#I think his voice would be very easy to fall asleep to

[scorchieart]

Well, I know why, but.... oh Clavis....

The little details in this fic were just precious and heartbreaking all put together. From the way Clavis feels each attempt might just be wasted time to him trying to keep up his charming persona in front of her to him just falling apart in front of Chevalier. He turned to Chevalier as his last hope... and he couldn't give him what he wanted... but he still gave him what he needed... hope... 😢

Oh Clavis...

I really really liked this one.

Hi! You can take your time to write this but can I request for a dying Emma in a battlefield or illness and so on, with either Clavis, Chevalier or Licht by her side?

A little angst and a little hope in this one! Clavis is desperate to keep his beloved Emma by his side as she slowly succumbs to a terrible illness. Approx. 1700 words.

Clavis bent over his desk, gripping the sides so hard his hands ached. There were loose papers scattered across the surface, sheets covered in indecipherable notes. The floor was strewn with books, the couch as well. The only clear spot was a table set up with vials, alembics, glass and ceramic tubes, and beakers. Everything had a faint chemical odor overlaid with sour sweat. 

The prince noticed none of these things. His tired eyes scanned yet another ‘promising’ paper, this time from a doctor in Obsidian. The cure described was similar to a concoction he’d already attempted, with just a few differences in the preparation. Normally, he wouldn’t have bothered testing it, but perhaps it made a difference. Heating the solution twice rather than once and. . .

He hurried to his small chemist set and went to work. 

It took three precious hours to compound the medicine. A waste, if it did not work. Clavis pushed that thought from his mind. If not this attempt, then the next. Or the next. Hope was a fire, devouring his heart, but he would not let go. He would never let go.

He poured the mixture into a ceramic mug. The cup was glazed with bright colors, the handle made to look like bunny ears. There was a face on the other side. A bunny face, if you squinted. Clavis made it for Emma on her birthday. It was meant to be her new teacup but it fit this new purpose just as well. He mixed in two spoonfuls of honey to cover the bitterness.

The hall in front of Emma’s door was full of people. Servants and nobles, villagers from Clavis’ province. Even King Highness was there, leaned up against the wall opposite her door, reading. He nodded to Clavis in greeting, barely looking up from his book. 

Clavis ignored the gesture and hurried into Emma’s room. Cyran sat beside her bed, holding her hand. They were talking about something, whispering. Both fell silent as the prince entered.

“Good morning, beautiful.” Clavis smiled as if his life depended on it. 

Cyran let go of her hand and stood. “I’ll get out of your hair now, my lady. Thanks for humoring me.” He touched her cheek lightly, blinking back tears. 

Emma nodded. “Thank you.” Her gaze moved to Clavis, pale lips turning up in a slight smile. “There you are.”

“I’ll be in the hall if you need anything.” Cyran hurried out, closing the door behind him.

When the soldier was gone, Clavis sat in the chair next to her bed. The smile on his face did not waver as he took Emma’s hand. “I brought you something.”

“A new treatment?” Hope battled with apathy in her tired gaze.

He held up her bunny cup. “Of course. I’m not ready to be Rhodolite’s most handsome widower.” Clavis helped her sit up and watched as she drained the contents of the mug.

Her lips twisted at the bitter medicinal after taste. “Mmmm. Could I have a sip of my tea?”

Clavis made a mental note to add more honey to the next dose. He held the teacup while she drank, noticing the slight tremor in her hands. She looked so fragile. His heart ached as he watched her struggle to swallow. He wanted so badly to make this right. Other men might pray or cry but Clavis was already thinking of how to improve on this treatment. What refined medicines could be added to complement the ingredients. How best to administer.

Her fingers grazed his cheek. “Stop.” Emma smiled up at him, a knowing look on her face. “You’re planning again and I want your attention.”

His laugh was soft, his expression more gentle than anyone outside this room might believe. “Caught me. It seems I married the smartest woman in Rhodolite, not just the most beautiful.” 

“Flatterer.”

“This is the part where you tell me how handsome I am.” He leaned close, kissing her with restrained passion. A slow, sweet kiss that spoke of yearning and lonely nights and the pain of being parted. 

“I think you already know how gorgeous you are. And how brilliant. My amazing husband.” She gazed up at him with so much love that he felt his heart clench in his chest, the steady beat off-tempo for a moment.

Bitterness welled up in him though he tried to ignore it. Amazing. An amazing man would have already found a cure. He was only an amateur meddler. A prankster. But he smiled for her, bottling all the hurt to give her whatever was best in him. “Well, now that you’ve complimented me, I suppose I should reward you.”

He picked a book up from the lower shelf of her night table. “What chapter did we last read?”

Her eyes lit up. Even now, she was eager for her favorite stories. “Chapter 4? When the two patriarchs swear to keep the lovers apart.”

“Ah yes. Here we go. I know my voice is distracting but please try to pay attention to the plot.” He winked. 

Clavis read to her until she slipped into sleep again, and then sat there in silence, watching her. Even now, she was so beautiful. Her lively curls were sweat-damp and dull and her body was so gaunt that he could almost trace the bones beneath her skin. Yet to his eyes, none of that existed. He saw her bright smile, the slight lift of her lips when she realized he was teasing. Her brave face when he presented a new breakfast dish. 

She was the woman he’d come to love without even realizing it until he was so lost in her that he didn’t want to find a way out. He wanted a whole life with her. These few years together were not enough, not nearly enough. 

He stroked her hair. His Emma was still here, and that meant there was still a chance to save her. 

The shaking fit caught him by surprise, though it shouldn’t have. Emma made a small choking sound, breath catching in her throat as her body went rigid. Little tremors raced through her muscles, making her twitch. 

Clavis called for the doctor. It took only a moment for the medical team to push him aside. The doctor and his assistants began assessing her and the prince stepped outside. 

Cyran was just outside, as he’d said he would be. 

“Send for me when the doctor leaves,” Clavis instructed. He forced his smile back into place. He hadn’t realized it slipped until he spoke. His face felt rigid. Numb. His eyes burned. He refused to cry though. Crying for her now would be a betrayal. There was still hope. And he wasn’t going to let go. He had to focus, to be the most clever prince that ever lived. Clever enough to beat this disease before it stole his light away.

It didn’t take Clavis long to find Chevalier. His brother was in the library, a book open as usual. Chev didn’t bother to look up when Clavis came in.

It took everything in him to cross the distance between them. Every bit of courage he possessed to speak. “I’m not good enough to figure this out, Chev. I need -” he cleared his throat, “I need your help.”

Chevalier flipped to the next page, just as if Clavis hadn’t said a word.

“You have to know something, someone. Some way out of this.” Clavis stepped closer. 

“I have to?” Chevalier turned another page. His voice was cold and flat. They might have been discussing the weather, except that Chev never engaged in such small talk.

“You always know the next steps. You anticipate my every move, predict every outcome. I hate you for it. For being such a perfect bastard. But just this once, I don’t care. If it means . . . if it means she lives.”

Chev finally looked up. “People die all the time.”

Clavis felt his hands clench into fists at his sides. “I can’t accept that.”

His brother gave him a cruel smile. “You don’t have a choice.”

He didn’t remember crossing the few steps to the chair Chevalier sat in but one moment he was standing a little ways away and the next, he had Chev’s shirt in his fist, their faces barely a fingers’ length apart. “You bastard. Tell me how to fix this!”

Chevalier’s expression barely changed. “You are even more a fool than she is. Do you think I would withhold a cure? I dislike losing my pawns to no purpose.”

The words were exactly what Clavis should have expected but they hit him like the blow of a hammer. His heart stuttered in his chest. He shook his brother in frustration, tearing his shirt and coat with the violence of his motion. 

What surprised him most was that Chev let him do it. He relaxed into the assault with the grace of a ragdoll. Clavis shook him and drew back his other fist. He wanted to beat him. To hit Chevalier until he forced him to come up with a better answer. He sagged against Chev as the truth sunk into his bones. His brother had no cure, no plan to create one. 

For a moment, neither brother moved. It was the most intimate position they’d held with one another since they were children. Then Chevalier, almost gently, pushed Clavis back until he was standing on his own again, and pried his fingers loose from his shirt. 

“Then I will find a cure on my own.” The words rasped from Clavis’ throat. “I’ll prove I am better than you. And I will keep her here. By my side.”

Something shifted in Chevalier’s cold gaze. It was not ice in his eyes, it was the banked coals of a fire so hot they burned blue. “Do what you like. You don’t need my permission.” 

Clavis smiled so wide that his cheeks hurt. “Remember you said that. Because I am going to spend every coin, use every diplomatic contact, every tool and access I have as your advisor. I will save her.”

“Good.” 

The word was so quiet that Clavis almost thought he imagined it. 

“Then you had better succeed. Otherwise, you have wasted my time.” Chevalier gave Clavis a last, hard look, and then returned to his book.

“I will.” Clavis strode from the room, feeling a renewed purpose.

[cuteniarose]

It’s almost 6 a.m and I can’t sleep because I’m being plagued by thoughts of The Latest OC

[thinkinonsense]

first sleepover with worst!logan *mdni

the two of you hadn't been together very long before you invited logan to stay over; and to say he was hesitant would be an understatement.

"i'm not sure, princess..." he mumbles, getting up from the couch to leave again.

"c'mon lo..." you purr, stopping him by crawling into his lap. "it's getting late anyways."

this was the latest he had been over; almost three am. you weren't sure why he was so insistent on leaving, during the day he would hang around your apartment for hours but when night falls, he's eager to go. none of it made sense to you but to logan, it was crystal.

to start, he didn't want you to get too attached. logan couldn't have a sweet young girl like yourself get wrapped up in his twisted ways. from the moment first saw you in your silky, tiny nightgown he knew he wouldn't last a whole night alone with you.

"ain't gotta worry about me, sweetheart." he said, tucking a strand of lose hair behind your ear. "i can take care of myself out there."

you look up at him with these sad pouty lips that remind logan of one of the many times he's been shot in his lifetime. he loathed how soft you're making him; smoothing ever sharp edge of him until you've molded him into your perfect mate.

"pretty please, logan." you whine, wrapping both arms around his neck. the begging was only making it worse for him.

"i don't want to have to do this, doll face." he sighed, hands unknowingly traveling to your hips and playing with this silk.

"then stay here with me."

logan didn't think he was this weak. the old him would've just barked in your face and stormed out of the apartment already; but instead he's being dragged into your bedroom. the only part of your apartment that logan has never seen. well, technically he's peeked in once or twice but he's never been inside. everything about the room reminded him of you. soft pastels plastered everywhere and cute little decorations littered about.

what really got him was your bed. baby blue sheets with matching pillows and a decorative heart pillow front and center. if wade saw him sitting in this girly bed, logan would never hear the end of it. but for her? he would lay here until he died.

"whatcha think?" you ask him with a small smile.

"looks just like you; pretty and vibrant." he says, one hand on your jaw to pull you into a quick kiss.

logan stripped himself of his shirt before climbing in next to you. both of you laid on your sides with one of logan's arms wrapped firmly around your abdomen in the quiet bedroom. time passes and logan thinks he's finally got himself under control; falling asleep peacefully for once.

"mmm... lo..." you groan softly from your slumber.

logan wasn't an idiot, he knew what has happening. it wasn't easy but he tried to block you out, ignoring your sweet cries for him which had become manageable until you began squirming against him; your volume increasing little by little.

finally, he had to put an end to this torture. both large hands placed on your waist tightly and almost harshly to stop your movements, ultimately awakening you.

"lo, what are you-"

"can't even behave while sleeping, huh?" his voice was hot against your ear. logan's right hand travels up the nightgown to paw at your chest in a way that made your eyes roll back. his left hand travels south, exposing the thin matching material underneath your nightgown which sends your head flying back against his shoulder. the movement exposes your neck to him, biting and licking as he pleases.

"s-s-sorry for... for w-waking you up-p." you apologize, moving against his lower hand.

"no need to apologize, dollface." logan chuckles darkly at the eagerness and candor in your voice. "this is a much better sleepover than i imagined."

[svtswhorehouse]

DATING JEONGHAN INCLUDES…. — sfw

• your boyfriend or your bully? (just kidding he absolutely adores you.)

• he would definitely 100% talk to you in a baby voice.

• he considers staying home and building the most difficult and intricate lego sets a date.

• oh he definitely takes such good care of you.

• another one in which you never have to drive because he always offers to.

• he's honestly the type of person to say no to having an animal. he insists on a pet rock being more than enough (he might let you get a bunny though if you beg hard enough.)

• jeonghan’s the angel on your shoulder, but he’s also the devil on the other.

• would buy you lego flower bouquets instead of real ones. he claims they would last you forever (and they do.)

• he always has your back, even when you're in the wrong. he would probably end up gaslighting the other person easily to get you off the hook (it works every time.)

• he's probably the type of person to trip you in public. 100% laughs at you before helping you up.

• he may cheat in games a lot, but whenever he's up against you, he ALWAYS plays fair.

• he's really into physical affection, but keeps it low-key. normally has an arm around your shoulder or your hand intertwined with his — he tends to kiss your knuckles time to time.

• honestly, the BEST when it come to comforting you. he knows exactly what to say and exactly what to do.

• he would let you play with his hair anytime you want. doesn't care what you do, even if you put it in pig tails. as long as he's getting head scratches, it's whatever.

• he always offers you a bite of his food and insists you eat it even if you don't want it.

• you could tell him absolutely anything and everything and he would never judge you for it.

• late night conversations with him could go on for hours and they're the best.

• jeonghan’s not the type of person to get jealous easily. he's fully confident in not only his looks, but his relationship as well.

• ONE OF THE BEST KISSERS and i stand by that idc.

• his presence is so calming and comforting that it makes it easy to fall asleep whenever you're around him so consider your insomnia cured.

• he's constantly teasing you, but he can read you very well and knows when to back off.

• despite him being a light sleeper, he falls asleep within the blink of an eye whenever he's with you. he calls you his melatonin.

• he will put you on the spot in group settings or just in general because he enjoys when you're flustered.

• he whispers the answer into your ears or which move to make next whenever you're playing a game. you would always end up winning because of this.

• whenever you two argue, he's actually really good at understanding your feelings and communicating. he insists on making up and not going to bed angry at each other.

• y’all would definitely double/triple date with seungcheol, joshua, and their s/o's.

• he's definitely the type to scare the shit out of you after y’all watch a scary movie.

• even though he gets cold easily, if you ever forget your jacket, he will give you his without even thinking about it. don’t even try to argue with him.

• he will always match your excitement with his own, even if he’s grumpy or having a bad day. jeonghan refuses to dull your sparkle.

• he always makes sure there’s a hair tie on his wrist for you (sometimes two so he can have one as well.)

• he is truly one of the best people to talk shit with. if you hate someone, then he hates them too. if you wanna punch someone, well then he sure as hell isn’t holding you back — he’s helping you and drop kicking them.

• he would probably use your shampoo ngl.

• he’s ridiculously good at making eye contact and maintaining it so whenever you’re talking to him, you tend to get butterflies (it’s okay though because this just proves he’s being attentive.)

• he probably has some weird, funny photo of you as his lockscreen, but everytime he looks at his phone he smiles in admiration.

• LAZY DATES. he prefers being in the comfort of your own home and as long as you’re with him, you’re content.

• he would laugh at any joke you make no matter how lame.

• he would indulge in cute little activities you like such as coloring or even playing just dance.

• y’all have weird hobbies together. i’m talking hobbies like going to couples therapy and making the therapist uncomfortable as y’all pretend to be angry over stupid shit when in reality your relationship is perfect. (the look on the therapist’s face when you tell her you’re jealous because of his pet rock is priceless.)

[awearywritersworld]

there can be no covenants between men and lions

ryomen sukuna x reader summary: sukuna would rather contemplate your murder than come to terms with his feelings for you, but you call him out on his bullshit. w/c: 3k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. angst to fluff. aged up!yuuji. heavy kissing. features yuuji x reader and he is, of course, best boy. cursing. sukuna decides he wants to kill you (so obviously there are mentions of murder and such) but cant even stand the sight of you upset, what a goof. i'd once again like to think sukuna's not too ooc in this but im still more than likely delusional. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: i was so touched by all of the love that part one received, i wanted to try my hand at part two. i hope i've done it justice! just as part one references homer's the odyssey, this references homer's the illiad because sukuna is very hot and well read. achilles, the protagonist of the novel, is discussed. i'm definitely open to writing a part three, because this one is much heavier on the angst and i miss soft sukuna from part one. series masterlist // masterlist

you and yuuji rarely argue, but when you do, it's often over his aversion toward seriousness, even when a situation calls for it. though you really should have kept your mouth shut, because in this moment, you'd give anything to see his typical carefree expression.

his eyes are regarding you intently, taking in your flustered appearance with knitted brows.

"yuuji..." you trail off, wracking your brain for an explanation of your current predicament.

despite the fact he regained control of his body only moments ago, one of his hands is curled around the back of your neck, while the other is resting on your hip.

"baby, what happened?" he presses, the tone of his voice entirely unreadable.

"s-sukuna," is all you can manage to choke out.

his eyes darken immediately, his jaw tensing in a way that intimidates you. "he hurt you."

you really can't tell if it's a question or a statement, and your response comes a little too quickly. "no! that's not... no."

the next few seconds tick by in a slow sort of agony, heat creeping up your cheeks.

he notices for the first time that his head is eerily quiet. no snide remarks, no scathing commentary. just his own thoughts as he pieces together the situation.

his gaze drops to the angry, red marks littering your neck and you watch in helpless horror as understanding passes his features.

"oh."

the word hangs in the air as you await his reaction, fully anticipating disgust and betrayal. you're positive it's only a matter of time before he throws you out of the apartment and tells you to never come back.

what you don't expect, however, is the way his shoulders relax as the tension leaves his face.

he straightens himself, arms falling to his sides, but he doesn't put any distance between your bodies.

"how long have you...?" he's not quite sure how to phrase the question.

"a few months. this was the first time anything... um... happened. we usually just talk."

he tilts his head to the side, so you clarify. "after you've fallen asleep."

mulling over the information, he hums in response, looking thoughtful for a few more seconds. then, his usual demeanor is back and he grabs your hand. "wanna get dinner? i'm starving!"

he tugs you a few feet toward the door before you come to your senses. "woah, woah. wait a second, yu."

when he looks back at you expectantly, you find that his face holds not one hint of bitterness or judgement. "aren't you angry?"

you're amazed to find that he's the one looking sheepish.

"how could i be? it's not exactly easy to be with me when i have a thousand year old curse rattling around in my body, but you stay anyway," he expresses, making your heart soften. "i just want you to be safe, so i'll take whatever relationship the two of have now over him being a threat to you."

as your hands reach up to cradle his face and your eyes sparkle with adoration, you briefly wonder how you ever found such a sweet man. he places a quick kiss to your lips, the smile on his face easy going as ever. "sooooo, i'm thinking takoyaki or maybe udon—"

"we can get whatever you want," you glance at the spatters of blood across his chest left there from the mission, no doubt from sukuna's careless slaughter. "as long as you go wash up first."

"right!" he agrees quickly, bounding off to the bathroom.

you stand alone in the middle of your living room, left with the ghost of both yuuji and sukuna's lips against yours and a sense of bewildered excitement.

back in his prison, however, sukuna is furious with himself. he should have let you die that day he kept you from being run over. better yet, he should have killed you with his own hands before the brat won back control of his body.

he is a terrible being that delights in carnage, a fact that's well known even centuries later. so why, when he could have done anything in the world, did he go to you? you even asked that same question before you—

he rejects the memory of you pressing your lips to his disdainfully.

your foolishness and your naivete are revolting. your softness and your pliancy are nauseating.

he shouldn't have been anywhere near you, if not to rip your obnoxious heart from your chest like he'd always planned. it was a situation he'd dreamt about and now it's slipped through his fingers, even though those same fingers had graced your fragile little neck.

you were nothing more than a clueless mouse in the jaws of a snake, and though the pains of hunger have been tearing at its stomach for years now, the serpent let itself starve.

sukuna retreats to his domain, fingers prodding at his temples irritably. he allows himself to wallow for a few hours, shutting out both you and the brat.

then, steeling his resolve, he begins to watch and wait like the predator he knows himself to be.

lulled into a false sense of security regarding your safety, it's clear that yuuji has let his guard down. just barely so, but enough that sukuna can see a few weaknesses in his chains. ironic seeing that, now more than ever, the king of curses wants you dead.

it goes without saying that he promptly ceases his nightly interactions with you. it's beneath him, wasting his time with a human. he knows that now.

but while he may not speak to you, he cannot refrain from stealing glances as the days stretch on. you're usually reading, completely oblivious to his watchful eye. he convinces himself it's simply to keep tabs on you, as he's deemed you his foremost enemy.

he's not sure how much time has passed when you begin calling out for him in hushed whispers after yuuji falls asleep, the hurt and confusion in your voice plain to him. it's irksome, and evidently, you're incapable of taking a hint.

his silence becomes more painful with each turn of the moon. you're a bit mortified to find that you genuinely miss him, so you just want answers. did he finally realize that you're nothing special, not worth bothering with?

eventually, growing restless, you all but beg him. "sukuna, please. talk to me. what happened? what'd i do wrong?" his chest tightens with what he believes is vexation. "you can't just make me like you and then disappear. you can't kiss me like that and then—"

"you insolent, maddening little creature!" his eye flies open just in time to see you gasp, your body jerking away from him. "shut up already! can't you see i want nothing to do with you? don't you tire of being pathetic?"

you don't dignify him with a response, swallowing thickly and turning away from him.

finally, he thinks, some fucking quiet. though if he's gotten what he wanted, why does his chest still ache?

he stares at the back of your form until the sun rises.

sukuna is no simpleton. he can be patient when he is sure of a reward, but he's thrilled that the perfect opportunity arises just two days after your encounter.

yuuji is exhausted. gojo kept him out all last night, despite the grueling mission he had today, and when he all but stumbles through your apartment door, the moon is already high in the sky.

you never mention the change in your relationship with sukuna to yuuji. even though he was so understanding, you still feel a touch awkward discussing it further. and maybe in the back of your mind, you're holding out hope that it might go back to the way it was.

sukuna watches through yuuji's eyes when you greet him, your expression half concern and half 'i told you so'. nights out with gojo usually lead to this very situation.

he showers while you finish cooking dinner and once you both eat, he helps you clean up despite his exhaustion. after whispering his thanks and pressing a kiss to your temple, he retires to bed.

you promise you'll join him soon, but sukuna knows it probably isn't true. following his outburst, you've taken to staying in the living room until you're ready to sleep.

yuuji's out before his head hits the pillow and nearly two hours later, you're still not in bed. sukuna's eager, but waits until he's sure the brat's deep in his slumber before he tries to take over. it's relatively easy, and he pushes down yuuji's unconscious mind as far as he can before rising to his feet.

this is finally it. he stretches his limbs lazily, a dangerous smirk settling on his lips. the floor creaks with each step he takes, but he pays no mind to stealth. you're no match for him.

tonight, you'll be his first victim of many and the thought of making up for his past misjudgement has him giddy with excitement.

but the sight that greets him upon exiting the bedroom— you curled into yourself on the couch, your shoulders shaking with quiet sobs— it stops him in his tracks.

he wants to move, more than anything, so what the fuck is wrong with him? is the brat taking over already?

and why is that uncomfortable sensation making it's home in the center of his chest once more?

when you notice his presence, your face shifts to him and reveals your wide, teary eyes. it's clear you're surprised by his appearance, but you quickly bury your face in your knees.

you just want him to leave you alone. you hate him for what he said, for what he did. he forced his way into your life, made you care about him, and then he just vanished. he's cruel and you feel like an idiot because you should have known that from the beginning. or maybe you did and he just made you forget.

"go away. i.. i don't want to see you."

he's disbelieving, for a brief moment, that here you are giving him orders while he stands in the doorway with the intention of taking your life.

he moves toward you, invading your space in a way that is meant to be intimidating, but when you look up at him, every emotion ranging from sadness to rejection to indignation is etched into your features. though the terror he hoped to inspire is noticeably absent.

"i said go away!" you swiftly stand up, your hands meeting squarely with his chest as you push him with every ounce of power you have.

you may as well have shoved a brick wall, as he doesn't move even a fraction of an inch. he seizes one of your wrists anyway.

"what is it you think you're doing, exactly?" he spits.

"let go of me!" you beat against his chest with the hand he left free until his fingers wrap around that wrist too.

"enough."

he's certain there isn't a being that has attacked him (if he can even call that an attack) and lived to speak of it, not once in an entire millennia.

so just end the insolent brat and be done with it, he urges himself.

but he can't and he doesn't understand why, so he just stares down at you.

"what the fuck do you want?" you mean for it to come out forcefully and full of spite, but your voice cracks before you can finish.

an excellent question, indeed. what does he want?

he doesn't answer you and it's so goddamn frustrating that you begin to cry again, rambling to fill the discomforting silence. "you've already told me i'm pitiful and annoying. it's clear you think my company is insufferable, that i'm undesirable—"

that ache in his chest is unbearable now. it claws at his ribcage and shreds the flesh of his heart. it makes his stomach twist uncomfortably and rings shrilly in his ears. he can't even hear you anymore, but he can still see the tears sliding down your cheeks and the way you gasp between words.

the truth of the matter crashes down on him and the devastating weight of it is so crushing it squeezes the air from his lungs.

that feeling in his chest isn't annoyance or repugnance. its anguish— the kind that rattles his bones and leaves him sick with regret.

it's because you're in pain, and worse yet, he is the cause of it.

sukuna pushes you back against the wall before you can comprehend what's happening. his hands find either side of your face and you're alarmed to find that he looks... frightened.

"what are you doing to me?" he pleads for an explanation, because he sure as hell doesn't have one.

how can one little human hold such power over him? it's unnatural. it defies all logic and reason.

you stare at him, open mouthed. his face is so close that his breath fans across your skin and it makes you feel dizzy.

"what are you talking about?" you finally ask.

"you should be dead right now," he frets, despair seeping into every word. "it should be easy."

it dawns on you that you should probably feel afraid, but you just don't. his touch is firm, but careful. and there's no malice to be found behind his eyes. "you're not making any sense."

he thinks back on the time you've spent together, trying to figure out how the hell he ended up here— him at your mercy, rather than you at his. he remembers the first time he made you laugh and considers that it may have been the beginning of his unraveling. for the following two weeks, you both discussed homer at length as you made your way through his poetry.

"there can be no covenants between men and lions. wolves and lambs can never be of one mind, but hate each other through and through." you blink at him, recognizing at once that he's quoting the illiad. his voice is low and unsteady in a way that suggests desperation. it makes you shiver. "therefore there can be no understanding between you and me, nor may there be any covenants between us, till one or other shall fall."

your eyes narrow as you begin to understand his his internal struggle, though you're unsure if he's attempting to reason with you or with himself.

"you quote achilles, and rightfully so i suppose, given your common qualities— exasperating pride and a penchant for meaningless violence." he looks relieved, like your seeming agreement eases his mind. it's short lived. "but you forget his passion."

his gaze shifts away from you, his hands withdrawing from your face.

"his passion?" he repeats as if it's the most incredulous thing he's ever heard.

"by the end of the story, is he not acquainted with regret, sympathy, and respect? he doesn't remain blind to the error of his ways forever."

"only a foolish human could make such fanciful deductions," he chides through gritted teeth, still refusing to meet your eye.

you actually laugh at him. "perhaps you shouldn't call upon achilles to make your point after all. at least he grows out of his utterly childish view of the world."

"how dare you?" he demands, his features growing wild as one hand finds your throat (his touch not nearly harsh enough to cause you any discomfort), the other colliding with the wall beside your head. his display doesn't fool you though. "you witless, wretched brat! you're nothing more than a blip in a universe you cannot even begin to understand. you sicken me."

you throw achilles' words in his face just as easily as he did to you. "hateful to me as the gates of hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another."

his gaze hardens, and for a split second, you think you may have been mistaken in your fearlessness, but then his fingers thread themselves through your hair and he pulls your lips to his.

it's rough and commanding, and he tells himself it's only to get you to shut up. to wipe that expression of smug pity from your face.

it's not because, despite the fact you know how awful he is, you're convinced there's something salvageable in him too. nor is it because you tyrannize his every passing thought. and it's certainly not because the feeling of you pressed against him brings him more satisfaction than ripping the hearts from the chests of a hundred men.

ultimately, his denial is overshadowed by his desire. your touch is nothing short of needy as you tug at his shirt, an attempt to bring him even closer, and god does he hope that means you feel just as desperate as he does. he deserves at least a little consolation.

as his hands roam every valley and curve of your body, he deems it unfair that a being whose very existence spells hell on earth should be so taken with such a devastatingly divine creature.

"i've wanted you so terribly," he mumbles against your mouth before he can stop himself.

"then fuck you for making us both wait," you breath out.

his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips in response and his lips shift to your neck. "watch that pretty little mouth of yours, brat."

he nips at the spot just below your ear hard enough that it makes you gasp, doubtless a punishment for your impudence. you recover quickly though, wasting no time with your flippant reply. "or what? you'll go back to plotting my murder?"

he pulls away from you abruptly, sighing deeply and pinching the bridge of his nose. "you truly have zero sense of self preservation, don't you?"

"guess so," you shrug, smiling at him bashfully. "can we watch a movie? i'll even let you pick."

you ask as if it's the most normal request in the world. as if he isn't a thousand year old curse that would be off turning the city to ash were he not here with you instead.

he rolls his eyes, scoffing at the ridiculousness of it all. "fine."

[apartmentsmoke]

"Wait, wait, stop," Buck says, and the very pleasant feeling of Tommy's mouth on his neck vanishes.

"You okay?" Tommy's got his Look of Concern plastered on his face. Good thing, because if Buck is right, this is concerning.

"Yeah, it's just - did you hear that?"

Tommy raises his eyebrows. "I heard you moaning."

"Tommy, that's the thing - it wasn't me." The Look of Concern has morphed into the Look of Are-You-Sure-You're-Not-Having-Me-On? It's mostly used whenever Buck regales Tommy with tales of one of the 118's emergencies ("Nothing like that ever happened while I was there, Evan"), but he's seen it in other contexts (explaining the entire Kim situation).

"At this point, I think I know what you sound like in bed." Tommy's mouth is still nicely red. And maybe he's right, it was nothing, and it would be easy to fall back into him. Buck waits a beat, ears perked, but there's nothing - so he does press his lips into Tommy's, Tommy's body relaxing against him.

Tommy rubs his side like Buck's an anxious horse. The hair on Buck's arms slowly flattens, goosebumps leaving his skin. He loses himself in the slide of their kisses, until -

He breaks free of Tommy and looks around wildly, Tommy woah'ing.

"Sweetheart," Tommy says, reaching out again. "Seriously, you okay? Because you're giving Ghost Whisperer."

Buck snaps his fingers at Tommy. "Exactly. My apartment is haunted."

"Evan." The word is a drier desert than Antarctica.

"There was a moan again! And it wasn't me. And when Chimney and Mara and Jee were over here helping set up, they left the balcony door open. It's October. And now there is something living here."

"Last time I checked, Casper wasn't considered alive," Tommy says, and the look on his face tells Buck everything: he really is a skeptic. Falling asleep during Buck's thoughts on Area 51 wasn't just because he found Buck's voice soothing.

When Buck reaches for his phone on the bedside table, a chill runs down his arm and into his spine. "Okay." He's got Google, a helpful army of friends, and the ability to buy anything he needs. That ghost is history. "So first, we need to get -"

He's stopped by Tommy's hand on his wrist. "Baby, do we really need to figure out your ghost thing right now?"

"Do you want to fuck in front of a ghost, Thomas?"

"Is he a hot ghost?" Tommy waggles his eyebrows, then sighs. "Look, I get that this is important to you, but I was away for three weeks for that training camp and I missed you. Can we send The Flying Dutchman back to sea in a couple days? My place has a big bed and a distinct lack of the supernatural."

As they're closing the door to Buck's loft, another faint moan emanates from the air.

"It's the pipes," Tommy says, linking his arm into Buck's to guide them to his car.

(They find out three days later Tommy is technically correct when maintenance pulls a dead raccoon out of the walls of Buck's loft.

"Huh," Tommy says, frowning at his phone. "They really do make that noise."

"And they stink." Buck wrinkles his nose. "Your bed still open?"

By the time the landlord's finished the repairs, Buck's stuff, cleared out for the construction, is scattered over Tommy's house.

"It'd be a pain to pack it all up again," Tommy says. "Keep it here."

"You just want easy access to my hoodies," Buck accuses, feeling Tommy's laughter from underneath the fabric of the stolen blue hoodie he's wearing.

Two hours later, hoodie abandoned to the floor, Buck officially moves in.)

[thanks to @stardustbuck (Buck thinks he's haunted) and @theweewooshow (balcony raccoon) for the inspo 🫶]

[literaila]

The way Gojo just meelllllttttssss over reader ahhh my heart can’t take it

“morning,” he whispers, in some kind of dream.

you’ve been awake for… at least a couple of minutes now. or maybe an hour. it’s hard to tell with the cheek pressing against your neck, the skin brushing against your jugular.

five years ago, you would be dreaming.

you would wake up all alone and think about things you weren’t allowed to—and then you would get up, happy to run away from that false reality.

though, now it’s here.

and maybe its just early. maybe you’ve made too much out of this, have a knack for melodrama.

but the way satoru is drawing circles on the skin of your arm, half of his body crushing you as he leans against it, makes you feel like maybe it is something.

“i’m sleeping,” you tell him, softly, even though you’re not.

“are you?”

“uh-huh.”

“so, i guess i should say a bunch of sweet things. since you can’t hear me.”

“guess so.”

you can feel him laughing against you, but you don’t open your eyes. “you’re very pretty when you sleep,” he tells you, a finger brushing against your forehead. “always scowling.”

you frown.

“see? so cute.”

“shh, satoru.”

“and you always smell nice. like.. candy, or something,” he smushes his nose against you, breathing in enough to tickle.

“that’s because you get your spit all over me.”

“have to mark my territory, baby.”

you snort, and squirm away from him.

satoru is grinning. you can feel his teeth. “and you make such interesting noises when you’re asleep, too.”

“hmm.”

“but what i really like,” he whispers, fingers trailing from your nose, down to your chin. “is when you wake up.”

satoru pauses, and you both sit there in the silence—it’s been a while since you’ve woken up like this.

maybe he can feel it too—that shift. some mornings are just different than others. some mornings you feel like you might cease to exist if he’s not right there next to you.

“‘cause then i get to hear your voice, see those pretty eyes. and i can stop saying all of this stuff because you already know…”

you hear the unspoken look at me in his voice, but you don’t.

satoru nips at your neck. “and when you wake up i can finally smell your gross breath—“

finally you turn over, pushing him away with a blind hand. “if you’re going to be a jerk, i’m going back to bed.”

he leans over you and kisses your cheek. “who’s the jerk?”

“nope. you ruined it. wake me up again in an hour.”

“c’mon, baby, you know i love your morning breath.”

you shake your head, almost falling off of the bed with the effort it takes to move away from his advances.

“aw, did i hurt your feelings?”

“as if,” you mutter, and ignore the easy way he pulls you back, moving you so he can see every flutter of your eyelashes once again.

“it’s okay,” he tells you, teasing. “i’ve got more to say so you keep sleeping.”

you almost peek an eye open, but refrain.

“i like it when you finally wake up because then i know that you’re actually here,” his voice grows soft, maybe a bit reluctant. “i used to think about this back in school.”

“you did?”

“i used to think about everything. waking up with you, going on missions, sitting in class, sparring. you’ve always been a constant distraction.”

youre still, maybe because you don’t want him to stop.

“you should ask shoko. she got tired of hearing about it, like, two months in.”

“you should get her flowers. as an apology.”

“i should, shouldn’t i? we can get you some too,” satoru leans back down, kissing right by your ear, smiling into your skin. “since i hurt your feelings and all.”

“mm-hmm.”

he breathes you in again. “i don’t think you’re real, really. i probably made this up. you know what yaga says about overactive imaginations.”

you lean into him, sighing. “i’m real.”

“are you sure?” satoru asks.

you open your eyes and he’s already looking back, smiling. so you smile too. “i’m sure. i’m right here, and so are you.”

“hey,” his eyes are wide and soft, his voice lithe and almost uncontrollable. “there are those eyes.”

[daycourtofficial]

Uncle Catastrophe

Summary: based on this request - your day out on the town is interrupted by a shadow who brings you to a very rattled Azriel taking care of Nyx

Author’s note: this is cute and fun I might do something similar with an older Nyx bc why not

The revered shadowsinger.

A male who is battle hardened, whose scars sing legends of a cruel male who lacks sympathy.

The revered shadowsinger. Brought down by a babe.

Cauldron boil him, he thinks, sorting through the massive stack of parenting books Feyre and Rhysand had bought to prepare for Nyx.

Now his scarred hands comb through the books, searching for what’s wrong with the princeling. He carries Nyx around in his arms, his tiny hiccuping body making Azriel’s thoughts spiral further with each violent hiccup.

The morning was fine - Nyx was an easy babe, he hasn’t displayed any powers yet, and he loved his family so much. Especially his uncles who shared the wings fixed to his tiny back.

Nyx’s gaze and hands always found their ways to Cassian and Azriel’s wings. The former would shoot his wings out to show his nephew just how large they were, the latter wraps his wings around Nyx, enveloping the two of them in a soft darkness.

Nyx had even fallen asleep on Azriel’s chest. He had laid down on the sofa next to Nyx’s crib in the living room, but the princeling kept babbling, waving his arms around frantically, fluttering his tiny wings. Eventually Azriel gathered he just wanted company, so he laid down on the plush sofa, Nyx curled up on his chest.

The babe lasted maybe 3 minutes before falling asleep. Azriel stayed completely still, long legs stretched out, feet dangling off the end. His shadows provided a comforting weight to the both of them, causing the shadowsinger’s eyes to grow heavier, until eventually he was fast asleep.

He woke up to a violent stirring on his chest, the babe in his arms hiccuping more violently than he thought possible. He didn’t let worry consume him until after 15 minutes of nonstop hiccuping, when he dispatched his shadows to search for books on babes.

-

You were shopping in Velaris, a new stack of books tucked into your arm when a tiny shadow wizzes up to you, circling around your body, its cool touch sending shivers up your skin.

It twirls around your body, as if inspecting you, before wrapping around your wrist and pulling you forward.

You chuckle, allowing the shadow to drag you wherever it sees fit.

It brings you to the townhouse and opens the door for you. You thank the shadow, and it gently caresses your cheek in a kiss before darting through the entryway.

You step inside, calling out, “hello?” Your voice carries through the house, until you see a head of onyx curls peak out over the threshold.

Looking as beautiful as ever, tortoiseshell glasses perched on his nose, Azriel looks at you, puzzled, before he looks at his group of shadows that follow him everywhere.

You walk towards him and he seems to be scolding one of them, his voice dropping as you got closer.

“I got ambushed by one of your shadows in the street. Do they do that to all the girls or just the pretty ones?” You ask, a light tease in your voice.

Azriel rolls his eyes at you, but continues on with whatever he’s doing.

You know something’s wrong because he doesn’t give your cheek a kiss as you walk past, so you look around trying to discern what could be wrong.

“Is everything okay, sweetheart?”

You turn to look at him, noticing his hair is in disarray. His hair always had a perfect level of messy to it - looking slightly mused, but as if every curl was meticulously placed. Now it looks like a mess of onyx on his head.

He sighs, looking at you. “I’ve been trying to figure out what’s wrong with Nyx.”

You notice that there are books strewn about the room, all on fae babes, all open to their indexes to search for key words.

“He won’t stop hiccuping.”

You try not to laugh, especially not with how seriously Azriel looked at you.

“Is he in his nursery?” You ask, moving towards the stairs.

“Yes,” he says, following behind you.

“Hi, Nyxy,” you coo, and the young babe just smiles at your attention, a tiny hiccup jolting his entire body. You get close to him, his arms extending to you as you pick him up.

He nuzzles into you, his wings lightly twitching at your attention. You rub his back, looking at Azriel as you do so.

“You know this is normal, right?” You ask, pacing the room with the young princeling in your arms.

“There’s no way it’s normal!”

You roll your eyes, “I’m a healer, babe, you could have asked me.” Your eyes move to Nyx’s, violet eyes peering back at you.

“It’s my job to know all about babes,” you say, fingers rubbing against Nyx’s chubby tummy. He giggles in response, and Azriel sits in the rocking chair in the corner, hands going over his face.

He sighs, clearly frustrated, and you can’t help but feel like his frustration isn’t just about Nyx.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, taking your eyes off of Nyx’s violet eyes to meet hazel ones.

Azriel sighs, coming over to you, burying his head into your neck as he wraps his arms, and wings, around you and Nyx. Inside of the little cocoon, Azriel mutters, “I wanted to prove to you that I could do this.”

You had a hard time hearing him as he was mumbling into your shoulder, so you ask, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Azriel’s hands tightened slightly on your waist, repeating himself, and you ask, “that you could do what?”

His breath tickles your neck, “that I could do the whole “having a babe” thing.”

Your brows furrow, confused where this sudden insecurity cropped up from.

“Are you pregnant?”

He sighs, ignoring you, “I just wanted to prove that I could care for Nyx without your help for a bit. I know you’re a healer, but I don’t want you to find me incompetent.”

His shoulders slump a bit, “I know we’ve never really talked about it, but I guess I wanted to prove to you and to myself that.. that I could. That I could be soft and loving.”

You reach an arm around his waist, pressing Nyx between the two of you. The young prince hiccups, startling both of you.

“Oh, Azzy. I would never find you incompetent.”

He huffs, “and yet you came bursting through the door to help.”

“Because one of your shadows got me. Listen, babes are hard. And yeah there’s a lot to learn about taking care of them, but I fully believe you could do it.”

He lifts his head up, searching your eyes for some deception.

Nyx coos in your arms, and Azriel lifts one of the hands from your waist to cradle his head. The babe leans into Azriel’s touch, soaking in the attention from his uncle.

You smile at the two of them, “No one is born knowing exactly what to do or how to take care of someone else.”

His eyes return to you, his hand still fixed on Nyx’s head.

“But we can learn together, okay?”

You look up at him and a soft smile grazes his lips. “This isn’t fair - you have a head start on the material. Your job is literally taking care of others.”

You giggle, causing Nyx to shriek in delight.

“Guess you’ll just have to pick up more babysitting hours.”

[rememberwren]

/•Harmless Fun 4•\

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts

For anon who asked for reader calling simon and johnny to pick you up from the bar after getting drunk. Thanks for requesting!

-

The phone rings, and Simon answers it before he even knows he is awake. Perhaps it’s that ingrained military training within him that has him snapping to attention at…quarter til two in the morning according to the glowing numbers of the digital clock on the nightstand. Or maybe it’s the remnants of the sleepless nights when Johnny was in hospital, when Simon would spend the hours staring at the ceiling and dreading the ring of his cellphone. Yes, he was perfectly fine when he kicked you out, but he’s taken a turn for the worse and doesn’t have long left…

“This is—” Ghost. Bravo-0-7. “—Simon.”

“Wha’ is i’?” Johnny slurs from the bed beside him, still more than half asleep. His hair is a mess, lines on his face from the pillow. He reaches out and finds Simon’s hand and they tangle fingers briefly, communicating via touch. Soap’s head lowers, though he doesn’t begin to snore again. He’s listening, more than likely. That military instinct is still in him too, even if his body can’t make the same use of it anymore. 

There is ambient noise from the other end of the phone, but Simon can’t quite make it out. He untangles his fingers from Johnny’s and puts the hand against his exposed ear, blocking out extraneous stimuli. There are voices, talking back and forth. Someone somewhere is laughing. Music, in the distance, though he can only make out the undercurrent of it, something with a heavy beat that he could likely feel in his teeth if he were there. 

Rustling. Then your voice: “—ut it, I’m on the phone, can’t you see? I—Simon? Are you there?” Distantly, like you’ve held the phone away from your mouth, he hears you admonish: “You made me miss him!” 

Simon slips out of the bed wearing only his boxers and leaves the bedroom in case Soap decides that he wants to fall back to sleep. He keeps his voice low when he says into the phone: “I’m here. What’s going on?” 

“My girlfriends all found boy-friends,” you mutter morosely, your every emotion heightened by the alcohol pulsing through your system. Simon doesn’t think he’s ever heard you sound so sulky, not even when Soap ate the last of your leftovers from the diner last week. 

Someone in the background says, full of charm: “I could be your boyfriend.” 

Simon’s eyes narrow. He switches the phone to his better ear. “Who’s that?” 

“Who’s—? Oh. That’s Alan,” you say, your effect brightening somewhat. “He’s buying my drinks at the bar. Free drinks, Simon! Isn’t that nice?” 

Simon wrenches his keys off the hook beside where your own should be resting. Slipping back into the bedroom, he sees that Soap is sitting up now at the edge of the bed rubbing at his thigh. Simon gives him a nod, searching for his pants in the dark and stepping into them. He shoves his keys in his pocket. 

How fucking sweet, Simon thinks. He can imagine exactly what a pissant like Alan is thinking, too: that if he buys this lonely girl enough drinks at the bar, she’ll be easy to convince to come home with him. That maybe even if she puts up a bit of a fight, it wouldn’t be much trouble to persuade her…

He picked the wrong fuckin girl. 

“Have him open up his generous wallet and buy you a fuckin’ water. A bottle of it. Break the seal yourself, understand?” 

“I understand,” you say, sounding a little more sober in the face of Simon’s obvious displeasure. He works to temper his voice. 

“Put Alan on,” Simon says silkily. “Let me make sure he’s taking good care of you.” 

“You want to talk to him?” You sound baffled. Maybe you aren’t as drunk as he thought. 

“Said so.” 

There is a rustle as the phone is exchanged. 

A very unsure, masculine voice says, Hello? 

“I’m going to be there to pick up my girl in ten minutes or less,” Simon says into the phone. “If anything happens to her between then and now, I’m considering you personally responsible, Alan, do you understand me? Whether you had anything to do with it or whether it was an accident out of the clear fucking blue. You will answer for it. So if I were you, I’d take good fucking care of her. Am I clear?”

“I—I didn’t know she was taken—“

“Put her back on the phone,” Simon barks. 

You pick up the conversation right where you left off, not missing a single beat. “Anyway, Alan said he would give me a ride home since all my friends bailed, but I remember you said that if I needed a ride, I should call you and…oh Simon, I’m sorry if I woke you. This is stupid, isn’t it?” 

“Negative,” he says, slipping his belt through the loops. “Not stupid, I mean. Send me your location—your address. Get that water. Absolutely do not go home with any fucker who isn’t named Simon.” 

“What about fuckers named Johnny?” 

“Not even them. Name’s too common. Can’t trust you’ll get home with the right one.” 

“I resent that,” says Johnny, reaching for pants of his own. 

Simon hangs up the phone with you. “Ready for some field work?” 

“You know it, LT.” 

-

Johnny’s heart is thrumming happily the entire way there, something about the late night adrenaline and knowing you are on the other end of this excursion. He’s fine in the passenger seat, even if Simon’s driving is enough to give a civilian a heart attack. Johnny can tell that Simon desperately needs the control right now, his knuckles white where he grips the steering wheel, eyes dark and glued to the road except when he glances at Google Maps on his phone every now and then to be sure they are heading in the right direction. 

Johnny hasn’t driven since the accident. He could, likely, but it would be hell on his sore leg. Maybe after he heals more…

By the time the two of them arrive, it is threatening to drizzle, the wet sapping the warmth out of the air. He’s glad he brought his jacket, already shrugging out of it to give you, memory vivid with the skimpy little dress you were wearing when you left the house, the one that bared your legs even while it covered you from shoulder to wrist. 

They spot you leaning against the brick wall outside the bar, sipping your water bottle. They pull up to the curb and Simon reaches for the jacket, abandoning Johnny inside with a firm, Stay Here. Johnny watches from the passenger seat as Simon slips the jacket around your shoulders and takes the water bottle. You are clearly unsteady on your feet (those shoes don’t help, bonnie though they are), and Simon gets to loop his arm around your waist to guide you to the car where the hazard lights are flashing ominously. 

Johnny rolls down the window. 

“Hey lass,” he says. 

Your face lights up at the sight of Johnny. You put your arms through the window and wrap them around him, smelling faintly of your perfume and sweat and Johnny’s own jacket. 

“Alright,” Simon says dryly. “Wrap up the reunion. It’s about to rain.” 

“Come sit in the back with me,” you breathe, breath smelling of sweetness with the underlying tinge of alcohol. Whatever you had been drinking tonight had been strong to have you so out of sorts. Your fingers tangle in Johnny’s shirt a little, tugging. “Please, Johnny? Sit in the back!” 

“Alright, alright,” he agrees with a laugh, even though it is painful to get out of the car and into the backseat, and there isn’t as much room back there for his leg to stretch out. He’s afraid that he might do anything for you if you asked him like that: looking at him with your guileless eyes, fingers tangling in his clothes, moonlight like liquid silver on your skin. 

He slips into the backseat with you and has to help you buckle your seatbelt when you can’t get the clasp closed. Johnny feels Simon’s eyes on him, heavy and dark through the rearview mirror. He meets those eyes and gives a nod. He knows that you're drunk; he doesn’t intend to make any passes at you. 

He just doesn’t expect the passes you make at him. 

Cuddling up to his side, you slip his arm around you and meld into him, careful of his bad leg. It’s hard not to be half in love with you when you treat him like this: with such care, even when you’re three sheets to the wind, but never like he is broken. Never like you doubt his masculinity. You look up at him, forehead briefly brushing against his jaw. 

“Did I wake you up, Johnny?” you ask him, soft and sweet. 

“Aye,” he says. “From good dreams, too.” 

You groan. “I’m so sorry. I knew I should have let Alan drive me home.”

“Who the fuck is Alan?” Johnny asks with a laugh. 

“Forget it,” you mutter sleepily, burrowing against him. His jacket slips off of one of your shoulders, and he has to stretch to replace it. 

He thinks you’ve fallen asleep when it happens: your mouth brushing against the juncture where his shoulder meets his neck. He goes still, eyes flickering to Simon in the rearview mirror (he is dutifully watching the road). Was that an accident? Were you asleep? His every cell seems attuned to yours, to the quiet even breaths you draw in, to the warmth of your body pressed flush against him, to your bare legs stretched out beside him changing lights thanks to the passing streetlamps. Then it happens again: your lips brush against his throat, this time with more intention.  

Johnny can’t help but tilt his head to give you more access, his eyes falling shut, full mouth parting around a longing sigh. Even as his body encourages you, his words seem to carry a threat to them. “Lass, you shouldn’t.” 

You hum and press a kiss there, soft and chaste as anything. The next one though is burning with the warmth of your tongue, and Johnny groans softly, unable to stop himself. You match the sound with a whine, shifting in your seat. Uncomfortable, he realizes—because you’re wet. Because you’re searching for friction on your needy little cunt.

“Fuck, you don’t know what yer doing to me,” he whispers roughly. 

“Johnny,” Simon says, an audible warning rumbling in his tone, eyes now watching in the mirror as often as he dares take them off the road. 

You slur something, but what it is and who it is to is lost in your drunkenness. The hand of the arm you had slipped around him finds a way to his belly, resting against his abs, rustling his shirt upwards a little as you cop a feel. 

Johnny half-heartedly takes your hand away, tries to lace your fingers with his own but you are single-minded in your desire to touch him. 

“This is hardly fair,” he says, his breathy laugh turning into a groan when your fingers brush against one of his nipples by accident. Your fingers finally find the way beneath his shirt, your touch chilly and soft against his heated skin as you stroke along the trail of hair just beneath his navel—

Simon hits the breaks hard, jostling you both in the backseat. The seatbelt locks for a moment and is pulled tight across Johnny’s chest, the lap belt scraping against his hard on in a way that has him hissing.

You lean forward, blinking owlishly. “Did we almost hit somethin’?”

“No,” says Simon. He deadpans: “Just traffic.” 

The road is empty. You find this hilarious, laughing until tears are in your eyes. Even Simon can’t help the effect your laughter has on him; he seems to sit taller in his seat, his hands gripping the wheel with less anxiety, the lines at the corners of his eyes growing as he fights a smile. 

Johnny lets out a chuckle too, one that is more of relief than anything. He doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, but the last thing he could let himself do is take advantage of you. Nuzzling against the crown of your head, he breathes in the scent of your shampoo. His erection fades alongside your laughter, and the rest of the drive passes in silence. 

They pull into the parking lot of the apartment building at half past two in the morning. 

“Can you walk, love?” Johnny asks.  

No response. Your eyes are closed where you lean against him, mouth parted in a silent snore. 

“Fast asleep,” he tells Simon, brushing his fingers against your temple in an apology when you flinch a little at the sound, eyes fluttering open before settling back into sleep. 

“This is getting out of hand,” Simon says simply. In the mirror he looks tired…and maybe it is just a trick of the light, but he looks sad. “You need to talk to her.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Don’t you mean we need to talk t’her?” Johnny asks. 

Simon doesn’t answer. 

Outside, it begins to rain.

[demonpiratehuntress]

can we...cuddle?

Trafalgar Law x F!Reader

summary - Law really wants to cuddle with you, but he's just not that good at asking for it.

warnings - not proofread, wrote it at 23:30 on New Year's Eve, pretty tired from an eventful day. also wanted to get it out before my tribute to Ace for his birthday at 12am.

a/n - fluff fluff fluff, this just popped into my head because i was thinking about soft!law and how much i love him

Law had never been great at asking for anything he needs or wants. He was either too prideful or too embarrassed, depending on the situation. And with you, the embarrassment part seemed a lot more prominent, because he was starting to feel unusually clingy and needy for your attention and affection. It was embarrassing.

He has an issue with outright asking for it, though. He's usually a put-together, calm man who is always in control of what he feels and how he acts. However, around you, his body seems to forget that and his mind and heart both yearn for yours. He wants to be the only thing you think of, he wants to be the only one you love and show affection to, and he wants to be the only one you ever hold.

But he could never gather up the courage to ask you to hold him, damn it!

He would see you cuddling Bepo, and envy the bear for one of two things. One, for being so easily approachable for cuddles. Two, for being able to ask you for cuddles so easily. Law wasn't the jealous type, but he'd quickly learned that when he started dating you, he'd feel and do a lot of things he'd never dreamed of before.

"You okay, Law?"

Your soft voice brought him out of his irritated thoughts, and his expression softened considerably when his eyes landed on you. You looked tired, your eyes were drooping and your body was slumping, and Law had never seen anything cuter.

"Yes, (Name)-ya." He gently grabbed your elbow, leading you away. "Let's get you to bed now, sleepyhead."

You smiled at that, giggling in the most adorable way that had Law's heart flipping in his chest. He was both amazed and annoyed that you held such power over him, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

"I'm not sleepy, you're sleepy."

He chuckled at that, guiding you into the room you both shared. For once, his work went ignored on the desk as he steered you towards the bed, his tense body only relaxing when you were safely lying on the mattress, pulling him down beside you.

"(Name)-ya-" He started, but you were already softly snoring, gripping onto his shirt like a baby. He would never admit it out loud, but the sight was enough to melt even his frigid heart.

He sighed. Another failed attempt at asking for cuddles. He got the cuddles anyway, but he wanted to be the one asking so he could show you that he craved your touch as much as you craved his.

The next time he tried to ask, you were laying in bed reading a book as you waited for him to finish working.

Once he was sick of whatever he was doing, he got up and slowly made his way to the bed, kicking off his shoes and discarding his coat before flopping down next to you. So preoccupied by your book, you hadn't noticed his arrival.

"What are you reading, (Name)-ya?"

You jumped in fright, the book flying out of your hands and settling on the floor next to the bed. Law's deep rumble of laughter met your ears, and you blushed in embarrassment, smacking his arm lightly and playfully.

"Law! Don't do that!"

"I'm sorry," he apologised insincerely, smirking. "You're so easy to scare."

You pouted, "You're mean."

"You love me anyway," his chest swelled at the fact.

"I do, I very much do," you smiled, heart warming.

You leaned over the side of the bed to pick your book up, but when you got back up you were met with a sleeping Law laying next to you. It was rare for him to fall asleep before you, but you knew he had been working himself non-stop, even more so than usual lately. You smiled softly, setting your book aside and thinking you'll find your page tomorrow as you shifted closer to the slumbering doctor, curling up close to him.

Law woke up the next day feeling incredibly disappointed. He had fallen asleep before he could even try asking you to cuddle him. He'd woken up to you cuddling him, but he still felt displeased by his irritating inability to state his need for your touch.

You woke up a little later in the morning, to a steaming cup of coffee on the nightstand. You smiled, knowing that was one of Law's ways of showing he cared. He couldn't cook, but he could make you coffee and did so every morning he woke up before you. Which, let's be real, is almost every morning. On the rare occasion you wake up before him, you have a full breakfast ready for him and a planned speech on how he should not feel guilty for not being able to do the same for you.

"Good morning, love."

You looked up at a working Law, hunched over his desk as he furiously scribbled something in his notebook. Your smile grew, and you slowly sat up in bed.

"Morning, captain."

He groaned, "I call you love and you call me captain?"

You giggled, "Sorry, my love. My baby. My one and only."

He hummed in satisfaction, "Much better." The ghost of a smile appeared on his lips.

You didn't mind much that he wasn't looking at you. He was paying attention to what you were saying, and that was more than enough for you. You knew how he could get, and had learned a long time ago to embrace and accept it.

"What will you do today?" He suddenly asked, a tad bit nervously.

"Well," you began, "Seeing as we are docked at an island and you're allowing everyone to take the day off, I think I might just stay right here in bed all day."

"Is that so?" He asked, amused. "How lazy."

You laughed at his teasing, the sound going straight to his heart. It swelled in response, growing warm in his chest. Your laugh was one of the few things that Law genuinely loved to listen to. He liked the way it made him feel, but also the fact that he had been the one to cause it.

"Very," you agreed. "But it's fun, you should try it sometime."

He finally turned to you, raising an eyebrow, "Oh? Are you giving me orders, (Name)-ya?" His tone was teasing, his smile wicked.

"Hmmm, maybe," you taunted, grinning.

The doctor let out a heavy sigh, before a calm smile tugged at his lips. Pushing his work aside, he got up from his seat and walked over to the bed, gingerly sitting on the edge.

"I suppose I can indulge you just this once, then. Since no one is around to hear just how bossy you really are."

You laughed at that, eagerly shifting to make space for him, "What can I say? Sometimes my captain needs a little bossing to relax a little bit."

He chuckled, "I don't deny that."

Then, again, Law found himself struggling to ask for your touch. He wanted to ask you to cuddle him so badly, but he just couldn't bring himself to say the words. Finally, after a few minutes of comfortable silence, he tried his best.

"(Name)-ya," he started nervously, "I like that thing you do...where you pull me close and hug me...but in bed." He waited for you to say something, but you remained silent but smirking, as if you knew what he wanted but you just wanted him to say it. He swallowed thickly. "You know where...you wrap your arms around me and keep me against your warm body." He blushed at his own words.

"Hmmm, what might you be speaking of, babe?" You teased him, evil grin on your face.

He sighed, taking off his hat and running a hand through his dark hair, "I'm trying to say...I mean I want to ask...do you-can we...can we cu-" He paused, silently mouthing the word. "Cuddle? Can we cuddle?"

Your eyes widened, because you hadn't really expected him to say it. Then you smiled and happily opened your arms for the flustered doctor. He obliged, sinking into them just as happily, a contented sigh leaving his lips.

"Law?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm really glad you finally asked."

"Me too."

And from then on, Law wasn't shy to ask, he wasn't shy to pull you aside and just hug you, and he wasn't shy to show you that he needed to touch you just as much as you needed to touch him.

Congratulations, you unlocked Clingy Trafalgar Law.

[azullumi]

“affection weaves into the letters on your screen” ; aventurine and ratio

premise — messages and calls between you and him.

content tags — w/ gender-neutral reader, established relationship, fluff, texts and messages, not proofread, 0.8k ; headcanons

note — i needed something easy and nice because everything has been too stressful

If there’s one constant thing about AVENTURINE is that he is an avid fan of messaging, texting, or whatever the proper term for that is. No matter where he is and what he’s doing, he’ll always find the time to type in a message for you and press send—it could be about anything, from the random thing he’ll see while he’s walking which he thinks you’ll be interested in to how his day is going and possibly, ranting about it. The only time he’ll be inactive is when he’s in the middle of something, like completely and utterly busy that he couldn’t pick up his phone to check up on you or update you on what he’s doing.

Would use the most out of everything; calls, voice messages, attachments, everything. He’ll use stickers whenever he can and would use those silly emoticons because why not? He’s very expressive overall; it’s like you can hear his voice, see his expression, and the gestures he’ll do over the screen. 

PHOTOS !! There are new ones added to the shared gallery of your conversations with him every single day. He sees something cool? He takes a photo. He’s currently having a meal? No questions asked, he’ll take a photo. The critters are in this silly position? The camera is pointed at them already and the image of them in a circle while seemingly discussing something is sent. He’ll send selfies of himself throughout the day and he’s the type to pose with random things; there was a time he sent you a photo of himself holding a potted plant (he said it was an addition to his office and he thought you should know). It’s ridiculous, you may say, but he can’t contain the smile on his face when you send a photo back.

Occasionally, it’s videos that he sends.

It’s the late night calls and messages. Aventurine has sleeping problems, struggling to fall or stay asleep no matter how much he physically exhausts himself, so when worse comes to worst and it’s already midnight yet there’s no ounce of anything that makes his eyes heavy, he’ll message you—asking if you’re still awake and if you’re doing anything. It’s your voice that guides him to his dreams, gentle and delicate as a lullaby; by then, you’ll receive no response from him as you call for his name and you’ll have to whisper to him goodnight as he sleeps.

BONUS : on the topic of calls, he likes spending time with you in silence as you do your own thing while he also does his own. Your presence is enough to comfort him and keep him grounded.

VERITAS RATIO is not much of a texter and if he does send you a message, it’s mostly about engineering designs for a machine, requesting that you give him a set of questions if he needs something to simulate his weary brain, sending you links to a sign-up form for a debate that is occuring, or proposals for a certain project as he asks for your input. There are times you’ll find yourself debating with him—all just casual and he won’t throw a chalk at you. However, the line of your conversation between you and him is short and is separated by intervals; he just prefers talking in person or over calls. 

He’s probably the fastest typer you know but he rarely ever makes typos, like ever. He types strictly and formally with proper capitalization and punctuations with the mixture of the words that would require you to bring out a dictionary to understand, always starting his sentence with an uppercase and ending it with a period. It feels like you’re having a corporate or business meeting whenever you’re talking to him due to how formal he is over text (you can probably hear his voice whenever you read his messages too).

“DRYEST TEXTER IN THE UNIVERSE EVER” some would say and maybe you too, however, there are traces of sweetness and affection in your (short) conversations with him. He’s the one to greet you first in the morning, so expect that the moment the sun has risen, there’s a message notification from him displayed on the screen on your phone—the time you’ll rise from your bed, your sleeping and wake-up patterns are embedded in his mind and he ensures that you always wake up with a good morning. 

In note with that, sometimes, you’ll find yourself wondering if he even thinks of you, if you occasionally appear inside his mind and distract him from his work—doubt begins to muddle your thoughts. However, you must remember that he’ll always send you reminders throughout the day, telling you of the agenda you have planned for the afternoon which you told him once or twice the day before, reminding you to finish this task you’ve been procrastinating on, or just simply telling you to take a break or to eat something (especially when he knows that you don’t take care of yourself).

Be kind to yourself, will you? He looks out for you and cares for you a lot even if you may think otherwise.

EXTRA : doesn’t call and is not exactly a fan of it, however, if his phone were to ring and he sees it’s you calling for him, he wouldn’t hesitate to answer it.

tagging the one and only amazing and lovely @toorurs 🗣️ first of all, i’m sorry that i haven’t replied to your tiktoks when i told you i will (plsdonthateme) and second, i actually dont have a second thing to say. anywaysss!! i think we’ve both been busy these days or maybe it’s just me (sorry finals are approaching) but do know that no matter what happens i still treasure and love you as a friend ‼️ i saw this one plant in our trip yesterday and i remembered you i dont know why i think it’s because it was pretty and the color reminded me of you 🫶🏼 but yeah, keep on doing amazing things and amazing works (DONT DIE FELI THE WORLD WILL LOSE AN ANGEL) !! you’ve become one of my most favorite people ever and remember that i will always be here for youu mwa

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[reverie-starlight]

nia, you’ve inspired me to write this with that sleepover question you asked abt me n atsumu a while ago 🫶🏻🫶🏻 I live soley to bug him. it’s my favourite hobby. @luvring

gn!reader, no physical descriptions. fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff.

the faint humming of the television as it played whatever movie had been reduced to background noise is the only sound in your apartment’s tiny living room.

you’re laying on top of atsumu, who’s holding you so tightly against him to make sure you don’t roll off and hit the floor. it had been a lovely day together, going out for lunch and then spending the day at your place playing video games and watching movies. you had even attempted to cook dinner together (a task neither of you are particularly good at, but the simple Italian recipe you found seemed to work out well). you’ve been “sleeping” on his chest for the past half hour, but if you’re being honest, you’re slightly more awake than you’re pretending to be.

according to the clock on your wall, it’s 9:30. which means atsumu has to start heading home soon. it’s the time he set for himself and he’s always so good at keeping his schedule, but you don’t want him to go just yet.

…or at all.

you stay perfectly still on top of him without tensing up too much to avoid suspicion, hoping he’ll just forget and stay the night. with the way he’s gently rubbing one of his hands up and down the skin of your back, you almost fall asleep in his arms for real. but then you feel him slow to a stop.

he pulls his hand out from under your shirt, slowly, you assume it’s so he doesn’t ‘wake you up’, and sighs. you can just picture him checking his phone and realizing, so you do what any scheming partner would- you pretend to wrap your arms around him tighter and nuzzle into him in your sleep.

but atsumu’s observant. he knows you’re not actually sleeping (your breathing hadn’t quite evened out yet) but you are getting there, so he dares to disrupt the serene environment and kisses your forehead to soften the blow.

“baby,” he says, and you immediately shake your head in protest. “ya gotta move, sweetheart. it’s time for me to go.”

“noooo,” you whine, and he thinks it’s the cutest sound he’s ever heard.

he knows you don’t want him to leave just as much as he doesn’t want to leave either, but even though he hates the very idea of it, he has to be up early for practice and you live a bit further away than he’s willing to accommodate for on such short notice.

you nuzzle into his neck a bit more and he sighs again. “angel, please?”

you tilt your head up to look at him and he worries about the angle your neck is twisting at. he brings a hand up to cup the back of your head to keep you from moving it any more.

“‘tsum, please stay?”

turns out you were closer to falling asleep than he anticipated. your voice is so soft and clearly riddled with sleep that he almost caves.

but then he remembers last time this happened and how he had to wake up at 4:30 to make it back to his own apartment to shower, change and pack his gym bag.

and he shudders.

“lovebug, ya know I wish I could, but I really can’t this time. can ya let me up?”

you grumble a bit at the nickname, peering up to glare at him, and he thinks you’re really going to give in, but instead you just lock your legs tight around his.

of course you’re not making this easy for him. when do you ever?

“baby!” he can’t help but laugh, because he absolutely adores you for it.

“you can’t leave if you can’t move,” is what he thinks he hears muffled against his chest.

“that a challenge?”

you shrug and he just scoffs.

“cause if it is… I think we both know how quickly you’d be proven wrong.”

it’s true and you do in fact know it, but you’re just desperate enough to delude yourself into thinking you could keep him down with sheer determination alone.

so when you hold your ground and get defeated in milliseconds by him manhandling you and carrying you to your room, it’s a good thing you have a backup plan ready.

“okay, okay! you win, so your prize is taking me home with you for a sleepover at your place!”

he freezes just as he’s about to dump you on your bed (and presumably tuck you in so you don’t try and jump him on his way out like you have many times before).

atsumu wonders why he hadn’t thought of that as he breaks out into a wide grin. he curls you closer towards him and presses kisses all over your face and neck. “you and your beautiful brain! Oh I love ya so much,” and then he drops you onto the bed. “pack a bag, you’re comin’ over.”

ten minutes later, you’re out the door and no longer tired. it’s a struggle to lock your door when you’re still slung over his shoulder and trying not to laugh so loud that you wake up your neighbours, but like most other situations, he’s there to keep you steady.

“take your time babe, not like we’re in a rush,” he teases while swaying back and forth to make things harder.

you feel delirious, from love or being held upside down you’re not quite sure, but you giggle some more and smack his back. “‘atsumu, come on.”

he relents and soon enough you’re in his bed, playing with his hair. the roles seem to have reversed, because now he’s the sleepy one and you’re admiring the view.

you feel his breath tickle your neck and the goosebumps that follow. he nuzzles into you further and you can feel the movement of his lips when he says “we should have a forever sleepover.”

you turn into a puddle of goo. “yeah? you want to spend every night together?”

he nods and grumbles when you move your hand away from his hair. “wan’ ya with me every night. wanna come home to ya. and I wanna be the first thing ya see when you get home too.”

you coo at your sleepy golden retriever of a boyfriend and he hides his face against your shoulder. “you’re adorable when you’re tired, baby.”

“not as cute as you were earlier, that’s for sure.”

you smile and press a kiss to his scalp before forming a response for his unofficial proposal to move in together.

it’s not as though you haven’t thought about it. it’s constantly on your mind, especially since staying at his place has started to feel less like being a guest and more like an extension of your own home.

if he were to ask you properly, you would most definitely say yes, but since he’s half asleep and most likely doesn’t realize what he’s insinuating…

“we’ll talk about it more tomorrow after you get back from practice. sleep, angel, it’s late. I love you,” you whisper.

he nods a little and repeats the sentiment in a soft, slurred murmur before nodding off for the night.

you’re sure to hug him a little tighter as you drift off soon after and dream of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

cheesy ending, but I’m feeling soft for him :( so can you really blame me??

tagging some more lovely people :3 @emmyrosee @dira333

[wildwestdean]

repose

based on a request made by @chevroletdean! 🤍

a/n: this is a repost, because i tried to edit the main post when half asleep but my dumb ass deleted it instead 😭

summary: you catch a cold while out on a hunt with dean. you refuse to take it easy once back at the bunker, so he takes matters into his own hands to try and help you recover - even if it means bribing you into finally getting some rest

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 2.6k+

warnings: some mentions of violence/mutilation in the beginning, established relationship, stubborn reader, reader puts her own health on the back burner, reader doesn't like to feel useless, reader won't take her meds, fluff, a touch of angst, minor swearing, protective dean, worried dean, dean goes full caretaker mode, dean just really loves reader, briefest mention of clothes being taken off, reader gets carried around, more fluff

Dean knew it was a bad idea. 

He knew he should’ve tried harder to stop you, but really, what was he supposed to do? The suspect was about to get away, and you were too stubborn in your ways once you set your mind to something. All he could do was watch as you ran out the door, quickly disappearing within the sheets of freezing rain that were falling while he cursed to himself. 

His first thought wasn’t a declaration of fear that the suspect might get a drop on you. No, despite your appearance, your skills were rivalled only by those of Sam and Dean themselves; they taught you everything you knew, after all. Instead, shockingly, the first thought to cross his mind was: she’s going to catch a cold. 

Hurrying after you, you two easily managed to apprehend the suspect to haul him back to the warehouse for questions, all while Dean grumbled about how you should’ve stayed put and let him deal with it; a rant that only earned him a roll of your eyes in return. You didn’t venture out very far, and while it did feel like you were soaked straight through to the bone, the warehouse was growing closer and would soon offer respite from the downpour - his worrying, like usual, would end up being over nothing. 

Yet the chill you were met with once back in the warehouse almost had you regretting your choice, and had it not been for the sickening grin you were given by the douchebag that Dean was currently tying to a rickety chair, you probably would have. You were convinced it was even colder in here than outside; but you refused to let Dean in on that fact.

He didn’t pick up on it right away, focusing solely on extracting the answers that were buried behind the soulless eyes he glared into. He always enjoyed taking his time when it came to things like this, letting the fear and dread settle in their hearts as he threatened to carve into skin or chop off extremities. It was fun, really, and he was enjoying it right up until you decided to pitch in, voicing your own threat of cutting off a very precious body part piece by little piece.

As soon as the words left your mouth, Dean took on a new sense of urgency to get the information you two needed. You could see it in every choice he made: how his pacing quickened, how his voice got darker and tighter while his patience drained away, how he stopped giving warning before his knife dove into flesh. 

You knew he was suddenly in a hurry to wrap this all up, but what you didn’t know was why. You didn’t know that when you spoke, Dean heard the waver in your voice, the quiet chatter of your teeth as you shivered from the cold. You didn’t think it was noticeable, but when it came to you, there was nothing Dean wouldn’t notice. 

With the increase of effort and decrease of delicacy, it wasn’t much longer until Dean finally got what he needed, and he plunged his knife through skin and muscle one final time before eagerly leading you from the warehouse.

“Wait here,” he requested, gently tugging you back just before you could step outside. 

“What, why?” you asked, silently amazed at how warm his palm felt on your arm despite being just as drenched as you were. “We need to finish up.”

“Just wait here,” he repeated, running out into the darkness before you could even reply. 

Left confused in his wake, all you could do was stand there and wait for him to return, trying to ignore the way your whole body wanted to tremble in response to the frigid air. You really, really longed for a hot shower right now, and the fact you knew you needed to dispose of this body somewhere out in this storm made tears threaten to spill over onto your still dampened face. 

The sight of Baby’s headlights cutting through the curtain of rain was like a breath of fresh air to you, and you yearned to just curl up on her front seat while the heat blasted from the dash. 

“One step at a time,” you told yourself. “Take care of the body, then you can warm up on the drive back.” 

Dean made it clear he had other plans in mind when he pulled up as close to the door as possible, leaving the engine running as he ran back over to you. 

“Heat’s on,” he declared, shaking some excess water from his jacket. “Lock yourself inside, I shouldn’t be too long.” 

“Too long doing what?” you asked, totally lost. 

He looked just as confused as you were, not understanding what you didn’t understand. 

“Getting rid of the body,” he declared after a moment, as though it were completely obvious. 

“You’re not doing that alone,” you argued in bewilderment. 

“Yes I am,” he argued back. 

“Dean-” you wanted to argue some more, but he cut you off by taking your face in his palms. 

“Even the screams couldn’t cover up the sound of your knees knockin’ together,” he teased. “Go wait in the car, baby. If you don’t go willingly, I’ll gladly toss you in.” 

You had the urge to say no, wanting to be useful and help him, but you backed down when you saw the look in his eyes.

“Fine,” you agreed, sighing in defeat. “But if you’re not back soon, I will be coming to find you,” you warned. 

Dean grinned in triumph as he planted a kiss on your forehead. “Understood,” he confirmed, guiding you to the car before heading off to carry out his mission. 

It wasn’t until a few days later, when you finally made it back to the bunker, that you realized maybe Dean’s worrying hadn’t been over nothing after all. Despite having the heat cranked all the way up in every motel room, those worn down radiators could really only do so much. The piercing winds would seep through the meekly insulated windows, finding you even under the feigned safety of blankets and tight embrace of Dean; not to mention there being no way to avoid the icy blows whenever you made stops along the road. The sheer lack of sleep you got due to rushing back home seemed to be the final nail in the coffin, and your body was too exhausted to fight off the inevitable. 

It started as a tickle in your throat, which resulted in you continuously chugging back tea and honey; honey that Cas was extremely thrilled to provide you with. Dean was quick to notice you started doing this, and took it upon himself to bring you a mug whenever you were tied up with Sam and looking into some lore, or tirelessly helping Jack understand his latest discovery of the day. 

When the tickle in your throat developed into you having a full blown cough, he bought you your favourite cough drops, keeping an eye on them to make sure you didn’t run out. Though when they seemed to not be enough, he made sure to get you some cough syrup, too. 

He did his best to make sure you didn’t do too much, but asking you to take things easy was like asking a baby not to cry. It just wasn’t going to happen. You had the constant need to be productive, to be helpful. Feeling a little under the weather wasn’t going to change that. Him getting you to see a doctor was nothing short of a miracle, and the fact you were just about as stubborn as him was nearly ironic; he would laugh about it if he wasn’t so worried about you. 

His worry only magnified tenfold when he went to check on you one night, only to find your room empty. He tried convincing you to let him stay with you like usual, but you didn’t want him to get sick, too. He was really regretting not pushing back on that more, now that he found you in the library, lost in a pile of books; he had to take a breath to compose himself before speaking. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, approaching the table. 

“Research,” you croaked, eliciting another coughing fit. 

“Research?” he baulked. “For what? And why now?” 

You coughed once more, chugging down the rest of your tea before replying. “T’help Sammy. Couldn’sleep anyway,” you sniffled, words jumbled together from congestion.  

Dean sighed heavily, taking a seat beside you. “You didn’t even try to sleep, did you?” 

The lack of response from you told him everything he needed to know. 

“Alright, come on,” he announced, reaching for the book you were reading. 

Your reaction time was definitely slower than usual, but you still managed to pull the book out of his reach just in time. “No.” 

Knowing it would be a losing battle, and that it would probably cause more harm than good to just toss you over his shoulder and carry you to your room, he got up with a huff and left. You assumed he was angry, and felt a little guilty for upsetting him when he was just looking out for you, but you knew you were fine enough to carry on with this for a while longer.  

The last thing you currently expected was for him to return with a bowl of your favourite soup, leftover from when he made some for you earlier, and another large mug of tea, placing them on the free space in front of you before sitting back down. 

“If you wanna be helpful, then you’re gonna sit there and eat while I look for whatever the hell it is we’re looking for,” he ordered, easily snatching the book from you. 

“Fine,” you mumbled, picking up the spoon. “Bossy,” you added, hoping he didn’t see the smile playing on your lips as you feigned annoyance. 

He definitely did, but he kept it to himself as you gave him a cliff notes version of what you were looking into between spoonfuls of soup. 

You aren’t sure when it happened, but at some point between finishing the soup and drinking half the tea, you started to drift off; the warmth of his palm on your thigh and comfort of his soft rambling beside you lulling you to sleep. 

This time, Dean knew he would win the battle against you, and he carefully took you in his arms and carried you to bed, staying with you until morning.

Days had continued to go by, and you only seemed to be getting worse. Dean didn’t know what else to do and it was driving him mad - he couldn’t stand to see you like this anymore. 

He refused to take no as an answer now when it came to him doing things for you, and took over every task you tried to start. He followed you around, practically glued to your side, never letting you lift a finger and being a second pair of eyes when you did any research. 

Research that he tried to stop from coming in by threatening to break Sam’s legs if he didn’t quit bothering you for help, only to find out you were doing it of your accord. 

Even Jack had decided to stop coming to you for things until you were better, since he knew you’d never let him heal you.

Yet Dean knew it wasn’t enough. He knew you needed to just fucking lay down and rest. 

Waking up in the middle of the night to find your side of the bed empty once more, Dean stormed off towards the hub of the bunker as he shouted your name - he didn’t care if he woke everyone up at this point. 

He didn’t stop until he found you in the kitchen, frantically cleaning and completely unaware of his presence. 

“Baby?” he asked cautiously, hesitantly approaching you. 

“'m’not going back t’bed,” you told him, not even looking at him.

“Okay,” he said. “Why not?” 

“Too much t’do,” you replied simply, trying to breeze past him. 

“Hey, whoa,” he called, gently taking hold of your shoulders. “Look at me.” 

“I’m fine,” you said automatically, meeting his gaze after he forced your chin up.

He took note of your distant gaze and pale skin, practically burning under his touch. Suddenly, everything seemed to click into place. “You’re really not, sweetheart,” he determined, tucking your hair behind your ears. “You have a fever. Which means you haven’t even been taking your meds, have you?” 

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise at his question, before you averted your gaze in guilt. “No.” 

Dean wanted to be mad at you. Well, truthfully, Dean was mad at you. You’ve been doing seemingly everything you could to prevent yourself from recovering, while Dean was trying as hard as he could to help you. He wanted to yell at you, but more importantly, he just wanted to understand. 

“Why?” he asked gently, softly running his thumbs across the apples of your cheeks. 

“They make me groggy,” you told him.

“You mean they make you sleep,” he corrected, knowing what it was you wouldn’t say. “I don’t understand why you won’t let yourself rest.” 

You shrugged helplessly, feeling smaller than ever under his searching gaze. “I don’ like feelin’ useless.” 

“You’re not useless, baby. You’re sick,” Dean defended. 

“Still,” you said, not having a better argument. “I need t’help.”

“How about we make a deal?” he suggested, fully understanding how it feels to not want to lay around and not help with anything, all while everyone else seemed to scramble around.

“Like?” you wondered, lightly shoving him away so you wouldn’t sneeze on him. 

“Like,” he said, feeling more and more like this was the best idea. “You leave this mess as is, go take your medicine, and lay down with me.” 

“That’s not a deal,” you argued thickly. 

“I didn’t finish!” he said with a laugh. “You do that for me, and that disgustingly cheesy movie you love so much? Not only will I watch it with you from start to finish, but I won’t even make a single joke about it.” 

“But what about-” 

“Sam and I can handle the mess later,” he said with a sigh, already knowing what you would ask. 

“‘kay,” you sniffled. “Then deal.” 

“Good,” he grinned, not giving you a chance to change your mind and scooping you off your feet once more.

He made a stop at the bathroom first, so that he could help you freshen up and do your usual nightly routine. Lord knows he watched you do it enough times to know it step by step, and he was never more grateful for that than right now.

Once that was all taken care of, he took you to your room to get you fully settled for the night. He gently peeled off your lounge clothes to slip one of his clean sweatshirts over your head before tucking you into bed. He grabbed you a glass of water so you could take your medicine. He hunted down extra blankets to keep by the bed in case you got cold. He settled in beside you, setting up the movie as you nestled against his chest. 

It was barely even twenty minutes in by the time you were sleeping soundly in his arms. Dean smiled to himself, carefully landing a kiss on the top of your head as he carried on with the movie. 

He started to doze off about halfway through, and he knew in his heart that if this was the deal he’d have to make every night while you recovered, he’d gladly do so. There was definitely no shortage of these cheesy movies you loved, and there was nothing in the universe that mattered to him more than you and your wellbeing. 

Besides, even though he’d never admit, these romcoms you liked really weren’t half bad. 

taglist: @roseblue373, @redmaro86, @snowayumi, @iluvdeanwinchester, @winharry, @star-yawnznn, @jc-winchester

if you'd like to be added or removed from this list, please let me know!

(sorry for the double tag on this y'all, i'm stupid af lol)

[ephie-om]

I know I said I had Dialuci stuff coming but that was before I got a HELL of a migraine so here's a lil self indulgent fic. Also this is not in age order it's the order I thought of them first so if you want to find a specific brother just look for their color x

The brothers reacting to you in their bed with a migraine

Leviathan had seen you toddle unsteadily into his room about an hour ago, but amidst his online matches he couldn't exactly turn around and talk to you. When he finally swivels his chair around and gets up to stretch his legs, you are nowhere to be found. His slit pupils narrow, looking for any sign of movement. Were you trying to prank him? Did you think that otakus were easy to scare? He finally spots a small movement from- his bathtub?! Where he sleeps? He slowly creeps up, lifting the blanket with two fingers and- you were asleep? Were you trying to kill him?? Steadying his breathing, he resolved to make you as comfortable as possible for as long as you stayed. He dims his lights, shuts off the tinny electronic music leaking out of his headset, and sits cross-legged with his Devilswitch next to the bathtub, determined to keep watch and make sure none of his oafish brothers would barge in and wake you.

Beelzebub is fairly used to coming home to a groaning lump underneath his blankets, whining at him to turn the lights off. He isn't used to the voice belonging to his human. Switching off the lights quickly, he makes his way to you and sets his bag on the ground quietly. You're startled by a large, warm hand on your shoulder. "Is everything alright?" he asks, concern etching the lines of his face. You try to shake your head and immediately realize that's not the best idea, so you quickly type out a message on your D.D.D. with the brightness at the lowest setting. 'Very bad headache'. He squints at the words, then rises to open the large chest at the end of his bed. You feel a massive weighted blanket draped slowly over your body and his large hands tuck you in. You hear his footsteps retreat again, more rummaging, then a straw pokes at your mouth. Confused, you take a sip and find something bubbly, sweet, and probably caffeinated. You give him a small, grateful smile, and his hand returns to your shoulder as you fall asleep.

Belphegor is used to being the lump under his blankets. So when he comes home after a long day of Satan kicking him under his desk, insisting that this bit was interesting, he's none too pleased to find a not-him blanket lump. He prods the lump and is rewarded with a low noise. Pulling the covers unceremoniously down from your face, he nearly tries to climb on top of you. "Move." He's halfway into bed when he sees your eyes flinching shut from the pain of being tossed around, and it finally occurs to him that it's not too common for you to be in his bed. He frowns and furtively checks over what little of your body he can see. Even with no surface wounds, he knows enough about humans to understand that there are plenty of injuries or illnesses that can't be seen. Sighing, he drags himself up from the bed to pour you a glass of water and rummage through Beel's side of the room for a snack. "Hey," he whispers. You open your eyes a crack. "These are here if you want them." You give him a minute nod and he takes that as a success. He settles down again, much more carefully this time, and ever so gently strokes your hair until your breathing slows again.

Mammon bangs open his door. Some idiots at RAD had tried to get on Levi's nerves, which got on his nerves, which got on Lucifer's nerves. He grumbles threats under his breath as he slams his bag into the floor and nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears a groan from his bed. "W-what? Hello??" When no answer comes, he decides he must be in a horror movie and turns to leave. Until he hears another noise that sounds suspiciously like his name. "Treasure? That you?" He walks back to his bedside and sure enough, his human is lying there. His heart swells and his eyes shine yellow as he grins. "Did ya miss me that much?" For some reason, instead of smiling at him, you slowly place your hands over your ears. Huh. Wait. Did somebody hurt you? Does he need to find whoever did this? He coaxes your hands away from your ears and checks for blood. You give him a weak smile and mutter out something he barely deduces to be "my brain". Oh, your brain hurts. That he can understand. He settles down beside you and tucks you in a little more securely. If humans can get their brain hurt so easily, then they must need a strong demon to make sure they were ok while they slept, he told himself. No other reason.

Lucifer makes the short trek from his study to his office late at night. He takes the walk slowly, ensuring that his shoes make as little noise as possible. His hand reaches for the doorknob to his bedroom, but he freezes. He swears he had left the lights on, but there's only darkness through the gaps in the door. He readies a shield spell in tired fingers, convinced this must be another one of Satan or Belphie's tricks. He braces himself, walks through- and all is quiet. Except for the faint sound of breathing. He flips on a lamp and he can see your pretty eyes wincing away from the light. "What are you doing in my bed? Surely yours can't be that uncomfortable," he teases. You pout up at him wordlessly. Thankfully, he's raised six demons and one angel, which makes him particularly good at figuring out what's wrong with a creature who can't speak. He decides that whatever it is, the lights and the noise must be making it worse, so he goes to shower as quickly and quietly as possible. You're nearly asleep when he comes back, so he tries to settle his aching bones on the opposite side of the bed. You crack open your eyes and glare at him with all the impudence you can muster, and he chuckles softly. You close your eyes as he wraps you in his wings, and he watches as you fall asleep with a smile on your face.

Asmodeus is very proud of his bed. It has more hidden tricks than a demon could find in a lifetime, and he's poured hundreds of Grimm into making it equal amounts beautiful and comfortable. But when he imagined coming home to find you in his bed, usually he imagined you in that one pair of lacy panties and a sultry lipstick. He certainly didn't imagine you in sweatpants, blinking up at him blearily as he peeks under the blankets at your cute face. "Couldn't even wait until I got here, darling?" You give him a pained groan instead of a smile or a laugh, and that's when he realizes something really is wrong. He places a gentle kiss to your forehead, leaving you smelling faintly like strawberries. "Are you sick?" he pouts. You try to whisper something but give up and tap your head with a finger. "Oh sweetheart... I can help, I promise. I'll be right back." A soft lavender scent wafts through your nostrils and you feel a warm, damp towel on your forehead as he coaxes you to lay on your back. He straightens the sheets around you and presses small kisses to you wherever his mouth ends up. He winds his body around yours and decides that even if this was unexpected, he'll never be disappointed by a chance to spoil you.

Satan is fairly certain that there are very few demons, even amongst his brothers, who would dare to enter his room without asking. He's already deduced, with his incredible detective skills, that it could only be you who has the sheer audacity to climb into his bed when he wasn't there. He knows that you've mentioned that you suffer from migraines before, but he's never seen you during one. This will be a fantastic learning experience, he thinks. You open your eyes to look at him and his smile drops as he realizes how much pain you must be in. He mentally flips through pages and pages of research on human medical conditions. Water, plain food, and rest? Is that really all he can do? He huffs in annoyance, wondering to himself how humans have survived this long. He roots through a few piles of books before finding some stale crackers and concluding that he needed some better resources. He rushes downstairs, using his tail for balance to quiet his steps, and retrieves an armful of food and water. Your eyes glint in the dim light as you watch him, amused. The demon busies himself with arranging everything on his nightstand so that you can reach it with minimal movement. Your hand reaches out and he smiles to himself before it finds not a glass or a snack, but his wrist. You give him a gentle tug before he understands. Gingerly he lowers himself into bed beside you, almost afraid to get too close. You bury your forehead into his side and he laughs softly. He keeps watch over you as you sleep, in case any other part of your body decides to turn on you in the night.

[yanderedrabbles]

Misery - Part Two

Based on Misery by Stephen King

Stuck in the mountains, you foolishly decide to drive through a blizzard. The man that drags you from your wrecked car brings you to his cabin and patches you up. But as the snow piles up outside, you start to suspect that your rescuer's intentions may be far from pure.

Previous Chapter

The thing that brought you straight from unconsciousness and howling into the world of the living was your shoulder. In the bleary haze after you crashed, you were hurting in so many places that you couldn't have focused on an individual ache even if you tried.

It wasn't until the stranger popped your arm back into place that you realised it was dislocated at all.

You woke up with your shoulder and upper back a sharp, aching mess. You also woke up screaming.

"Easy, easy there ma'am. Hush now, you can take it."

The stranger's thick drawl was right next to your ear and you turned your head to find his hands on your upper arm.

You groaned. "I'm suffering enough without being insulted."

You tried to sit up and a host of new pains made themselves very known. You slumped back with a small gasp.

"I may look rough, but I am nowhere near old enough to be a ma'am, thank you very much."

To your surprise, he laughed. And if you weren't becoming intimately aware of your pain tolerance, you would have realised what a nice laugh he had.

"Hell, if you're this lively after I gave you morphine, I'm terrified to find you sober."

The man next to you was slowly taking shape out of the halos of light that streaked your vision. Grey eyes, that was the first thing you noticed. A kind of gunmetal grey that you would have found frightening if he hadn't been smiling.

"Oh, I've never had morphine before."

If you were hurting this much after getting doped up on pain meds, a part of you was terrified about them wearing off. A smaller part of you worried terribly about how much he'd given you. The rest of you however, was succumbing to the deep sleep that banged up bodies seem to demand.

Dimly you realised the stranger had stood up and was about to walk away. You thought of your car in the snow and your body hunched over the steering wheel, blood dripping little by little onto the floorboards.

Your hand shot out with a speed you didn't think yourself capable of and grabbed his wrist. The stranger stilled and looked down at you. Tall, that was the second thing you noticed.

"Please don't leave me."

You were falling asleep against your will and your voice was cracked with pain.

He wavered and then slowly sat down in the chair next to your bed.

"Alright then, I'll be right here. So you go on back to sleep."

Kind, that was the third thing you noticed about him.

As you fell asleep, your fingers stayed wrapped around his wrist. In that isolated cabin, with the wind driving snow down the chimney and rattling the hastily put up winter shutters, former USMC Corporal Andrew Wilkes smiled for the first time in six months.

......

Waking up the second time was much slower and a whole lot less painful.

You opened your eyes to the watery light of early morning. A thousand different aches called for your attention. To start with, your left leg was a throbbing mass of low grade suffering. Everything below the knee felt stiff and bruised. No, sharper than just bruising. You would have to take a look for yourself later.

Your ribs felt tender, like you'd gone head to head with a kickboxer who harboured a very personal grudge.

Your shoulder however, was a thousand times better than last night.

You sat up slowly, the sheets rustling quietly. Your mind felt slow and groggy - it must have been the after effects of the morphine. You heard a quiet groan and froze.

The stranger was asleep on the armchair next to you, his upper body resting on the bed. You still had your hand clasped loosely around his wrist but at some point in the night he'd shifted and now his other hand was draped over yours.

His hands were nicked with a collection of little scars and his palms felt calloused with work, but they were warm and you found yourself comforted by that.

He was handsome too, with thick blond hair and a five o'clock shadow on his jaw. A raised scar carved a crescent on his cheekbone and without realising it, you reached out to touch it.

Your fingers must have been warm because he smiled just a little before he opened his eyes.

"Mornin' ma'am."

Was his voice always so deep or was it just sleep? You pulled your fingers away from his face with a jerk.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you."

He sat up slowly, rubbing his jaw with his free hand. You noticed he was wearing a courdroy jacket lined with sheepskin. For some reason, you thought it suited him perfectly.

"Ain't a bother. Besides, I'd be a damn shitty medic if I slept longer than my patient."

There was a faint clinking sound and you realised he was wearing a pair of dog tags on a chain around his neck.

"I'm Andy, by the way. Andy Wilkes."

You smiled. It felt strange to just now be learning his name, after you'd spent all night clutching onto his wrist.

"Y/N."

You cleared your throat, suddenly awkward despite your drowsiness.

"Thank you, for saving me. I would have died in the snow if you hadn't rescued me."

You looked into his eyes and then quickly away. Something about that gunmetal gray made you shiver.

"I owe you my life."

He was thoughtful for a moment.

"It was pure fate that I even saw your car way down in the trees. And good luck that I know enough first aid to fix you up."

He shrugged. "It ain't me you should be thanking."

"Still, others might not have stopped for a stranger."

He raised a brow and glanced down at the hand you still had clasped around his wrist. "How about you let me go and we call it even?"

Were you blushing? It sure felt like it, with the way your cheeks suddenly tingled. You let go like he was made of lava.

"Right. Um...Sorry about that."

He shot you a small smile. "Don't be. It was...nice."

He stood up and your half unconscious observation had been right - he really was tall. He was wearing Levi's and a pair of cowboy boots. There was a dark stain down his left leg and with a start you realised it was your blood. He hadn't even changed since bringing you here.

"You were banged up pretty bad. You should have some breakfast and then I can give you more pain medication."

You nodded eagerly. Your pain had faded a little when you spoke to him but it still throbbed throughout your body.

"And uhh..." He looked away from you and rubbed at his jaw. "I'll give you some clothes to change into."

He brought you a flannel shirt and a pair of sweatpants you felt sure to drown in. He set them on your nightstand and dragged open his first aid kit.

You raised a brow at the size of the thing. In addition to the regular bandages and disinfectant, he carried hypodermic needles, sutures and a whole host of injectable ampules. Is this how he had access to morphine?

"I used to be a medic, back when I was in the Marines." He smiled at you properly for the first time. "You're in good hands, I promise."

He put his fingers under your jaw and tilted your face towards him. You flinched as peeled back the gauze above your eyebrow.

"Let's get a good look at you - how are you feeling?"

You tried to smile and couldn't find the energy.

"It hurts."

"I'd be surprised if it didn't. This cut up here was pretty bad. You were bleedin' like crazy."

He dipped a cloth into a murky white antibacterial liquid and dabbed gently at the cut. He was close enough that you could see the pulse that beat in his neck.

"I've given you a few stitches up here. They seem to be holding fine."

"Stitches? Do you think it'll scar?"

He paused. "Maybe. But you're pretty enough that a little scar ain't gonna make a difference."

Okay, this time you were definitely blushing.

He bandaged you up again and his hands trailed down to your shoulders. From the look of him, you'd expect him to have a heavy touch, but he was careful and gentle.

"Shrug, maybe move around a bit."

You managed it, despite some stiffness.

"Good. We'll need to focus on working your shoulder a little everyday. Keep you limber as the swelling goes down."

"Yes, sir."

He tensed up for just a second before he continued.

"Any bruising or cuts you think I might have missed?"

"My ribs are hurting something awful."

"Lay down."

Good god, was he a natural at giving commands. You found yourself on your back without really realizing you moved. He lifted your shirt up and you flinched at the feeling of his hands on the soft skin of your belly.

"Take a deep breath for me."

You managed it without too much of a struggle.

"Good. Looks like it's just some bruising."

You noticed the lace of your bra peaking out from under your shirt at about the same time he did. He pulled his palm away from your waist like you scalded him and yanked down your shirt with none of the clinical professionalism with which be raised it.

He cleared his throat. "It's your leg I'm worried about."

He turned away from you to bend over your right foot, but not before you caught the redness creeping across his cheeks.

Your jeans were cut open to the knee and your ankle was a bulging monstrosity wrapped in layers and layers of bandages. He kept one hand wrapped around your calf as he worked and when you flinched away, he just tightened his grip and continued.

"It looks like a very nasty sprain. Grade 2 at least. Might take a few months to heal totally. For now though, you absolutely cannot walk on it."

He looked up at you as though to emphasise his point. "Any activity for the next few weeks will just set your healing back. Not to mention hurt like a bitch."

He sounded so mean when he swore that you dropped your eyes.

He straightened up. "From the look of things, I reckon you've bruised some of the bones in your calf too. So just keep off this leg."

"Ummm." You felt stupidly bashful with his hand still on your leg. "How am I supposed to move around?"

"Hmm. I might have an old crutch lying around here somewhere. If not, I'll just have to carry you."

He said it so damn casually, as if picking you up was the easiest thing in the world. You remembered how easily he got you out of your car and realised that to him, carrying you was just as easy as hauling wood or slinging a ruck on a march. Hell, easier maybe.

You were just a little afraid of his strength.

He nodded to the clothes he left beside you. "You try and change and I'll go and get your breakfast ready."

It was only after he'd closed the door behind him that you realised - he hadn't said anything about taking you to a hospital.

Next Chapter

Masterlist

[slytherinshua]

BOYNEXTDOOR WITH KIDS !

summary. you invited your boyfriend to help you babysit! here's how he does. genre. fluff. warnings. kids but nothing else. not proofread. pairing. boynextdoor x fem!reader. wc. 675. request. originally a request from lovely 💗 anon for bonedo x baby fever gf reader. i kinda tweaked it a bit to be bnd with kids but implied that reader still has baby fever which is why they babysit <33 a/n. ugh i wish these were a bit better idk i tried my best!! i literally started writing it out as baby fever reader but then i was stumped how to do it differently for all 6 of them so... i hope this is alright ??? net. @onedoornet

PARK SUNGHO ﾐ 박성호

Sungho would do so well with the little girls you babysit. He would be so down to have a princess tea party with them, and they immediately are in love with him from that moment on. I can see them berating you two with questions about your relationship, especially if the girls were around 4 or 5. They successfully get Sungho to admit that yes he’s in love with you and yes he does plan to marry you someday (if he said no then the girls would have said true love was dead). They plead you to invite Sungho over again to play because they had such a good time. 

LEE SANGHYEOK ﾐ 이상혁

Riwoo is hesitant. He has no idea whether the kids will like him, much less if he would be any good with them. He hasn’t had much opportunity to be around children or babies, so he’s very cautious. He lets them take the lead, but soon finds that it’s easy to entertain them by challenging them to a dance battle or playing just dance lol. He’d probably win over the kids favour by buying them donut holes as well. Overall, he’s pleasantly surprised at how well it went, and maybe he understands your chronic baby fever just a little more now.

MYUNG JAEHYUN ﾐ 명재현

Jaehyun is best with little kids ages 3 and up. His energy matches them so well and he loves to play with them. His imagination also matches that of a little kid, so nothing is out of reach. Whether it’s playing with toys, a board game, or play pretend, he is fully invested in it. Every time he hangs out with the kids you take care of, he ends the day completely exhausted. But you know he had so much fun with the little ones. You just might have to recharge him with a long cuddle sessions cause he swears 6 hours of dance practice is less intensive than 1 afternoon of babysitting.  

HAN DONGMIN ﾐ 한동민

Surprisingly he is the number 1 match for your baby fever. He adores babies, especially the infants that you babysit. He loves to hold them, and they love to be held by him even more. His calm demeanour is very soothing for them. I could see any baby falling asleep in his lap super easily. His prior experience with his sister also helps. He knows how to be gentle and patient with kids, and really understands exactly what they need. In his mind there really isn’t anything cuter than babies :( He talks in a slight baby voice to them as well, he really can’t help it. 

KIM DONGHYUN ﾐ 김동현

I think Leehan would struggle the most. If there’s no common ground between him and the kids, it’ll be hard. But, if any of the kids you babysit are just slightly as weird as Leehan, good luck trying to separate them. I think he would definitely love to draw with the kids, but make sure he is not making any food for them. He’d be unable to say no to whatever they wanted, and they'd either get sick on sweets or sick from impulsively wanting to try his fish food. Then he'll probably be banned from ever going near them again by their parents. Although he doesn’t really get the appeal of little kids, he does admit that it was fun at times to hang out with them. He leaves the babysitting job to you, though.

KIM WOONHAK ﾐ 김운학

Woonhak is so good with kids omg!! At the beginning, he matches their energy so well, but he crashes so fast as well. He would accidentally make jokes that the kids take entirely seriously and end up having to comfort them when they cry. But, despite his mistakes, he’s great at rallying all the kids and being the leader for group activities. If you were babysitting 3+ kids at once, he could definitely help keep track of them all and keep them busy. He doesn’t feel confident with babies, though, as he’s worried he might do something wrong. They’re just so fragile and definitely outside of his comfort zone. 

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