, but…she did tell me.” Sam finally confessed.

“Well? Would you like to share with the rest of the class?”

Sam grinned and walked over to the cabinet. He reached all the way into the back and took out a box of Keurig cups and placed the box onto the counter. Dean eyed the box for a moment before picking it up. “Dunkin’ Donuts?” Dean asked, sounding slightly confused.”

“Her special coffee she makes you? It’s just Dunkin’ Donuts Keurig cups with a dash of milk and a spoonful of Hershey’s chocolate syrup.”

“Son of a bitch…” Dean mumbled.

A Few Days Later…

With your sickness behind you, you were finally back to your old self; which meant that you can about your somewhat normal routine. You were excited to be able to hunt again, and you were excited to finally fall asleep to and wake up next to your beloved boyfriend. But despite the normalcy that you were excited to get back to, you knew that there was one thing that Dean was excited about – you being able to make his morning coffee again.

Quickly throwing the Dunkin’ Donuts Kuerig cup into the trash, you took Dean’s coffee cup and placed it onto the island counter in front of you; smiling as he walked in. “Morning Sicky,” Dean grinned, and you simply rolled your eyes.

Walking up to the counter, he looked at the mug and gestured toward it. “Is that?” And you nodded. He rubbed his hands together like an excited little kid before he took the mug from the counter, slowly blowing the contents to cool it down a bit. Taking a sip, he felt like he was in Heaven – not actual Heaven of course cause there were no dick angels around, but pretty close.

“Good?” You asked, and Dean nodded. As much as he wanted to tell you that he knew the secret to your coffee, he was never going to; because this was one secret that you deserved to have for yourself, even if Sam and Dean both knew.

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (vi)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the paranormal.

A/N: i need to start editing beforehand this series honestly takes to long to edit omg this was supposed to come out 2 hours ago. also thanks so much to @ginevranights for the one tweet in here, and @thebisexual-disaster for calling bucky babygirl because it was incredibly funny to me

Previous part || Series masterlist

Everyone is besotted with the cat.

It makes sense– everyone hates Bucky and will dance with glee upon his downfall. This is all his opinion, of course. The truth is that it is a cat and exists and everyone is thrilled. 

Sensing his awful vibes towards her and the constant suspicion he thinks of her with, she decides she likes sitting outside his room at the early hours of the morning and screaming for him to open up.

Once he does, she strolls in leisurely, takes a look around and then strolls back out. Everyday. On the clock. An alarm clock that will cough up a hairball in front of his door should he not open it to her. 

Also turns out she doesn’t have brown spots, the cat was just dirty. She’s pure white and you’ve taken to calling her something to do with snow or blizzards or something. 

She is his mortal enemy. Bucky doesn’t stop to think that his biggest problem being a feud with a cat is possibly an indication that his life has gotten significantly better. 

As with every week, you bang on his door on Friday morning.

Bucky, who's just fallen asleep after the stupid cat ceremoniously woke him up that morning, does not find this ritual as entertaining as you do, but his opinion has rarely held weightage in matters such as his sanity or his sleep schedule. 

He does considr for a whole day that you and the cat are in cahoots to ensure he is as miserable as possible. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility– Sam talked to birds or and Clint talked to lizards or whatever.

You yell something incomprehensible to him. Bucky yells something back. The world keeps spinning, nothing changes.

Other than the sinking feeling on his chest, that was a bit more pronounced than usual, to the point where it’s a bit hard to breathe.

He pries open one eye, ready to name five things he sees, four things he hears, three things he touches.

The stupid cat smacks him in the face. 

He shoves her off his torso, and along with her, the sinking feeling also reduces. 

After a very useful day of staying in bed no less than three attempts to get back to sleep, Bucky sneaks out of the tower when dusk begins to fall to hopefully get some rest on the park’s grass.  

It’s a nice evening out, the sky was painted a burnt orange, and the air wasn’t too chilly. He could even stop for a burger on the way back to top off a lovely nap. 

But even a gorgeous sunset is not enough to distract him from his heightene awareness going off.

From the corner of his eye, he sees a black van trailing slowly behind him.

He picks up the pace, jogging past a street food vendor and a newspaper stand, and the van only speeds up to keep up.

Soon enough, Bucky breaks into a sprint, ducking into an alleyway and waiting until the van drives past him before stalking back out, eyes vigilant.

Whatever. Stalker be damned, he was going to go to the fucking park. And get a burger. 

But the second he makes a turn on the street corner, the same black van pulls right up to him, not leavning even two feet of space between it and him.

Bucky, annoyed and with 80 years worth of boredom with this schtick, scowls as he yanks open the damn door, ready to just punch and move on with his day.

“Get in loser, we’re going out,” you call from the driver’s seat.

He growls, letting the handle go. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? I literally told you in the afternoon that I’m picking you up and you starting running from me, you baboon,” you exclaim. “Is that what you’re wearing in this video? Did you not do your laundry?”

Alright, so maybe it was on him to figure out what you actually yelled at him through the door earlier in the day. That doesn’t stop him.

Nostrils flaring, he continues to ignore you. “Who the fuck does this? Why do you have a van?”

“Style,” you insist. “We’re gonna be late, now come on. We’re leaving.”

Sensing that this conversation had reached a standstill, Bucky employs his next best technique.

“Where?” he demands.

“You’ll find out when we get there. Now get in,” you pat the spot next to you before pulling up your phone. “We’ll get there in about an hour–”

“No.”

Your neck cranes slowly to look at him incredulously. “The fuck you mean ‘no’?”

“You could be kidnapping me.” He stands with his arms crossed, tone defiant. 

“Right,” you snort. “You seen yourself? Food laws say I need a cooling truck to transport that much beef around.”

Bucky feels his mouth opening and shutting almost immediately, a strange feeling creeping into the tips of his ears.   

He clears his throat. “I’m not getting in the car unless you tell me where we’re going.”

“I’m not fuckin’ kidnapping you Bucky,” you say, loudly. “And even if I wanted to do it– which I don’t, because you can be so annoying sometimes– you’d never see it coming.” 

“How would I know?” He’s offended that you only think he’s annoying sometimes when he’s been working very hard to make sure it’s a constant feature of his. “Who’s to say there’s not some guy in there with a gun–”

“A gun wouldn’t do shit when you’re so thick in the head–”

“And then SHIELD’s gonna have to shell out the ransom–”

“SHIELD would pay them to keep you.” 

“Oh, so you are kidn–”

“Get in the car,” you say loudly before sitting upright, and turning your attention to the windshield again. “Or don’t. I don’t give a shit.”

He narrows his eyes at you grabbing the steering wheel, while your telekinesis moves to close the door on him.  

Bucky sticks his metal hand between the door and the car, and pries it back open before climbing in. 

“Now what,” he mumbles, arms still crossed over his chest like he’s throwing a tantrum. He even refuses to put the seatbelt. Rebellion. 

You don’t answer, and the car doesn’t move.

When he looks over at you, you have a triumphant, smug smile on your face.  

“What,” he bites. 

You tsk. “Reverse psychology. Always works with children.”

Bucky immediately grabs at the handle, but the locks immediately click into place and you step on the pedal and send the van flying down the road before he has a chance to throw himself out. 

The car pulls up to a mansion. 

All the windows are closed and covered in newspaper, giving him no indication as to what was inside. The lawn was mostly brown, with weeds taking up more space than grass and dead flowers lining the fence. 

“There’s gotta be like 5 bedrooms in that thing,” you note, as you both make your way towards it. “How many ghosts do you think are in there?”

“Zero,” Bucky states plainly. 

You continue to talk like he doesn’t exist. “A house that big, there’s gotta be a ghost butler in there. Maybe a ghost maid.”

“None.”

“Five ghost maids, one for every room, and maybe a cook–”

Bucky starts speed walking, leaving you behind to admire the structure looming over the both of you, only illuminated by the streetlights outside.  

Bucky knocks hard on the door, annoyed that it was getting colder and that he was stuck in his stupid running shorts in a house that definitely had no heating for the evening. 

Eventually, you end up beside him, talking as he keeps his sight fixed right ahead. 

Checking your phone to confirm the address, you mumble absentmindedly to him, “This kid tweeted us like fifteen times in the last week, this is gonna be a sick surprise. I love meeting my fa–”

“A surprise?” Bucky jerks his head towards you. “You didn’t tell him we’re coming?”

“Well no,” you lower your phone, “because that would give the ghosts some warning and we–”

His eyes nearly bug out of his head. “We can’t just go into some random kid’s house and film–”

“He’s hardly random, he’s been bombarding our inbox–”

Your defence is cut off when the door creaks open painfully, slowly, like it was letting out its last dying breath.

“Woah,” you whisper, eyes wide. “Ghost door.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky mumbles.

“Hello?” you call out.

When no one replies immediately, Bucky shoves his hands into his pockets, ready to leave. 

Instead, you shove him to the side, taking his pace in front of the house. He offers no resistance, only a growl in annoyance. 

You clear your throat, before calling loudly, “Hewwo–”

A dark hooded figure springs out at breakneck speed from behind the door, arms raised high, legs wide. 

You don’t look fazed at all, staying entirely still, only with one eyebrow raised.

“Right,” you say. “You must be Jason.”   

“Yuh,” he answers.  

“Where are your parents?” Bucky demands immediately, choosing to ignore the full body cringe his own words give him. 

“Indianna or something, man. I dunno?” The door trembles open a bit more, giving you a clearer look at the guy. “Do you guys wanna come in? It’s cold.”

You take a step inside the huge foyer, almost steretoypically complete with a cascading staircase and big paintings of people on horses and stuff.

 Jason eventually peels the hoodie away from his face, shoving his arms inside the sleeves and spinning it around so he was wearing it the right way. 

“This is Bucky, by the way,” you introduce before beckoning to the man who had refused to move all this while. “Come on, babygirl.”

Bucky does not look wowed with the theatrics as he stands there, arms folded tight across his magnificent chest. 

Jason looks at you. “Is babygirl coming?”

Bucky inhales sharply while you stifle a laugh. “Do not call me that.”

“Oh, he loves it when people call him that, he’s just super pissy because he didn’t get enough attention today,” you coo. “Get in here Bucky.” 

He glares at you with enough intensity to set the house on fire.   

The kid looks like he’s in his early twenties, with shaggy brown hair that hides sleepy eyes, bad posture and a clean shaven face.. His hoodie is paired with grey sweatpants and yellow flip flops that were about one size too small for him. 

“Why’d you tweet at us?” Bucky questions, wondering what he had to do with anything.  

Jason juts his chin up contemplatively. “What do you guys do again?”

You stare at him to avoid how Bucky was staring at you. 

“We hunt ghosts and help old ladies cross the street.” You flash him a smile. 

“Cool.” Jason nods appreciatively. “I don’t have an old lady here.” 

Your eyebrow twitches. Bucky would have taken great joy in your awkwardness had he not felt entirely exasperated by the whole exchange. 

“Well, Jason, you DM’d us about the ghost in the house,” you communicate even slower. “The one that was being rude?”

“Oh, right,” he drags out. “You’re the people from YouTube. Avengers. I didn't think y’all were real, lol.”

“What the fuck.” Bucky mumbles to himself, because there was no way this guy said ‘LOL’ out loud.  “Did you just invite us inside your house without knowing who we are–”  

“Yes, we’re those people,” you interrupt, pulling out a card from your fucking sleeve. “The Graveyard Shift crew, ready and at your service.”

“Since when do we have business cards?” Bucky presses.

“Ignore him, he’s an intern.” You drop the card onto Jason’s hand. “Anyway, we’re the best rated ghost hunters within a twenty yard radius. Maybe even thirty, but I don't wanna get too ahead of myself.”

“Radical.” He flips the card back and forth without actually reading anything. Bucky wonders if he was looking for pictures. “Aren’t you supposed to have like, tech and people and stuff?”

“Some of us have performance anxiety–” you give Bucky a side eye and he rightfully looks absolutely incensed. “So, I’ve got a camera following us at all times and I’ve got all the tech we need.”

Bucky suddenly feels very aware of something hovering behind him, and it takes an incredible amount of self-restraint to not instinctually slap it out of existence.

He whips around to find a camera floating mid air, aimed directly at him almost like it is waiting for a reaction. While weird, it was still better than the stupid GoPro on his head that elongated his forehead to a sixhead.

“And I’ve got a REM Pod, a spirit box to pick up sounds when they talk to us, a water gun full of assorted waters from different beliefs for one gigantic spirit burning milkshake–” you list rapidly and Bucky cannot even tell where the fuck you’re pulling these things out from. “So, we should be good to go.”

Jason doesn’t look bothered at all, as he drags out, “Cool, lol.”

Bucky almost feels offended on your behalf by the little twerp. 

“Hold this,” you instruct, pressing the spirit box into Bucky's chest without giving him a choice. “Ready whenever you are, but before we start I just wanted to ask– why’d you come to us for help? I’m sure you have plenty of options.”

“Oh,” the guy says, wiping his hands down the side of his sweatpants. “You guys are Avengers and stuff…”

He doesn’t add anything else, watching you both like it was obvious. 

When neither of you offer an answer, he continues “I mean, no one else seemed to like, know kickboxing and shi–”

“I’m sorry– kickboxing?”

“Or like, karate.” He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “Whatever you guys are into, I don’t really care what style of combat it is.”

When it finally clicks, Bucky snorts. “You want us to fuckin’ fight your ghost?”

“Yeah, like a punch or something, I guess.” Jason looks too serious. “He’s being a real bitch dick.”

You exhale steadily. “First of all, how do you know it’s a ‘he’?”

Jason shakes his head, and his hair falls directly into his one eye, leaving you to only look at the other. “I’m pretty sure it’s my uncle.”

“Your uncle?” 

“Well yeah,” the guy responds, “this is his house. He built it and decorated it and shit.” 

You stare at him in disbelief. “You didn’t mention that in the brief.”

Bucky looks at you. “You got a brief?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s my uncle’s house, I guess,” Jason continues when you wave Bucky off. “He, like, kicked the bucket a few years ago. Like, totally died off.”

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together. 

“We weren’t, like, close or anything but I guess he didn’t have any other relatives which figures, because he’s a pain in the ass, but I’m the next male heir or whatever, so I got it.”

“Male heir,” Bucky repeats slowly, wondering which fucking TV show he’s walked into.

“A 6BHK in this economy is a fuckin’ castle,” you shush him, turning to Jason again. “Didn’t you bother renovating or anything?”

“Clearly not,” Bucky mumbles, because he may have only known Jason for a grand total of a few minutes, but he really doubts that it was he who picked out redwood furniture and gold trimmings. 

“Nah, I don’t care. I usually spend all day doing gigs at my friend’s house but he told me I can’t keep throwing ragers there every night so I wanna do that here but he’s just being a big baby about it,” he explains all in one breath.

“What gigs?” Bucky asks curiously.

“I’m a DJ who specialises in acoustic EDM,” he says, chest puffing in pride. 

“Of course.” Bucky nods in return. 

Jason turns to you. “Didn’t think you guys were coming, not gonna lie.”

“You just do that whole door opening show to everyone?” you ask, amused.

“Uh, no, I just heard you guys arguing outside and thought it’d be funny,” he says. “I got you guys good, lol.” 

“Well, not me,” you counter, “but Bucky, for sure, pissed his pants a litt–”

“Anyway, here’s the keys. I’m out,” Jason cuts in. “It’s my last three performances at Rick’s house.” 

He tosses the key at babygirl’s Bucky’s chest, who instinctively catches it with ease.  

“You’re just giving us the house for the night?” Bucky stares at him incredulously. 

“Yuh. There’s, like, beer in the fridge if you want. No one delivers here ‘cause someone snitched that this place is haunted, which was kinda fucked. So there’s ramen in the fridge too if you’re hungry.”

“Why is there ramen in–”

“See y’all later, lol,” he takes off without another word. 

Bucky’s left staring after the guy who just strolls down the garden and out the gate without a second look.

“I think I want to adopt him.” Your gaze trails after him, before you crack your knuckles. “Alright. Let’s get this guy’s bitch dick uncle.”

The longer Bucky spends in the house, he can tell with absolute certainty that someone loved this place deeply. It is styled and decorated with the flair of a passion project, even though it currently looked like it dreamed of being a landfill when it grew up. There were cobwebs everywhere and several dust bunnies in every corner, and also many crushed cans of beer all around the floor. 

The previous owner had taste for sure. Bucky’s not sure if he’d appreciate Jason turning it into the newest hotspot for his ragers. Whatever that meant. 

“How long are we going to be here?” he asks, swiping a finger across the table. 

“Why, you got something to do?” you pause before adding, “Or someone to do?”

He sends you a jaded glance. “None of your business.”

“You literally called me the love of your life.” You scoff from your corner of the room. 

“You called yourself that,” Bucky reminds monotonously. 

“And you have never denied it.”

“I’m denying it right no-”

“Bzzt, too late. Anyway,” you announce. “Your hot date will have to be postponed, I fear. We are not leaving until we get some sort of proof.”

“Two hours.” Bucky holds up two dust coated fingers.

“I’ll buy you a pretzel.”

“Three hours.” His middle finger goes up in solidarity. 

You grin. “More than enough. We’re gonna make you a believer, babygirl.”

True, and surprisingly enough, an hour later, his whole life changes. 

“Holy shit,” Bucky can’t quite believe his eyes either, stomach turning. 

“What?” You’re somewhere behind, stupid machine held up as you spin around like a ballerina waiting for something to do something and make a noise or some shit. He doesn’t know. 

Bucky has tucked the spirit box behind his ear like a pencil, arms gripping the doors.

“What the hell,” he trails off slowly, eyes glued to the sight in front of him, hypnotising.

“Did you find something?” you whisper-yell, and the camera whizzes past you into his line of sight.

Bucky swallows the bile in his throat. 

“When he said ramen’s in the fridge, I didn’t think he meant he boiled a fuckin’ bucket full of noodles and just left it in there. What the fuck.” He grabs the aforementioned bucket and lifts it into the air. “Who does this? What the fuck?”

You let out a huff, lightly stomping yor foot. “Be so serious right now.”

“Are you crazy? Look at this.” Bucky spins it around to look at it from every angle. “It’s got ‘Jason’s ramen’ written on it. Who the fuck else’s would this be?”

“You’re supposed to be looking for ghosts,” you insist. “That is demonic behaviour. It’s not the same.”

“I’m lookin’ for snacks,” Bucky puts the damn bucket back and ignores it to look through the rest of the fridge. “There’s nothing here. What does that kid eat?”

“If you’re looking for snacks, you gotta look in the mirror,” you hum hopefully. 

“Hilarious.” Bucky’s voice comes back muddled from the several bottles of beer in the fridge. 

“I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s not useful.” you correct, “You said you’re looking for snacks, not a whole meal.”

He stops briefly. Bucky’s not sure what to do with all this strange attention you give him. It makes him feel all sorts of ways and he doesn’t like it one bit. 

“Whatever,” he mutters, continuing to scavenge. 

“Woah, calm down there, Prince Charming.” You snicker. “Give a person a warning before pulling out all your best lines on me like that.”

“You’re supposed to be working, not flirting,” Bucky responds, feeling the same burn at the tip of his ears from that evening. 

“When I was in the events business, multitasking was considered a valuable and necessary skill.”

Bucky stands up so fast he nearly hits his head on the fridge.

“What’s with all these random jobs you keep saying you’ve done?” he questions. “They told me you went on the run a long time ago and that’s where you met Nat.”

Your face changes, features becoming more solemn. He doesn’t know what’s going on, because he’s never seen you this serious before, not even when you guys were hanging out in the library. 

“Bucky,” your voice drops a few octaves, straight and steady. “Answer me this honestly.”

He feels a bit defensive because it almost feels like he’s fucked up somehow.

“What?” he questions. 

You watch him for another second before taking a step toward him, observing him closely.

“Did you really ask people about me?” 

He straightens up ever so slightly. “Why?”

You look at him gravely. “I got one more question.”

You take another step, reducing the space btween you to almost a ciminally low amount. Bucky’s sure he can hear your heartbeat. 

You watch his eyes look into yours intently, a flciker or doubt there.

You open your mouth, voice low and strong, “When will you admit to yourself you’re obsessed with me?”

It takes a second for it to register, and almost instantly he shoves you away, only to have you break into a laugh. 

“You’re so fucking annoying.”

“You have a crush on me,” you sing, “why else are you going around asking your friends about me? Do you want them to put in a good word? You gonna ask them to deliver your handwritten note to me?”

“Fuck right off, and then fuck off some more,” he barks, grabbing a beer from the front of the line. 

“Don’t worry, Buck, I think you’re the cutest guy in our whole grade, no competition,” you drawl, grinning at the pissed expression on his face. 

Bucky swerves around you to beeline to the kitchen island to drink his stupid beer in peace. He thinks that his retirement age is actually nearing. 

A house like this, with a room for Steve and another guest room for whoever wanted to visit. Possibly a dog. There wasn’t musch left in life to do, so he may as well spend the rest of it out in the suburbs in quiet. 

A few seconds later, you break the silence with, “But to answer your question: I did go on the run. I just did all those jobs while I was running.”

He turns to you, noting that while your face was light, it seemed like there was sincerity and truth in what you were saying. 

“Why?” he asks, voice gruff.

You shrug, half a smile on your face. “Why not? I met Nat when she broke down the door of my accountancy office on one of her missions. I threw some staplers and hit a guy with a printer, and from then on, whenever I needed help or she needed my freaky little powers, we’d reach out. Years later, she asked if I wanted to come join, I was bored and now here we are. I’m a nepo baby, if you kinda think about it.” 

Bucky looks at you, but says nothing. 

“Anyway, brief history aside, I’m going upstairs. There’s nothing here other than your bitchy aura and bucket ramen.” The camera spins around to follow you.

Bucky simply ignores you as he swipes all the garbage off the counter and onto the ground so he can lean against it, alone with his beer and new information to process.

However, a loud creek, unmistakable and intense, comes from the floor above. 

You look at Bucky. He doesn’t look the least bit bothered, instead using his metal hand to pop open a beer he fished out of the damn fridge. 

“Can you shut up,” you hiss when he drinks a little too loud for your liking. 

“What,” he asks through a mouthful of beer as he drops the bottle cap onto the counter.

Another creek reverberates loudly through the house.

You make a face at him, somewhere in a mix between excitement and anticipation. 

“Is that supposed to mean something?” he inquires.

“Two creeks in the last minute,” you insist, like he’s stupid. 

He scoffs. “So? It’s an old house, if you breathe too hard the floor’s gonna fall off.”

“It is literally not that old. And second, it’s too much of a coincidence.” You make way towards the stairs, beckoning for him to follow. “And take the spirit box out of your hair, we need to catch if it’s saying something.”

“You're not gonna catch anything because it’s not going to speak because ghosts are not real.” He takes a large swig. 

You ignore him, leaving in search of the sound.

Bucky takes a second before following you anyway, bored out of his mind and with nothing really to do.

“You comin’ in?” he asks from inside the spacious room, beer in hand. 

“I didn’t even buy you dinner yet and you’re already inviting me into your bedroom.”

“Jesus Christ. Stay outside then.”

The room has a strange, musty smell. Bucky, sick and tired of the ebay this kid has been living, drags open the window to let some fresh air in, going so far as to tear a large hole through the newspaper to let the moonlight into the room. 

“Someone keeps moving the furniture back and forth, there’s scratches all over the floor,” you observe, pointing to the ground near the table and the bed. 

“Uh huh,” he says, tossing the spirit box onto the table before taking another swig, ducking out of the way of the camera. 

You scan every corner with the machine in your hand. Bucky wanders around aimlessly for a second before usefully sitting on the bed, leaning against the pillows. 

“You gonna take your shirt off next?” you question. 

Bucky rolls his eyes, taking another sip from his bottle. “Pay attention. Your demons are trying to talk t-.” 

The bed immediately lurches from underneath him, scraping loudly against the wood. 

“What the fuck–” he exclaims, getting right back up, heart in his throat for a damn second. 

You stifle a laugh.

“I’ve had enough of you today.” He puts the damn bottle down on the nightstand. “I’m leaving.” 

“We didn’t even light the candles yet, you can’t–”

The bed scrapes back into place again, but this time Bucky is prepared and done. 

“Stop doing that,” he snaps, “you’re ruining the flo–”

“I didn’t do that,” you tell him, eyebrows and hands raised, “That definitely wasn’t me.”

“Hardy har har. You didn’t push the bed, you didn’t climb the tree in the cemetery, you didn’t conjure up hallucinations of my–” He stops himself abruptly.

It’s too late, though. You very much caught it. 

The look you give him is peculiar. “Hallucinations of your what?” 

“Nothing,” he utters. “Got my wires crossed. Nothing to do with you.”

“Okay,” you drag out, giving him one more uncanny look before turning your attention to the bedpost. “Anyway, I promise you the second one was definitely not me. There’s something else going on here.”

Bucky is starkly sent back to fifteen minutes ago and his thoughts of retirement as he watches you crouch by the floor.

He was too old for this. He was not right for this. The three second glance at his dead sister and his entire life had gone lopsided. Honestly, he could probably handle like two or three more episodes of this nonsense before tapping out completely. 

“I can sense something,” you announce.

“I can sense something too,” he murmurs absentmindedly to himself. “It’s called bullshi–”

“Be quiet, I want to see if we can talk to the guy in the room.” You hold your hand up. “Hey Jason’s uncle. You here?”

He watches, unamused, as nothing changes. No machine beeps, nothing creeks.

“Bucky, you scared him away.” You turn to him, hands on your hips. “You used your big bitch face and you scared away th–”

He launches a pillow at you. It lowers to the ground without ever touching you. 

“Go eat some bucket ramen and maybe you’ll be less bitchy.” Your face lights up, and he can tell you’ve gotten another stupid idea. “Jason’s uncle, are you hungry? Do you want something to eat? Human blood? Metal arm?”

Silence.

“No pretzels for you,” you tsk, but let go of the idea anyway. 

“Maybe your ghost boyfriend likes them, why don’t you ask him?” He pulls out his phone to book himself an Uber. “And since he literally doesn’t talk and you don’t shut up, it’d be a great ma–”

The same pillow he launched at you gets thrown back at him. He simply ducks out of the way, and it hits the nightstand, toppling the bottle over.

“Now look at what you did,” you accuse, pointing at the bottle with the camera following suit. 

“The fuck? I didn't do shit–” Bucky stops speaking when something nudges his leg. 

The bottle that initially had clattered to the ground quite a feet away from him was now by his foot.

“Interesting,” you muse.

“What?” he questions immediately. “That a bottle rolled? It’s a bottle. They do that.”

“Uh huh. Come stand here then.” You jut your thumb out to a few paces away. 

He rolls his eyes but takes a large stride towards you.  

Annoyingly, the bottle rolls right along with him and lands up at his feet.

“Ghost,” you nod along certainly. 

“Why isn't it doing that then?” he argues on instinct, and then his mind catches up, forcing him to take a step back and wonder why the fuck he was still in the house. 

Once again, he genuinely believes that this should be enough. Ghost hunted for a few episodes, read a few stories. He thinks his numbers should be up and that would be convincing enough for Maya to let him get away from the series, especially if he played his 80-years-of-imprisonment card right.  

“You're right.” You peer at him before turning your head up to the ceiling. “Please, ghost man. Please, I’m begging you, hit this man. Plea–”

Bucky feels something smack lightly against the back of his head before falling to the ground.

A second later you erupt into cheers and he turns around to look at the culprit.

A crumpled up piece of paper.  He bends down to pick it up, finding nothing special about it other than some random scribbles. Probably some more of Jason's junk. 

“Ghosts are real and they hate Bucky Barnes, baby!,” you cheer. “Ohh, I’m gonna make so much money. Babygirl, you are a poltergeist magnet. ”

“It’s a piece of paper and the window is open,” he groans, tossing it back onto the ground, where it dances around, proving his point. “The wind carried it over and it touched my head.”

“Right. The wind.” You roll your eyes. “You’re like, fifteen feet tall, only God can see the top of your head.”

“That doesn’t mean any–”

“Hush, I’m thinking. Quiet, human Burj Khalifa.” You hold your hand up. “Let’s see. The ghost knocks on furniture when we were downstairs. It shoves the bed and rolls a bottle around on the ground when we’re arguing and right when you’re leaving, it throws a piece of paper at you. What could it all mean?”

“I got it.” BUccky straightens up. “Holy shit, I think I know what it means.”

“What?” you ask, wonder and mystery. “What does it mean?”

“It means that my Uber’s here,” Bucky replies in the same tone and mystery. “You’re insane. I’m leaving. Bye.”

“Ugh, you’re such a loser. If I turn up dead, you’ll have been the last person to see me alive.”

“I’ll see you at home.” He shoves his hands into the pocket of his shorts before turning on his heel. 

“I do not have a home.” you say, reaching to grab the piece of paper he discarded and shoving it into your bag; 

“Okay, see you on the news, then.” He kicks the damn bottle out of the way before heading out the door. “I’ll make sure they use a real nice picture of you.”

“Bitch–” you begin, when something catches your attention

The bed creeks loudly, reflexes instantly sending him into fight or flight. 

Bucky turns to you to cuss you out again for the nth time that evening, but you’ve also got a look of confusion painted all over you. 

“Hold on,” you say strangely, voice thick with theorising, “I think I actually figured it out.”

When Jason finally makes his way back to the house two hours later, his hair is littered with stray bits of confetti and his eyes are smudged with eyeliner. He’s got a smoothie cup full of glittery red liquid and a straw, and what looks like little bits of fruit floating around in there. 

“Looks like the gig was a rager,” you comment. 

“Nah this wasn’t from the gig. I got lost,” he dismisses, and then refuses to expand further. “Anyway, you kicked his ass, right?”

You look at Bucky, who is standing with his arms crossed over his chest, bitch face on full blast as he looks pissed in the corner.

“Your uncle– he decorated this house himself, right?” you prompt. 

“Yeah.” Jason says, taking a sip from his unidentified liquid. “He got a bunch of shit custom made.” 

“Right.” You nod. “And when you came in here, did you shift the furniture around?”

“Yeah, lol, it was mad ugly,” Jason divulges, taking one large last sip before dropping his cup onto the ground. “Mine’s way better.” 

“Have you considered that maybe… your uncle doesn’t like that?” you try gently, eyes following the cup as it clatters gracefully onto the ground. 

Bucky talks to himself under his breath, the same as when you told him that the only time spooky shit had happened was when he dropped bottle caps, shifted beds out of their original places, left behind bottles and other paper. But he doesn’t contradict you. 

“I see,” Jason says. “What’s wrong with moving furniture again?”

Bucky wonders how the guy made it to this age. “Maybe he just doesn’t like you moving his shit around. Not that there’s a ghost at all.” 

“Hmm,” he says, following along. “So I stop moving the bed and other stuff, and he’ll stop being such a bitch?”

“And maybe he doesn’t like you leaving trash around the place?” you eye the cup, completely understanding where the uncle was coming from. 

“Okay,” Jason says again. 

“So you’ll stop?” you proposition slowly.

He shrugs. “Nah, I like it better this way.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky exhales.

You hold back an audible groan. 

“You could, like, punch him to get him off my back. Like, all the way off my back,” the guy suggests instead. “Like, sucks for him that he’s dead, I guess, but it’s like, my house now.”

You stay quiet and wait. 

Sure enough, the cup from earlier bumps into his leg in silent fury.

He stares down at it, giving it a kick. It rolls away before rolling right back with malice. Bucky narrows his eyes at it, too tired at this point to even complain. 

“This house is weird, man,” Jason declares after fifteen rounds of kicking it and watching it roll back. 

“Look–” you sigh. “You could just stop littering, and he’ll stop messing with your layout.”

“And take out the trash more than once a month,” Bucky adds from under his breath. 

“Life’s all about compromises. You get his house for free and he gets a clean house to spend his afterlife in.”

“No such thing,” Bucky adds.

You send a glare his way.

“I see,” Jason contemplates, as if it’s the toughest decision on earth to pick up his crushed soda cans. “Yeah, okay.”

A second later, the cup finally stops trying to assault his now pink flip flops. and comes to a standstill. 

The both of you peer at him.

“What?” he asks. 

Your gaze drifts down.

It takes a very long second for it to click.

“Oh ‘Kay,” he says, bending over to pick it up and place it back on his table, looking at you for confirmation, to which you nod. 

It stays in its place. 

“Radical,” he says. 

No one says anything further. The bed doesn’t make a noise either. The air is almost dropping with awkwardness. 

You clear your throat. “Well, that concludes it then. Pleasure meeting ya.”

“You too.” Jason gives you a thumbs up, following it with a peace sign. 

“Bye,” Bucky says curtly, turning to walk out the room.

“Oh! Here’s our business card, in case you or anyone else you–”

Bucky spins you around by your shoulders and drags you out of the room with him. 

On the way back, you sort through all the footage from the evening while Bucky drives the van back. 

Thankfully, it has been relatively quiet the entire time, except for the soft sounds of the radio and the buzz of the heater. Bucky tunes out for most of the ride, one hand on the wheel and the other propping up his head.  

“Huh,” you comment out of the blue. “That’s fun.”

“What?” he asks inattentively . 

“I guess his uncle really was hungry,” you consider. 

Bucky simply keeps quiet and waits for you to go on if you choose to.

“Piece of paper that he threw at you–”

“Piece of paper that the wind picked up,” even his entertaining of you has a limit, but he isn’t paying much attention. 

“It’s got letters on it,” you shove the sheet in front of his eyes, forcing him to swerve on the road in an instant. 

“I’m driving,” he hisses, shoving it aside swiftly. “Do you want us to die?” 

“Yeah, yeah, but look at it,” you insist, only to hold it close to his face again. “Does this mean anything to you? It did hit you across the head.”

He refuses to believe you at first, but the second he glances at it, it’s unmistakable.

‘PB&J’ written messily across the page, small letters, lines jagged like someone was struggling to write with their non-dominant hand.

“That’s nothing,” he dismisses quietly, “He’s a college kid. They live on that shit.” 

“Or maybe someone in the afterworld really misses their PB&J,” you hum. 

Bucky doesn't answer, because the alternative is worse. The alternative means something is going very, very wrong. 

 But you don't seem to pay him any heed, going right back to sorting through footage. 

It’s probably why you don’t notice that his one handed grip on the steering wheel gets tighter, and his face quietly drains of colour. 

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Next part

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Platonic ¡yan! Dick Grayson x Batsis x Jason Todd

A/N: Another discussion post because we need to talk about Grayson! Thank you for your contribution, mootie! You are so good at bouncing off of ideas. I hope you don’t mind me writing this🤭

@siririus

Context

Masterlist

Craziest thing about all of this is, it's a paradox. Is Dick really only this upset because his batsis is prefers Jason?....Or is it also because it's almost like she's taking his brother away from him and they are becoming each others favorites?

In the previous post, i said how dick has a fear of being pushed to the side and forgotten. He's scared of no longer being needed anymore and this relationship kind of symbolizes that. You never needed Dick, even in the beginning. Jason leaned on Dick a lot as they knew each other the longest and it took so much work to mend the fractures in it. Now Jason is confiding in you more...you understand each other way more.

It's a complex issue.

One solution you might say is just for them to form some kind of trio...But he's tried. LOL Grayson has crashed many of your hangout sessions to use it as an opportunity to become close to you.

He knows you won't leave because you like Jason too much and he also gets to spend time with his brother. perfect. NOT.

Dick cannot seem to grasp the concept that you and Jason have a "parallel play" kind of thing going on. Like you mentioned Jason is subtle. He's not really trying to do something over the top, he just wants to chill and do his own thing. SO you guys might chat for like five minutes then he turns around to go read his book while you're playing a phone game. It's enough for you two to just be near. But Dick, he's internalizing it. He thinks you stopped talking because he's there. He thinks you guys are having way more action packed hangouts when you're alone. To him, just sitting next to each other isn't "hanging out".

He'll try to keep pushing for a conversation and you guys are like...eh. Or he'll try to force you all to do fun games ect. and it usually ends with you leaving first or Jason getting upset then you walking out together.

But that couch thing is so funny. I think that Dick would've been like waving you down to sit next to him all smiley and he has your favorite snacks in a cute little box but Jason just motions his head and you choose that. Stab right in the heart. He's not even watching the movie anymore, he's just paying attention to you guys.

Do not fall asleep on Jason. I think that'll high key bring Dick to tears. He wants that so badly. Dick is super physically affectionate but he's constantly craving hugs and all of that. You falling asleep on Jason reminds him of when Jason and him would have sleepovers in the living room, and Jason would always end up sleeping on his shoulder or lap.

He's tried hugging you before but you just go incredibly stiff and shaky so it's not even fulfilling to him. He wants to carry you on his back, do your hair in the mornings, cuddles, handshakes..ect. He wants to be your best friend. I do think you just even holding his hand would calm him down or holding his arm would help him to feel better.

He does attempt the subtlety of Jason. It doesn't really work the same way because well, he cannot contain himself. He's feral. Plus you assume the seat is for Cass or Babs instead so you never choose it. Like he gets to the dinner table first, saves the seat for you, and you sit next to him but he makes it so weird AHHAHA. Like he's trying to remain calm but he's breathing so hard. You finally chose him. (it was the only seat left) BUT YOU CHOSE HIM. You didn't scurry away like usual. He's just staring at you because he's so happy and you are sending help signals to Jason who is finding this all very amusing. Dick, wont stop talking either and he keeps filling up your plate with food. He gives you a corner piece of the brownie..he loves you so much.

[chrispleasure]

BOYFRIEND MATT, headcannons!

boyfriend matt would, give you piggy back rides from the car to the front door when coming home from getting your toe nails painted and trimmed.

boyfriend matt would, be afraid to get comfortable in bed, not wanting to take up too much space and make you uncomfortable.

boyfriend matt would, press kisses on the tip of your nose when you cry, as an attempt to cheer you up.

boyfriend matt would, compare hand sizes, acting intrigued just so you’d put your hand on his, too afraid to ask for physical intimacy at times.

boyfriend matt would, always offer you his hoodies, loving the way you look in them.

boyfriend matt would, stock up on santitary/ period products for whenever you come to stay, leaving them in your drawer in his bathroom.

boyfriend matt who, hugs you at anytime of the day, either your cooking pasta for dinner and he envelopes you in a hug from behind.

boyfriend matt who, would purposely spill crumbles off his plate onto the bed to get a reaction from you while your mad, wanting to hear your voice.

boyfriend matt who, loves pampering you, whether it’s helping you in the shower, colouring in with you, buying you all the gifts you want, doing everything for you while your in a shit mood.

boyfriend matt who, refuses to leave you alone when you cry. “nuh uh, were gonna hug it out, okay? m’ not leaving my precious baby alone while she cries.”

boyfriend matt who, helps you out of your comfort zone, taking you to social gatherings, trying new foods with you.

boyfriend matt who, encourages you to join in on group activities, knowing your an introvert. “cmon babes, just kick the ball f’ me, ‘kay?”

boyfriend matt who, takes you away from a crowded area when noticing you keep pulling at your dress, biting your nails.

boyfriend matt who, without asking takes your hand and takes you to the bathroom with him. “cmon, just wait here ‘f me. i’ll pee quick i promise.”

boyfriend matt who, let’s you play your songs in the car, even when he doesn’t enjoy them as much as you “is this gigi perez or gracie abrams?”

thing’s matt sturniolo would say!

“i dont know how to do this. am i doing it right? the words of affirmation thing?”

“wow, babes.. you look stunning.”

“please.. please just listen to me.”

“no more drinks, ‘kay? i dont want you doing things you’d regret.”

“you look like you need a hug.”

“how can you still manage to look so beautiful while crying? i look like a wet dog when i do.”

“just talk to me, i promise it’ll help.”

“we’ll get through this.. problem, okay? it was just a small relapse. you tried baby, and im so proud.”

“im not letting you sleep on the couch, come on. get under the blankets.”

“i mean.. im cool with sharing a bed if you are.”

“i bought you some flowers, ‘knew how much you needed them.”

“where’s my goodnight kiss?”

“you can stay as long as you wont, my mom loves you.”

“next time, just give me a heads up, ‘kay?”

“im just glad your okay, baby.”

“i couldn’t- i couldnt find you and i just thought something happened, alright?”

“just, sit down! please. god.”

“no, dont cry. i hate it when you cry”

“hey, no more of that. stop it, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“i could use a hug.”

writers note: whoever sees this and want’s tumblr friends pls comment cause i’d love to talk to yalll💝 also it would really be appreciated if i get sent some requests !!

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