#but if I want painkillers I have to get out of bed

[vivwritesfics]

i need more max as overprotective bf pls IM BEGGING

"get back into bed."

you glared at him, arms crossed over your chest. you stopped walking, but you didn't turn around and head back into the bedroom you usually shared with him (usually, becuase you were making him sleep on the sofa, unwilling to get your champion sick).

instead, you marched into the kitchen.

"i'll bring you some tea, just go back to bed," he insisted, standing from his set up to race after you.

you pretended not to hear him. being in bed was starting to drive you up the wall. You had been good, staying in bed when max asked you to. but it was getting to you, and you needed to get out. even if that was just to your kitchen.

suddenly, max was behind you, standing closer than you would have licked with how sick you were. his hands touched your waist, pulling you into the doorway of your kitchen. "c'mon, go back to bed for me," he whispered, pulling you into him.

"i want painkillers," you mumbled as you let him pull you back. your head hit his chest and you buried your face in his shirt.

"i'll bring you some," he whispered and kissed the top of your head. you wanted to push him away but, truthfully, you needed this. you needed him. it was more healing than any painkillers, any medicine could be.

he walked you back and you followed him until you got to the bedroom. you laid down and he pulled the blanket up to your chin. "tea and painkillers," he said and pushed your hair away from your forehead. subtly feeling how warm you were.

"and biscuits," you said and he pulled away. "and stroopwafels." he paused in the doorway of your bedroom. "and something fizzy!"

no matter what you asked for, max was going to get it for you. as long as you stayed in that damned bed and got better. the sooner you no longer felt sick, the sooner he could kiss you properly, hold you close and do all of those things he wanted to do.

[skywvlkersgrl]

Sick bf! Scott

Paring: Scott Barringer x reader

a/n : this one’s short because of course i lack motivation when I actually have time to write.

“Scott?” You say softly, entering the cabin that was bathed in darkness. After Auggie had dramatically announced to all that your boyfriend was “dying”, whatever that meant, you had decided to check up on him, dying or not.

You call out his name again, a little bit louder and a muffled groan greets your ears. You creep closer to the bed where you can briefly make out a little lump buried under blankets.

“Scott?” You call out, crawling onto the bed, with a concerned expression.

He stirs under the blanket before peeping his head over to look at you, the sigh making your heart ache in sympathy. He had dark circles under his eyes and his nose was all red and raw. He suddenly sneezes, twice, making you jump.

“Oh dear, you’re all sniffly.” You grin almost teasingly as you come closer and sit down on the bed to inspect his condition. He just glared his usual glare at you from his position.

“My head hurts.” He whines, burying himself under his blanket once again, his blonde curls sticking up adorably

You stroke his head soothingly, before trailing your hand lower to feel his temperature. Not good at all. He was burning hot yet shivering.

You crawl closer and push yourself under his blanket “Let me in.” You demand.

He turns away, mumbling incoherently about how he was dying and he didn’t want you to get sick too. Strangely considerate in his own grouchy way.

However, you ignore him and continue to crawl into bed with him. “God, you’re burning hot.” You murmur, stroking his hair back out of his face.

He turns back to face you and buries his face in your chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly. You rub his back soothingly, wrapping your other arm around him protectively.

“It feels like someone’s jackhammering into my head.” He grumbles, pressing himself tighter into you, “And I’m cold… so cold.”

You didn’t even mind that he was getting your shirt all gross and snotty. Leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead, you ask “want me to get you anything? Water? Tea? Painkillers?”

He says nothing for a minute and just pulls you impossibly closer to him, “I want to sleep for a week,” he mumbles “or a tranquilliser?” He asks, his lips twitching into a smile. It’s a rare sight when he’s well, even rarer now that he’s got a cold.

You just shake your head at him fondly and press another kiss to his forehead. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” You say, giving him a squeeze

You both lie there, curled up together in a comfortable silence for a while, until you slowly attempt to untangle yourself from him. He whines and pull you closer, his tired eyes gazing at you pleadingly.

“Stay?”

[kittyfrisk9]

The soup - Idea DpxDc

Note: I don't know English, please use Google Translate. Sorry for the bad translation.

Dead On Main - Danny having an eating disorder, and Jason being a cute boyfriend.

---

He's breathing deeply, trying to forget the fever that torments his body. Heat and discomfort do their thing, and Danny writhes on the couch that serves as his replacement for a bed. He has no energy to go to his room, nor does he want to move. His head pounds, each pain makes him dizzy, and the burning sensation on his skin doesn't stop. The fever consumes him, and with it, the helplessness of not being able to use his powers to relieve himself.

He grips the blanket tightly, that piece of cheap fabric he bought at a third-rate store, so thin that it barely keeps him warm. He curls up in it, but the warmth of the fabric doesn't manage to take away the pain that runs through his body, nor the emptiness that hurts in his stomach. Each shiver makes him feel weaker, more disconnected from himself. His gaze slides toward the kitchen, toward the plastic bag of instant food he bought a few hours ago.

“Maybe I should eat…” he thinks, but the thought disappears as quickly as it came. Just looking at that food disgusts him. At some point in his teenage years, food started to taste bad, like every bite turned into a tasteless mass that he couldn’t swallow. He suspects it’s some psychological shit, some trauma that his parents are responsible for, but he doesn’t want to think about it now. He doesn’t have the strength to face it.

With a sigh, he turns around, determined to at least get rid of that annoying headache. He reaches for the small table next to the couch, where he left the bottle of painkillers, but stops when he notices something strange. Why is he so light? He frowns, sure he bought it yesterday. He shakes his head, exhausted. It doesn’t matter, he just needs something to relieve himself.

Without thinking much, he takes a couple of pills and drinks from the bottle of water he left nearby. He barely feels the pills go down his throat, a disgusting taste filling his mouth, as bitter as the food he can no longer stomach. He grimaces in disgust, but then… something is wrong.

A stabbing pain shoots through his stomach, like an invisible blade is ripping him apart from the inside. He instinctively doubles over, his hands gripping his abdomen tightly as he feels the tremors. His stomach makes low but intense sounds. Panic mixes with discomfort, and when he feels the liquid rise up his throat, he knows it’s too late.

He leans forward, covering his mouth with one hand as the contents of his stomach rush out. It’s not much, just bile and water, but the burning in his throat and the smell make him shudder. The vomit hits the floor, a mess that only adds more weight to his exhaustion.

Danny stands there, panting, cold sweat sticking to his forehead. The nausea persists, but something else worries him. His eyes focus on the empty bottle that had at some point fallen to the floor.

"How many pills did I take?"

The realization hits him like a brick, followed by a deep sigh filled with frustration. Shit. He's going to have to clean this up. It's not like he has the energy, but there's no one else to do it.

Oh, he's crying, he wants Jason by his side

...

Something is wrong. Very wrong. Extremely wrong.

Jason couldn't ignore it, that nagging uneasiness that made his stomach turn. He'd had a rough few weeks, he knew. More work than usual, more chaos in his territory. The appearance of a new drug—powerful, dangerous, and all too easy to get—had forced him to be everywhere at once. His body was exhausted, and his mind, even more so.

But that wasn't what was keeping him on his toes. No, what really had him worried was Danny.

His boyfriend. That word always brought a small smile to his face, even now, when everything inside him told him something was wrong. He shook his head, trying to focus on something else, but worry was a tight knot in his chest.

He looks up at the sky as he walks across the rooftops. The night in Gotham is especially ugly: thick clouds cover the moon, and the lack of stars makes everything seem even more oppressive. A bad sign.

Yesterday, Danny had been mugged. He could still hear the casual tone Danny told him in, like it hadn't been a big deal. But to Jason, it was something. He'd dealt with the guy, sure, but now he wished he'd hit him harder. He should have been there sooner, should have protected him. And now, Danny hadn't gotten in touch all day. Not one call, not one text. That wasn't normal.

Jason clenches his fists, frustration and fear mixing like an explosive cocktail. He didn't have time for this, but he couldn't ignore it either. Something inside him told him he had to move, that he couldn't just stand there waiting for answers.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but instead he makes a decision. With a quick movement, he throws out his grappling hook and begins to jump from one roof to another, faster than usual.

"Patrol can wait." His voice, barely a whisper, is laden with determination. First, he had to make sure Danny was okay. Everything else could wait.

Before long, Jason was outside Danny's apartment. The building was quiet, and the apartment windows were dark, not a single light on. Danny might be sleeping, but Jason didn't trust it. He needed to see him, to make sure with his own eyes that everything was okay.

Without hesitation, he slipped through the window, moving with the ease and stealth that came with years of practice. But what he saw upon entering left him cold.

Danny was on the floor, kneeling, wiping something down with a rag. His body was shaking slightly, and Jason immediately noticed how pale he was. Too pale. The fever was evident on his face, in the sweat that glistened in the dim light coming in from outside. But what caught his attention the most was the smell.

Jason looked away, and what he found made his hands clench into fists automatically. There was vomit on the floor. The acrid smell hit him hard, but it was the sight of Danny, weak and barely able to stand as he tried to clean up, that really ignited his fury.

Why the hell didn’t you call me? he wanted to scream at him, but the words were caught in his throat, choked by a mix of worry and rage. The reminder that he was Red Hodd right now and not Jason Todd hit him hard.

Danny stopped suddenly, noticing the presence of someone else in the room. He slowly turned his head, and his bright eyes—probably from the fever—fixated on Jason. There was confusion on his face.

“Hood?” he murmured, his voice hoarse and weak.

“Hey,” Hood greeted as he approached him, his voice deep and distorted by the helmet.

Danny let out a small laugh, though it was weak, and turned his head toward him, noticing his presence at last. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his mind still clouded by fever and disorientation.

“I was just passing by and came to take a look,” Jason replied with a smile hidden beneath his mask. He crouched down beside him, effortlessly taking the rag from Danny’s hand. “Why are you doing this?”

Danny, with no strength to fight, simply shrugged, the dizziness almost impossible to ignore. “The smell is disgusting.”

Jason didn’t answer right away, but he watched as Danny offered no resistance, his condition evidently more serious than he was trying to let on.

“Thanks for yesterday, by the way… you saved me, haha,” Danny said, forcing a tired smile. Danny’s laughter, even though he could barely stand upright, gave Jason’s stomach an uncomfortable twist. Danny’s eyes, disoriented and slightly glassy, ​​didn’t help matters.

Jason frowned as he noticed a purplish bruise beneath his eye. The mark was horrible, much worse than Danny was trying to let on. Anger grew in his chest, even more so as he saw how his boyfriend looked so… fragile. Why the hell didn’t I protect him better? He thought, gritting his teeth. Anger burned within him. To hell with hitting the guy harder, he should have killed him.

“Go get some rest,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.

Danny laughed softly, but it was more of a tired exhale than anything else. “I have to clean up.”

“I’ll do it,” Jason replied firmly. Danny’s response was a low snort, a trace of humor that seemed to fade quickly.

“Will you?” Danny laughed again, though harder this time, exhaustion still fighting to dampen his mood. “If your rogues knew I had you cleaning up my vomit, you’d be the laughing stock of Gotham.”

Jason gave him a steady look, not losing his composure. “It’s a reasonable price to pay for your rest.”

“I’m flattered,” Danny replied with a tired smile, and walked over to the couch, slumping down onto the cushion as if his body was about to collapse. He closed his eyes, trying to rest, but the pain coursing through him wouldn’t let him find relief. Every muscle in his body seemed to protest, and every time he moved, the pain intensified.

He groaned silently, gritting his teeth.

Jason watched him from the corner of his eye, still crouched in front of him. The concern did not disappear from his face, and his gaze remained fixed on Danny. It was obvious that something was not right.

“Why are you like this?” he asked again, this time with a more serious tone.

Danny did not open his eyes immediately, but his lips formed a slight grimace. “What?” he said, barely able to comprehend the question.

“Don’t you have anyone to take care of you?” Jason continued, the question laden with a hint of frustration. “If you’re that bad, you should have called someone.” Me, for example.

He thought about the last part silently.

Danny blinked twice and, after a while, opened his eyes to look at him. The doubt was palpable in his expression, and Jason couldn’t help but notice how much that simple look hurt him.

“I don’t have anyone…” Danny muttered, and for a moment, the sadness in his voice was all too evident. Then, as if trying to make the matter less serious, he corrected himself, “Well, I have my boyfriend, but he’s really busy with his job lately. I don’t want to bother him.”

Guilt hit Jason. “If you think that, he seems like a bad boyfriend,” he said, ducking his head, Danny’s words really getting to him.

Danny, barely lifting his leg, gave it a light smack. “Don’t say that about my boyfriend,” he said, somewhat annoyed, but with a weak smile on his face. “He works really hard at… whatever it is he works at.” He muttered, as if trying to defend him, but then added, more to himself than to Jason: “Old guys, his boss must be exploiting him.”

Jason couldn’t help but smile guiltily. Even in this state, Danny was still defending him, no matter how bad he felt. It was a sweet gesture, but it also made his chest tight to know that Danny was going through this alone.

Without thinking, he stood up suddenly, and with a quick, fluid movement, he lifted Danny into his arms princess-style. Danny, obviously surprised, let out a small cry of surprise.

“Hey!” Danny whined, as if he was about to protest, but Red Hood already had him well in hand.

“I’m going to take you to your room. You need to rest,” Hood said, not hesitating for a second. When Danny tried to protest, a strange sound, a rumbling from his stomach, interrupted them. Jason heard it clearly, and his face softened in understanding. “I’ll make you something light first. And you better eat it.”

Danny looked at him, a little confused but resigned. “You’re not giving me a choice, are you?”

“Nope,” Red Hood replied firmly, his tone almost amused now, as if it were a matter of fact.

...

Having a crime lord as a personal servant was not something Danny had expected for that night, but if he was to be honest with himself, he had to admit that it made him feel better. In an awkward and embarrassing way, Red Hood helped him change his clothes, brought him his phone, and even gave him water. Danny was sure that if he hadn't stopped him, Hood would have insisted on giving him a bath and even changing the sheets on his bed.

All this time, Danny tried to find the right moment to tell him something important: he couldn't stand eating other people's food. However, he didn't find the opportunity, and now he found himself in an even more awkward situation.

Red Hood, of course, was in his kitchen, making soup. Danny watched from the doorway, frowning.

Ah, what a waste, he thought, watching Hood move confidently around the kitchen. No matter how much he wanted to avoid it, his usual little eating problem was still a pain in the neck.

And then he remembered the anti-hero's words: “You should have called someone.” Danny let out a small laugh, true enough. In retrospect, even if Jason was busy, he would have come running if Danny had asked him for help.

Because Jason loves him. Maybe it's because his ghost half makes him more sensitive, but Danny can really feel it. Not just in his words, but in every action, every gesture. He knows that Jason loves him in a way that is deep and sincere, and that's why he can only eat what he prepares for him. Because he trusts him, more than anyone, and he knows that Jason would never hurt him. Unlike his parents.

Lying on his bed, Danny let out a low laugh and reached for his phone. What a fool I am, he thought as he began to type.

Danny: Are you busy? Please come. I'm kind of sick here and I really will turn into a ghost.

Just as he pressed "send," he saw Red Hood walk in, holding a tray with what looked like a bowl of soup and a hot lemonade. Danny frowned, curious. Where had he found the ingredients to make all that?

A smile appeared on his face as he looked at the tray. He figured it was too late to say anything now. He might as well eat some, pretend to like it, and thank him.

"I didn't expect the great crime lord, Red Hood, to know how to cook," Danny commented, smiling as he sat on the bed, looking at the tray curiously.

"I have some hidden talents," Hood replied, placing the tray carefully on Danny's legs.

Danny couldn't help but laugh. "Like sneaking into other people's apartments and spying?"

"Aside from that," Red Hood said without losing his composure, as if the insinuation didn't affect him in the slightest. "I've been your Prince Charming twice, you should be grateful." He shook his head slightly, motioning for Danny to eat.

Danny looked at the plate, mentally prepared to pretend to like it. "Eh, I'm grateful, your majesty, but sadly this young lady already has a prince." He played along as he brought the spoon of soup to his mouth.

Red Hood laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "I understand, I guess this gentleman's heart has been broken," he said in a dramatic tone, feigning sadness. He expected Danny to continue playing along, but Danny stood completely still. "Danny?" He asked, now visibly worried.

Danny was in shock. This taste… He took another spoonful of soup, then another, and another. Without thinking, he grabbed the plate and drank it all, then did the same with the lemonade. This taste, this delicious taste. It couldn't be anyone else but…

"Dan—" But he was interrupted.

"Jason, when were you going to tell me you were Red Hood?" Danny looked straight at him, not angry, but shocked.

His eating problem, that little big problem he'd had since his teens, instantly recognized that this taste could only belong to Jason.

Jason, on the other hand, wondered how his boyfriend recognized him.

---

Note: I don't know English, please use Google Translate. Sorry for the bad translation.

They are two men in love, your honor.

[alectoperdita]

I ache from head to toe and I hate it.

[shima-draws]

The pain is real bad tonight boys 😔

[theflyingfeeling]

still sick but alive, unfortunately 🤧

[watermelinoe]

i miss traditional college i would've had so much more fun and a 3.9 gpa if it weren't for the pain disorder >:(((

[giverofempathy]

horrible start of the week siiiiiigh

[sassyandclassy94]

✨Ladies only✨

Nothing like coming home from walking your dog and having to pee so bad that you don’t even have time to remove your AirPods. You just sit there with “We Were Never Eight” playing in your ears when a monstrous scrunch-your-body-up kinda cramp hits you right at the part of the song where Don was fighting for his life.

Nice one, Spotify.

[coridallasmultipass]

.

[positivelyqueer]

hi, you there who are or are thinking about spending all day in bed, it’s okay, I’m not telling you to get up. I’d just like to do a quick check in to make sure you’ve got everything you need to be comfortable and safe.

Have you gotten up to take any meds you need?

Do you need to open or close your windows or curtains/blinds to make your environment nicer? (Fresh air, keep the cold out, sunlight/darkness)

Do you have a water bottle or a glass of water easily accessible? (Can also be juice, cordial, a meal replacement drink or anything else)

Do you have any over the counter or prescription as required meds you might need, like painkillers or anti nausea meds?

Is your phone or laptop charged?

Are you wearing comfortable clothing?

Do you have enough blankets/pillows to be warm and comfortable?

Do you have any snacks like fruit or chips or muesli bars in case you can’t get up to make a meal?

Are you able to change positions in bed (or sit up if you’re able)?

Do you have any regulation tools like fidgets, ear plugs, or journaling/art books or low energy hobbies you might want?

Are you being gentle and patient with yourself and your body today?

Thanks for doing this check in with me. I like to have some of these things prepared on my nightstand, or all together in the same space in my room so I don’t have to do as much work on low energy days. It can also help to have someone else prepare or get these things for you if you’re unable. Hope you have an uncomplicated day.

[vaor]

things i wish i had known when i escaped my family household and couldn't ask my parents for help

invest in a good mattress early on. there are many other ends you can save on - sleep is not one of them. this is key to how much energy you'll have throughout the day

you don't need a bedframe but you do need a slatted bed base (even if it's just pallets)

opening a bank account is easy

there's youtube tutorials for everything. how to install your washing machine, how to use tools, fixing stuff around the place. channels like dad, how do i? are a godsend

change energy provider as soon as your old deal runs out. you'll get better offers elsewhere and avoid price gouging

assemble a basic first aid kid at home: painkillers, probiotics, alcohol wipes, bandages, tweezers, antihistamine tablets - anything you might need in a pinch

and an emergency toolkit: flashlight, extra batteries, a utility knife, an adjustable wrench, multi-tool, duct tape

set your fridge to the lowest temperature it can go. the energy consumption is minimal in difference and it'll give you +4/7 days on most foods

off-brand products are almost always the same in quality and taste, if not better, for half the price

coupons will save you a lot of money in the long run

there's no reason to be shy around employees at the bank/laundromat/store; most people will be happy to help

vegetarian diets are generally cheap if you make food from scratch

breakfast is as important as they say

keep track of your budget in a notebook or excel file - e.g. rent, phone and internet bills, food, leisure so you'll have an overlook on your spending over the months

don't gamble

piracy is okay

stealing from big stores and chains is also ethically okay

keep medical bills and pharmacy receipts for tax returns

also, file your tax returns early

take up a hobby that isn't in front of a screen. pottery, music, going for a run every now and then, stuff that'll keep you busy and sane

and most importantly... you're allowed to get the stuff you want. treat yourself to the occasional mundane thing. a good scented candle. a bath bomb. that body lotion that makes you feel like royalty. the good coffee beans.

you're free and you deserve to be happy.

[julymusings]

dark chocolate cherry

i want to bring you flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. i want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

or; your boyfriend shows up when you just want some alone time [3.2k]

jason todd x fem!reader; reader gets her period and describes painful symptoms; just fluff; jason "words don't come easy so here's acts of service" todd this is supposed to be earlier in the relationship which is why he's still a little shy but i think she knows he's red hood? idk man. i was just going with it; can you guess what inspired this? (everything is awful) and this is like…not that good

The day started at 2 AM when you woke to shooting pains in your abdomen and blood everywhere. It continued until 2:45 while you cleaned yourself, changed clothes, put on a fresh pad, took some painkillers, and changed the sheets. It paused for about an hour until you woke up again at 4:00, courtesy of Gotham’s patented night-life that had taught you to completely tune out the sound of police sirens. Tonight, however, they weren’t tuning out.

The sirens quieted at 4:10, by which angry tears collected in the corners of your eyes as you flopped around in bed in an attempt to get comfortable. No matter what you did, there was always something wrong; the pillow was too hard, the blanket was too scratchy, the position hurt your arm.

From 4:11 to 4:12, you screamed into your pillow.

By 4:15 you had settled in front of the TV with a bowl of dry cereal (it took everything in you not to cry over the lack of milk in your fridge), a heating pad, and your favorite comfort show queued up.

At 8 AM you managed to drag yourself to work, where you half-assed the day’s tasks, took a 15-minute break to cry in your car, then dipped out a half-hour early.

Now, at 5 PM on a Friday evening, you’re curled into the fetal position in front of your TV with your comfort show resumed and your trusty heating pad cranked to the highest setting. Prepared to spend the entire night here, you already changed into pajamas and kept a couple blankets within reach. Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, and you stretch to reach it, careful not to lose your comfortable position or roll off the couch.

Jason About to leave Be there in 20

You groan out loud. You want to throw your phone across the room, but decide against it because no amount of hormones from hell are worth six hundred dollars. You’re still angry, though, for being so stupid as to forget about the date you had planned for tonight. Scrolling up to earlier messages, you see another text from today wishing you a good morning and telling you he was excited to see you tonight. But, too down to bother checking any messages today, you had missed it.

You I can’t tonight anymore I’m sorry I don’t feel great

After hitting send, you place your phone on the ground, not even having the energy to reach for the coffee table again. Or the energy to lift your arm back up, apparently, given how it hangs limply over the edge of the couch. You feel guilty about cancelling, but you are in no state to go out tonight. You’re used to the symptoms of your period hitting so hard. As much as you and Jason care about each other, you’re not sure you’re ready for him to see you like this. You’ve managed to plan your relationship around your hormone cycle so far, but today it came early.

Your phone’s buzzing is muffled by the rug, and you almost don’t hear it. Jason’s photo is displayed on the screen.

Your hanging hand clicks ‘answer’ and puts it on speaker so you can take the call without moving from how you're curled up.

“Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine, I just don’t feel up for going out tonight. I’d rather stay home.”

“Did something happen?”

“No, I just got my period so I’m not really in the mood.”

“Okay, we can stay in tonight. What do you feel like eating? I can pick something up.”

“No, Jason…I want to stay home alone tonight.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line.

“Okay…did I do something?” His voice comes out a little smaller.

“No, you’re fine, I promise. I just don’t feel like seeing anyone right now.”

“…Not even me?”

Your hand presses against your temples to soothe the building tension headache. The self-doubt in his tone brings the anguish of the entire day bubbling up your throat. You feel like the worst person in the world. Exactly how you don’t want him to see you.

“Jason…it’s not you. I just…I feel like shit right now, honestly. Everything hurts, I’m miserable and sad and angry at everything, I’m breaking out all over.” You feel yourself welling up at all these little stresses coming out. “I’m craving everything but feel too sick to eat anything…I feel pretty disgusting right now, and frankly, I don’t want you to see me like this.” You finish your rant with a sniffle. You wipe your nose, trying to hold back the sob that’s threatening to break through. But at his silence, your worst, most improbable fears claw their way to the surface: he hates you now. You scared him away. You exhale heavily into your sleeve as more tears spill.

The phone is quiet for a long moment.  Then; “I could never find you disgusting,” he says, gently. “But if that’s what you want, then we’ll reschedule.”

“Thank you. And sorry.”

He speaks with a tone you can’t quite parse. “Don’t apologize. Just feel better.”

-

-

-

It’s one hour after your phone call, and at the first knock, you know who it is. Who else could it be? With that soft, somewhat hesitant, one-knuckle rap on the door. Only one person knocks on your door like that.

“Jason, I told you not to come here,” you say a little more cutting than you intend to, but your back and shoulders feel like they’re about to snap under a phantom pressure and the frustration of your request being outright ignored leaves a burning bitterness that channels itself into a violent wrenching open of the door.

He jumps a little at the abruptness of your greeting. One look at your face and he visibly deflates.

“I’m sorry…I know you said not to come, but…” his gaze casts downward to his hands. You follow; he’s clutching a reusable grocery bag. Peeking out of the top is a gallon of Neapolitan ice cream. The ice cream carton’s condensation seeped through a small patch of the cloth bag and dripped onto the other items; a bushel of greens, among some other fruits and vegetables, as well as a parcel of brown paper that was fastened closed with a twine string. You return your gaze to his face.

“I think—” he cuts himself off, free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. Then he drops his hand and sighs. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. You told me not to come here and I ignored you, but I thought…” he trails off, probably hoping you’ll say something so he can gauge your reaction.

You just stare at him.

He shifts his weight back and forth. His hand twitches.

“Okay, yeah, I’ll—”

Then, you burst into tears.

Jason’s eyes widen. He reaches out to touch you, then stops himself. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, this was stupid. Please stop crying, I’m so sorry—” He’s panicked, trying to calm you down with apologies and soothing assurances that he will leave immediately and never go against your wishes again. All the while you stand in the doorway, blubbering like a toddler with a skinned knee, new tears forming faster than you can wipe the old ones away.

He once again raises a hand towards you, before it stutters, then clenches into a fist as if it takes all his strength to fight against the instinct to be close to you, fighting against the string that tethers him to you. He drags his hand down his face, then it falls back to his side.

“Okay, I—I’m leaving now. I’m leaving. Do you…want this?” He holds the bag out to you.

With it now in front of you, its further contents are visible. You manage to tamp down your tears enough to get a few words out.

“Did you—hic—buy me groceries?”

“Yeah…” There’s a wince in his tone, as if he’s only now realizing that his gesture is not translating as he intended.

You look back up at him with pursed lips and knitted brows, sniffling. Sure, the ice cream you can understand, but…you have no idea what to make of the rest.

The bag drops back to his side. “I figured…it’s just— it’s the stuff that you’re supposed to—” He strokes his palm over his mouth, eyes screwing shut for a moment. He huffs at himself, then continues. “I mean I’m sure you already know all of this, so maybe you already have all these things, and now I’m realizing how unnecessary all this was, and I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“Jason,” you say. Your upset has since been overshadowed by something else, though you can’t tell what it is. And your crying has stopped, but its lingering effects have you feeling congested and a little foggy. You’re half expecting this to be a fever dream that you’re moments away from waking up from in a cold sweat.

“—because obviously you know what helps you feel better much more than I do—”

“Jason.”

“And you— yeah?” His eyes are a little harried when they find yours again. But off your tired and still-confused look, he gets the message and collects himself.

“Right, yeah, I just thought that…maybe I could bring you some of the stuff with all those minerals that are supposed to help women when they’re…menstruating.” He briefly breaks eye contact at the end of his sentence, red rouge creeping up his neck.

You can’t help it; you start to giggle. You can’t remember the last time you heard a man use the term ‘menstruating’ in a non-medical context. And the fact that he’s so shy about it— upset as you may be (though not at him), there’s no denying how adorable your boyfriend is. His head shoots back to you as your laughter intensifies. He blushes harder.

“It’s not that funny,” he mutters.

You step away from the door, finally closing the space between you, and wrap your arms around his torso. Your head nestles into his chest. He gently drops the grocery bag on the ground and reciprocates your hug. He rests his chin on your head, which fits perfectly under his. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place. You breathe him in.

“Sorry I’m such a mess,” you murmur into his shirt.

He breathes into your hair. “You have nothing to apologize for. And you’re not a mess.”

You look up, chin resting in the space between his collarbones. He looks down at you with a small smile, but some wariness is still etched into his features. Fear of unwittingly upsetting you again. He brings up a hand to push some hair out of your face and tuck it behind your ear. His hand remains there, toying with the hair that falls below your shoulder.

"Thank you for the food,” you whisper. The moment feels too intimate to speak any other way.

“I’m sorry for not listening to you. I just…” He imitates your quietness, like his admission is also too vulnerable to say loudly. “I really wanted to see you. And I hated the idea of you feeling bad about yourself, or being in pain. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Your eyes feel wet again. The first instinct is to hide your face, maybe press it to his chest once more. But, for some reason, you don’t. You want him to see you like this, messy and emotional and upset. You want him to see every part of you, and you want to see every part of him, the good and the bad.

“You didn’t.” A tear slips past the effort to keep it at bay. He shows no reaction to it, eyes never leaving yours, other than a quick swiping away with his thumb. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before. That’s why I was crying. Not because you showed up.”

“That doesn’t seem right. This is nothing. You deserve even more.”

With no words to fully, adequately communicate the blooming in your chest, you stand on your toes, reaching up to him for a kiss. But given his stature, your lips only reach his chin and brush over its underside.

At your quiet whine, he chuckles and leans down to meet you in the middle. The kiss is soft; filled with the innocence of fresh blossoms in the spring, and the sweetness of its borne fruit.

You pull away when a vicious cramp roots you back to the present. Your limps tighten around Jason with a groan.

“I need to go back inside. I’ve been away from my heating pad for too long.”

His shoulders sag when you step away from him. “Oh, um…do you still…want me to leave?”

With a simple exhale of humorous disbelief, you grasp his hand in yours and tug him to your front door. He’s like an excited puppy, eyes brightened and perking up as he grabs the grocery bag and happily trails after you.

He goes straight to the kitchen, pulling out a chair at the counter for you to settle into, then sets the bag on the counter. The ice cream carton has dampened most of the cloth by now, and likely the rest of its contents, but rather than attending to the groceries, his first action is retrieving your heating pad from where it rests on the couch. He unplugs it from the wall outlet and brings it to you. You curl up on the chair with it pressed flat against your lower stomach. It only takes a minute for the pressure in your hips to abate.

Then he moves to the groceries. The ice cream immediately goes in the freezer, and he unloads what’s remaining onto the counter, one by one, and you take note of each item. There’s spinach, carrots, apples, oranges, dark chocolate, some kind of meat wrapped in brown paper, and, strangely enough, an entire block of cheese.

You give him a quizzical look, picking it up to read the label. “You got me…cheddar cheese?”

He retrieves a cutting board and knife from its spot next to the sink, then takes the cheese from you. “Good for certain symptoms.” He slices open the plastic wrapping and cuts out some cubes with skilled efficiency. He does the same with an apple. “They all are,” he says, referring to his entire haul. He completes the makeshift charcuterie board with a couple squares of dark chocolate and slides it across the counter.

You look down at the cutting board, thinking about everything he’s done for you; everything you never even had to ask for. The words sit on your tongue, encaged by your clenched teeth; an admission that coils itself around your spine and squeezes tight, restricts your breathing and pumps your heart at thrice its speed. But you feel yourself welling up again, and the first bout of tears already exhausted you so much that all you can manage is, “I don’t know what to do with all this. I don’t have the energy to make anything good.”

But he just smiles and says, “That’s what I’m here for, honey. Can I make you something?”

You nod. He gets to work. The immediacy of his actions, how he takes no time to decide on a dish or find a recipe, makes you think his previously stated intentions of ‘just dropping this off’ were less genuine than he lead you to believe. Nevertheless, you munch on the snacks he laid out for you and watch him work. The cheese and apples are a surprisingly cohesive combination, the meshing of sweet crispiness and savory creaminess eliciting a contented sigh from you. You try to ignore the way Jason smirks in the corner of your periphery. The chocolate is incredible, yet unfamiliar. You read the label on the packaging: 80% Dark Chocolate with Cherry and Almond Filling. Even if you hadn’t tasted it yet, the quality of the packaging itself would have been enough to let you know that this chocolate is extremely high-quality. Like, special-order-from-Europe quality. Not stop-at-the-grocery-store-on-the-way-home quality.

“Where is this from? Did you buy this today?” You ask him through a mouthful of the rich, melting chocolate.

He doesn’t look up from the carrots he’s dicing. “Uh…no.”

Anyone else would attribute his avoidance of eye-contact to standard kitchen-knife caution. You are not anyone else. You could blindfold him, spin him around ten times, put a sharp knife in his hand, and he could still pull off a perfect julienne. You look closer. His cheeks are dusted with pink.

You let out a laugh. “Jason, you’re not embarrassed about liking fancy chocolate, are you?”

“No! Not at all,” he says, ceasing his chopping. He looks up, but not quite at you.

“Then?”

“‘Then’ what?” He asks.

“Then why are you being so shifty right now?” You try to catch his gaze.

“I’m not!” He defends. “It’s just chocolate! Do you like it? I’ll bring you more.” He’s stealthy with the way he avoids your eyes; you almost can’t notice how hard he’s trying not to make eye contact.

“Jason!” You reach across the counter, having to rise off the chair slightly, and take his face in your hands, making him look at you. When he does, he wears a sheepish smile.

“It’s…” His removes your hands from his face, holding them in his. He mumbles something, turning his head to the side. But you catch the tail end of it, a goading grin already creeping up your face.

“What was that?” You tilt your ear towards him, exaggerating the action.

“It’s Bruce’s.” He, in turn, exaggerates the enunciation, rolling his eyes at your simpering. “I…found it. In his pantry one day. And I liked it, so I took it. And then I…kept taking it. Every time I visited.”

You pout teasingly. “And you’re ashamed to admit that you think he has good taste in something?”

He doesn’t say anything, only hiding his face in his shoulder. You pull on your intertwined hands and he gets the message, skirting around the kitchen counter to come closer.

“You are so adorable, you know that?” You say. You reach up and pinch his cheeks. He swats your hands away, but there’s no mistaking his broad, childish grin for anything but affection.

He breaks off another square from the chocolate bar and holds it to your lips. You bite off a small portion, then push it back to him. He takes the remaining piece in his mouth and his eyes close for a brief moment as he savors the sweet, tart, and nutty flavors. You simply watch, entranced by him. Then, he kisses you. You lean into it, hands sliding up his shirt to grip the fabric and bring him even closer. His hold finds your waist.

He tastes like cherries and dark chocolate.

He breaks the kiss to rest his forehead on yours, and you want to tell him that. That, and so much more. But from the look on his face, the way his eyes find yours and the tips of his ears have a similar heat to the one in your chest, you can tell he already knows.

when it comes to jason's post-pit-repressed-teenager characterization (aka despite being older he's still as inexperienced and confused and insecure about the world outside of vigilantism and w/ women as a 15 y/o would be) (aka my favorite characterization tee hee), i think that he's mature about periods, knows they're normal and not gross or shameful etc, but still gets shy about saying the actual word, for no other reason than the 'shy around women' part always makes me giggle

also bruce is keeping the chocolate stocked specifically because he knows jason likes it and will keep taking it because he loves his son even if his son doesn't love him (he does he's just in his angsty teen 'i hate this family you don't understand me' phase rn)

divider is from here

quote at the beginning is pablo neruda <3

[luveline]

Hi Jade! Can I request Spencer and Nurse!reader? Maybe they meet when he’s wounded/she’s patching him up?

(Yes I’m a nursing student I promise we aren’t all mean girls 😔)

ty for requesting!! ik ur not all mean of course!!<3 —you meet the cutest FBI agent ever and tend his wounds. fem, 1.5k

One of the small pleasures of your job is when the patients are cute. Not many people come through as handsome as this one. You’re professional nonetheless. 

“What am I seeing you for today?” you ask, holding your hands behind your back. 

Your patient, charted as a Dr. Spencer Walter Reid, twenty nine years old, gives you a tentative smile. “Someone hit me really hard.” 

You can see the bruise forming against his temple. “Yes, I’d say so. Did you know the assailant?” 

“No, but it’s handled.” His smile turns to a grimace. “Uh, I get these, like, debilitating migraines, and I feel like I have one coming on.”

“A head injury could trigger that,” you agree, holding your hands out in front of you, little torch in hand. “Can I have a look?” you ask softly. 

When you’ve been a nurse for some time, you start to categorise people into boxes. All kinds of boxes for different things, but Spencer Reid gets a tick for a few things straight away: shy, pretty, and sensitive to touch. He must not get touched much, or he’s had a bad experience with strangers. He did just get hit in the head, you allow, brushing a sweet, mousy curl away from his head and holding it out of the way as you shine a light into each of his eyes. He flinches hard, but his pupils react as expected. 

Whoever hit him managed to break the skin, upon closer infection of the injury. The skin has turned purple at the edges of his cut. It’ll be a big bruise in just a few hours. 

“Spencer, please tell me if I hurt you, honey,” you say, voice still soft. If he’s got a migraine coming, he won’t want your usual overloud distinction. 

“It’s okay. It hurts, but not more or less when you poke it.” 

“You have a laceration, yeah? It’s about three centimetres long, but deep. I can close it with a butterfly stitch, if you’re okay with that.” 

“Yeah, please. Um, about the migraine–”

“Do you want a tramadol, honey? I think you deserve one.” 

“I can’t have narcotics.” 

You pull back and straighten the hair you’d displaced. “That’s okay, it just means you can’t have the strongest stuff. Most people try to avoid them anyhow. How about tylenol, would that be alright? Or do you avoid painkillers in general?” 

“Tylenol is fine as long as it doesn’t have the codeine with it.” 

You give him a gentle nod. “I’ll make sure it’s the right one. You can even see the bottle, if you like. Would you want them before or after the stitch?” He probably knows, but you add, “It’s not a real stitch. But it might feel tender when I’m poking around.” 

“Anything. Whatever you want to do first.” 

His eyes squeeze closed. You give him a frown he can’t see, and rest your hand on his arm. “Is there someone here with you?” you ask him.

“My friend is coming, I think. There was a lot going on.” 

“That’s okay. I’m not sending you home until I’ve fixed you, Dr. Reid.” 

He smiles, even with his eyes closed, but doesn’t say anything more. You wash your hands and find your bandages. A butterfly bandage, a sterile wipe, and a square piece of gauze to cover it cleanly. His eyes are opening again when you return, ushering him gently down the bed so you can sit on his right side near the injury. 

“What do you do for work?” you ask him. 

“I work for the FBI.” 

“You do?” You tear open the sterile wipe and again pull the curls from his forehead. “This might sting. Please tell me if it hurts too much.” 

“It’s not the cut that hurts.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say sympathetically. Migraines are a tricky business. If he’s already having one, you probably can’t do much to get rid of it, but that doesn’t mean pain relief won’t help. “I’ll do this as quickly as I can.” 

He’s quiet. You wipe around the laceration with careful, concise movements. The cut looks clean enough when you’re done, and it’s so small you won’t irrigate it. 

“Are you an agent?” you ask. 

“Yeah. Special supervisory with the BAU. The, uh, behavioural analysis unit.” 

“Oh, I know,” you say, putting the wrapping and the dirtied wipe into your cardboard bowl. “I think I’ve seen it on TV sometimes, you guys can track the serial killers and stuff?” 

“Mostly that, yeah. Uh, sometimes we find trafficking rings or missing kids. Sometimes we manage hostage situations. It depends on the level of the crisis.” 

“So you’re the big gun.” 

“I guess so. I’m not actually good with a gun.” 

“No one has to be good with a gun to change the world.” You pull the butterfly stitch from the packaging and pick at a finicky end. “I hate guns.” 

He sighs. “I do, too.” 

“They make my job hard. It’s not nice, seeing what they can do to people. It’s awful, really. Spencer, I’m so sorry, honey, I’m just gonna put this on here, it might feel uncomfortable as I pull the sides together.” 

“It’s okay.” 

You pull the plastic of the butterfly stitch on both sides, cinching his cut together promptly. It looks better now you can’t see the inside. 

“I’m gonna cover this with the dressing now. You don’t have to keep it on if you don’t want to, it’s a pretty small cut, it was just deep. I’d recommend you try to keep it dry for two days, really, you should keep it covered, but it’s up to you. And if anything happens, if it gets infected, you can always come see me again.” 

You’re mildly flirting, then. Just because he’s nice and shy. It might be a little cruel of you to proposition a man when he’s roughed up, though. 

Spencer, luckily, understands that you’re not trying to harass him. “Thank you.” 

You stand, peeling the plastic from the bandaid and exposing the sticky backing. Slowly, you stroke his hair back from the wound and line the bandaid up. He shivers under your nails. 

“So sorry,” you say, laughing under your breath, “it’s my nails, huh?” 

“It’s okay.” 

“You’re a great patient, Spencer. I’d give you a sticker if I could, I’m not kidding.” 

“You’re a great nurse.” 

“Thank you.” You smooth the edges of the bandaid down for good measure and step away from him to assess him. “How’s that migraine?” 

“Getting worse.” 

“You have them often, you said? Treated or untreated?” 

“Psychosomatic, apparently.” 

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Has your doctor talked to you about CBT?” 

“Some. I don’t really… want it,” he says awkwardly. 

“That’s okay. If it’s psychosomatic as they believe, it might get better with time. How’s the stress in your life?”

“Stressful.” 

“It must be hard, the FBI, everything. Life is hard enough. Stopping serial killers must weigh on your heart.” You smile carefully. “Was there anything else you wanted to bring to my attention? Any other injury, anything that needs urgent care?” 

“I was mostly worried I had a concussion.” 

“It doesn’t seem like it. You’re not nauseous, are you?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

He gets this awful, sad look on his face, it really isn’t nice to see. People come in by themselves all the time but it never gets easier to handle. 

“Are you alright?” you ask, taking his arm into your hand. 

“I’m fine.” 

He had the look of someone who’s always fine. Luckily for him, it’s your job to take care of people, to make sure they’re more than fine. “Okay. I’m gonna get you something warm to drink. Do you like donuts?” 

“Uh–”

“I’m getting a feeling about you. Chocolate frosting, I bet.” 

He smiles, startled and pleased at once. “Yeah.” 

“Okay, I’m gonna get those for you. A drink, a donut, and some much needed Tylenol. You can lay down if you like.” 

He nods but doesn’t move. 

As you’re leaving the room, you cross paths with a handsome man with dark skin and a bright smile. Must be something in the air today, you think. 

“Reid, you okay?” you hear him say. 

“Fine.” 

“You’re pink.” 

“What?” 

“You’re blushing. Oh, you had the pretty nurse, didn’t you?” 

“Shut up,” Spencer whispers sharply. 

“You can ask for her number.” 

“No I can’t, she’s working.” 

“But you want to,” his friend surmises. 

You bite down a smile, giving your head a shake as you go. You need to get a move on. Spencer needs a hot drink, a donut, Tylenol, and a pen. It should be okay if you’re both feeling up to it, right?

[deathbyday]

𖥔not so gen. mouthwashing relations headcanons.𖥔˚

Written By: DeathByDay

TW - death, SA.

Includes: Captain Curly, Daisuke, and Anya

__________

Captain Curly

• This man is 100% a sucker for romance

• I’ve seen some people say that they think that he’s one to be into PDA, but honestly I just don’t see it

• Maybe a few pecks on the cheek or light hand holding, but nothing more

• He just doesn’t seem that type of guy to me

• But in private? That’s a whole different story

• He’s all on you whenever you want him to be or not, especially in the mornings

• I feel like he’d love to hug you from behind while you sleep, his nose pressed against the back of your neck while his arms are wrapped around right underneath your chest

• Would 100% wake up first like c’mon he’s literally a captain, he needs to (much to your dismay)

• But while you’re still asleep he’d plant small kisses on the back of your neck to try to wake you

• If that doesn’t work, then he’d leave the room before coming back soon enough with a cup of your favorite morning drink. Coffee, tea, milk, water, you name it

• If you came to him during a bad day, rest assured he’s gonna take care of you

• He’s running a bath with the exact temperature you wanted, laying out pajamas for you, along with towels. Probably would put bath salt in there too (if you aren’t allergic and like the feeling of it)

• Acts of service and words of affirmation are his love languages, prove me wrong. YOU CANT

• You don’t understand how bad he would feel after the crash

• Like he can’t be there for you and you need to be the one taking care of him. He just feels pathetic

• You sometimes make Jimmy let you give him the painkillers. You wouldn’t be as harsh as him, of course. Just gently slide it on his tongue and help him swallow, not shoving or pushing it down

• Anyways back to pre-crash Curly

• I think he would adore it if you ever planted kisses on his cheek, neck, or forehead (or honestly anywhere else)

• If you’re shorter than him, you’d have to grab his jawline and bring him down to your level to properly kiss. Trust me when I say he would never recover from it

• Loves kissing your neck, especially before you two begin the day together

NSFW

• Y’all cannot tell me this guy isn’t the most gentlest man in bed

• Always asking if you’re comfortable, moving at a reasonable pace until you’re ready, praising you for taking him so well, etc

• He 100% presses down on your stomach to feel how deep he is inside of you

• Gives you neck kisses while he praises you

• #need that

• I think he’d end up being more serious than silly

• Although he would occasionally chuckle at your whimpers and moans, I don’t feel like he’d actually crack a few jokes

Daisuke

• Ten thousand percent blushes at the slightest contact. Even from your hand accidentally rubbing against his he becomes a flustered mess

• Adores PDA, he doesn’t care

• But of course if you don’t, that’s fine

• Just hold his pinky finger and give him a kiss on the cheek from time to time and he’s good to go

• 100% does puppy eyes whenever he wants a kiss

• You guys could just be laying on the lounge area’s couch and he would give you those eyes. Obviously you gave him what he wanted because who wouldn’t

• When you cuddle, I don’t really see him having a favorite position. He could be the big spoon or the little spoon, he’s happy with both

• When he’s the little spoon, he’d have his arms loosely wrapped around your waist. His head would be smushed into your chest, snuggling close

• When he’s the big spoon, he’d almost always have an arm wrapped around your shoulders while being in a starfish position

• Not to mention the snoring. He snores so loud you can’t prove me otherwise. He would sleep with his mouth open, which makes it even worse

• At first, it was tricky getting used to his snoring. But after a month or two of sleeping together, you couldn’t sleep without it

• Definitely not the one to wake up first. Most of the time, you have to drag him out of the bed to get him up and get ready for the day, leading to him whining and groaning

• Physical touch has this man in a chokehold

• Whenever the two of you actually have to work, he’d be so sad to leave you alone

• But after you two finally met up after, he would blabber about what he did, who he talked to, etc. and you would listen to every detail

• 100% the one to say “gyatt” whenever you pass by him. Even if you have a flat ass he still says it

• If you ended up dying before him, this guy would actually become depressed

• We all know he started getting drunk due to the mouthwash, but that is nowhere near how much he drank when you passed away

• If he ended up dying before you, he would promise you a thousand times while he’s bleeding out that he’d wait for you

• But back to fluff

• Whenever you have a bad day, this guy is definitely not leaving you alone

• He’d cuddle you until you literally explode

• If you were to ever kiss him anywhere on his face, he’d be a blushing mess no matter how light it is

• He genuinely doesn’t know what he’s doing and just wings it with you, knowing you’d love him no matter what

NSFW

• He’s definitely a whiner

• You’d have to shut him up by either making out or keeping a hand on his mouth to muffle him

• Soft sex soft sex soft sex

• There’s no way he can take it seriously when you two are in bed. Of course he would try if you were into that, but he’d end up giggling at the end of each sentence

• 100% has a praise kink

• Please tell this man how good he’s doing at keeping you satisfied. He’d be way too embarrassed to do anything more with you if you don’t

Anya

• My poor baby

• She isn’t the best at expressing her love for you, but it’s obvious she loves you so much

• Not very big on PDA, but you do sometimes get a hug or a light peck on the cheek whenever you walk into a room she’s already in

• Will rant to you about how dumb it is that Daisuke won the game in Sorry!. She could honestly go on for hours on end

• You have to calm her down and tell her that it’ll be okay. Never tell her “it’s just a game” because then she’ll get even more upset

• When she found out she was pregnant, she felt terrible. Not just for herself but for you

• What would you think? Assume she’s cheating on you with her assaulter?

• You two were in bed when she finally broke the news to you about Jimmy and the baby. And oh my god you actually almost fought that man

• She had to hold you back from getting up from your spot. After that night, you shot daggers at that man every time you passed him. You didn’t speak to him once, no matter the situation

• You held her in your arms that night, whispering praises into her ear before she finally fell asleep

• Speaking of sleep, she adores being the little spoon while cuddling with you

• Her face smushed into your chest? Your arms wrapped around her, fingers twisting around her hair? It sounded like heaven

• I feel like Anya would be the one to wake up first

• She won’t leave you alone until you did, so it doesn’t take long for you both to be up and ready

• She would mutter petnames against your neck, pleading with you to wake up from your slumber

• 100% makes your favorite drink in the morning and makes it perfect every. single. time

• If you can’t cook, she’ll teach you

• She’s a wonderful teacher and chef. She explains everything to you correctly and soon you actually catch on

• You bake cookies by yourself (under her supervision) and if you burn them, she still praises you like you did everything right

• Whenever you get hurt, even if it’s just a scratch that’s barely bleeding, she cares for you as if you’ve broken a bone

• Both of you are each other’s protectors. She watches out for you, and you watch out for her

NSFW

• She wouldn’t be very talkative, but she would occasionally speak if you ever asked

• Ex: “Use your words, baby.” “Y/N-.. Please..”

• I feel like she’d shed a few tears whenever she becomes overstimulated, or if it’s your first time together

• Let her go as slow as she wants. She’ll eventually become comfortable enough with you, but it’ll take a few attempts

• I’m literally begging you, don’t slam your fingers, dildo/strap, or dick into her. She won’t talk to you for ages

• Don’t do anything harsh while having intercourse. I feel like she’d rather you be soft with her

• She’d be a mix of silly and serious. Drop a few occasional jokes to get her to laugh. But only do that when you two are actually moving at a good pace

• At first, I think she would be serious. If not nervous. But when you guys are finally adjusting to each other, it’s always nice to see her giggle

__________

authors note

I sincerely apologize if anyone was hoping for swansea.. I just couldn’t think of anything for him. Still wanna kiss that grumpy old man though!!

but nonetheless, I hope you all liked this<3

[profound-bouquetbird]

i would absolutely ADORE some daisuke smut. i feel as if he'd have a praise kink...

Guess I'm writing smut now 🤷

These headcanons are mostly gender neutral but since I'm a girl its written from a female perspective, if one of you request these headcanons with a male s/o it's no big deal! I'll write it :)

Also, I will be following a nsfw alphabet list but in a crappy order 👍

Also, I did use a picture instead of a gif, sue me.

❥ Starting off with the headcanon you already mentioned: I do believe Daisuke has some sort of praise kink. He would love to get praised for doing the simplest of things, but he doesn't get a hard on every time you praise him, only if it's in a dirty context ☝️

❥ It will take a bit to get this man going. If you decide to drop subtle hints, he will get it but will ultimately think it is all in his head, so you have to be a bit straight forward most of the time. Example:

"Gosh... My head hurts." Daisuke complained, taking a seat next to you on the couch. A bright idea suddenly enters your mind as you smirk to yourself, turning to your boyfriend, Daisuke, with a suggestive look.

"I know what can cure a headache..." You stated, resting your head on his shoulder with a wide smirk. Daisuke stares at you for a moment, as if to process your words.

"... You'll grab me a painkiller?" He said after a couple moments of silence. That ultimately killed your mood as you let out a loud sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose in exhaustion.

❥ Yeah... be a bit more straight forward.

❥ As for the top or bottom dilemma, he'd be a switch leaning bottom. Why leaning bottom, you may ask? It just feels right.

❥ He can be a top if asked, but he'll still require huge amounts of praise and reassurance to make sure he's doing a good job. He prefers to have you on top so that he can feel of use, since you're the one that knows your body the best. But he does have occasional bursts of dominance where he is actually being a soft dom. Also yes, if he were to be a top he'd be a soft dom., argue w the wall.

❥ He is vocal in bed, and when I say vocal, I mean it. If he's not moaning and groaning, he's babbling nonsense into your ear. It doesn't even have to be sexy 😭. He would just be whining about work or a hard video game level while he pounds into you or when you're riding him.

"Swansea was... mhn- so rude today." Daisuke panted, gripping onto your hips tightly as you bounced up and down.

"Tell me more, Hon." You moaned above, quickening your pace as you rested your hands on his chest. He let out a couple of groans and moans before continuing to whine about how bad his day was.

❥ As for his favorite position? Doggy. He's a simple man. Hitting it from the back and pressing up against you from above while biting onto your shoulder to suppress his moans? What more could a man want.

❥ Even though he's not often in that position, it's still one of his favorites. He probably suggested to do positions you haven't done before just to see if they feel good or bad for you two. As I mentioned, he's eager to please and wants what makes you feel best.

❥ Stamina? Average. He could go two to three rounds without a problem, but after the third he'll feel overstimulated and tired. If you're still energetic and want more, he'll eat you out/suck you off until you're satisfied.

❥ What about aftercare? The king of aftercare... in his own special way. He would continuously ask you what you need, what you want, what he should do, is he hurting you? He's sorry if he is. Meanwhile you're lying there, barely able to comprehend his words from how fast he is speaking. After a while you two eventually get into a routine and he doesn't bombard you with questions as often.

❥ What about experience? He has had a couple of girlfriends before he met you, but it only led to make out sessions, nothing more. Unless you count his own hand as experience, I wouldn't put him very high on the list.

❥ What about how they are in the moment? Serious or silly? I'd say he leans towards silly more, but he can be serious when the time calls for it. As I mentioned previously, he rants about dumb stuff and on a couple occasions you had to stop what you were doing to laugh.

❥ As for where you two have sex, it mostly stays in the bedroom. If you're on the ship, it definitely stays in the bedroom. But when you're on land/in the comfort of your own home? No surface is safe if he's horny enough.

❥ As for his kinks, he doesn't have many. As I mentioned, praise in one, but on the list also falls blindfold sex, gagging, maybe spanking, and maybe a bit of hair pulling (both his and yours).

❥ Oral? He doesn't love it, nor does he hate it. As much as he wants to please you, he prefers getting head than giving. Don't get him wrong! He enjoys giving you head too, but even he has to be selfish sometimes. He'll ask for head in the most random times too, mostly because he's messing around. But if you accept? He was serious all along! I don't know why you would think otherwise 😁.

You were just sitting in the lounge area, already being done with your chores for the day and just waiting to be given a task. Though, your boyfriend, Daisuke, also seemed to be done with his tasks, taking a seat next to you in silence.

That silence was soon broken as Daisuke leaned into your ear with a shit eating grin.

"Wanna give me head?" He asked quietly, setting back down. He just wanted to fluster you because captain Curly was also in the room. You looked back at him, completely unphased as you shrugged

"Sure." That took him by surprise, his own face turning pink instead of yours as he looked around sheepishly. He quickly, yet gently grabbed your wrist before pulling you into a more secluded area.

❥ This man is a roller-coaster when it comes to that type of stuff. He would tease you to no end, but when you actually tease back? How could you! Now he's all red and flustered >:(

❥ He's awful when it comes to taking care of himself down there. It's not like he has a jungle, but his hair is just cut weirdly, and he doesn't know how to take care of certain parts. If you offer to help him, he'll be embarrassed as hell and would initially refuse, but after a bit of convincing he would cave.

❥ He has stolen your underwear at least once to see if it gets him going, which it kind of does but he is overwhelmed with embarrassment and overall feels bad. If you're a woman, he would grab a bra to recreate those videos you see on TikTok of men pretending to be flies, He even tries to put it on for a bit.

❥ As for his pace, it again really depends. Though he can get off by being slow, he does need a bit more roughness in order to finish off properly. Not full on pounding into you until your legs go numb, bit just enough (if you suggest the prior, he wouldn't be totally opposed, but you'll have to reassure him a shit ton during it and after).

❥ He thinks extreme dirty talk is cringe, change my mind. This man cannot take you nor himself seriously while trying to talk dirty like in the movies.

"Oh- yeah? You like that? You li-" Daisuke cut himself off with a loud wheeze, immediately stopping with his thrusting as he covered his mouth to laugh to himself.

"Don't laugh-" You tried to scold, but ultimately caved and began laughing as well.

"I can't- 'm sorry--" He wheezed once more, being overwhelmed by embarrassment at his words.

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Thats all folks!