#i don’t have fever but i feel dizzy all the time

[sceletaflores]

all's fair in love and viscera...

pair: logan howlett x mutant!fem!reader wc: 6.7k contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, violence, blood, gore (more so thoughts of gore) nat probably blatantly ignoring canon, fighting as foreplay, bleeding as foreplay, written with X2 logan in mind, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (fem!receiving), finger sucking hehehe, light choking, hair pulling, blood play, biting is just another form of sexual penetration guys, scent kink, pain kink, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n. author’s note: i have a rotting note that says "logan spar fic turned face sitting" so that's what this is but it kinda got a little weird lol i also just wanted an excuse to write more about the mutant ability that's been bopping around in my brain since watching season four of the boys. kisses!

logan wants to spar...

You can smell him before he even opens the door to the training room.

It’s funny, because almost all blood smells the exact same. It melds into one coppery, metallic tang that stings your nose everywhere you go.

Mutant blood is only slightly different, something sharper with a tartness that lingers in the air longer, that tingles along the edge of your senses and burns the back of your throat.

Logan's blood is something entirely different.

The first time you met him it almost brought you to your knees. It was so overwhelming, the smell swarming you so intoxicating and all encompassing that it made you feel dizzy.

Logan’s blood is a wild mix of earthy musk and something like charred wood. His scent carries an electric charge, like the smell of air right before a thunderstorm, like ozone after a lightning strike.

It's like nothing you've ever encountered before—hot and acidic, with a barely there underlying sweetness that never fails to turn your insides to liquid. It seems to defy normalcy, bending the rules of what you know about blood and biology.

You know in the back of your mind that it's the adamantium. It's been fused to his skeleton for so long, it must be something chemical. A reaction happening in his body that makes it so distinctly different.

Part of you likes to think that it's just Logan, that the scent is a reflection of everything he is. The raw, untamed essence of his nature, something primal that’s deeply ingrained in his being.

The door creaks open behind you, you make it a point to keep your focus on the punching bag. You've been here for hours, your arms only finally starting to burn with exertion. The bag feels solid and grounding under your taped knuckles, swinging lightly with every hit.

Logan's heavy footsteps get closer and closer, echoing through the empty room until he's striding past you to lean against the wall next to the bag's rig.

You don't look at him, but you can feel his gaze—an intense, almost palpable thing.

“Figured you’d be down here,” Logan's voice is the familiar rough and gravelly rumble you've become used to, cutting through the silence between the two of you with a barely there teasing edge. “Couldn’t sleep, huh?” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Logan has an even better sense of smell than you do, and he can sniff out a lot more than blood. You're sure he knew you were here this whole time, that he could smell you from his room two stories up.

You give a small, noncommittal grunt, ignoring him as you throw another punch. Sweat is dotted across your hairline, it drips down the small of your back and the column of your throat. It's not that you don't like Logan, that you don’t want him here, you have the complete opposite of that problem.

You like Logan too much, more than you should.

Every time he’s near, you’re intensely aware of how much his presence affects you, of the way all the blood in your body starts to sizzle under your skin with a throbbing need that's getting harder and harder to ignore. It’s like a constant, low-grade fever that only flares up when he gets too close. 

“Come on, kid. You can’t ignore me all night,” he says, thick arms crossing over his chest. "Don't make me beg."

You let out a breath, more exasperated than anything else, and finally turn to face him. Logan’s standing there, all broad shoulders and rugged confidence in his white tank and gray sweats, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

That smirk—it's almost as dangerous as the claws hidden just underneath his skin.

“Didn’t know you were the begging type.” Your attempt to sound casual is overpowered by the slight breathy edge of your voice. You blame it on the workout.

Logan's smirk widens just a fraction, and you can tell he's caught the hitch in your voice. His eyes, sharp and knowing, narrow in on you with that familiar mix of amusement and something you can't quite place, something that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Only when I really want something," he replies easily.

Your form falters, just barely, but it’s enough for Logan to notice. You can hear the amused huff he lets out.

You throw another punch at the bag, more to steady yourself than anything else. The impact reverberates through your knuckles, but it doesn't do much to dispel the heat pooling low in your stomach.

"Back to ignoring me?" he asks, needling. You can see the raise of his brow in your peripheral vision.

“Trying to,” you mutter under your breath, though it's more to yourself than to him. You keep your gaze locked firmly on the bag, willing your pulse to steady.

"What's that?" he leans in closer, his scent wafting over to you as he does. Somehow stronger than before, an assault on your senses. You barely conceal a shiver.

"It’s not my fault you’re here when I'm at my least chatty," you retort blandly, a little louder, willing your voice to sound as steady as it can.

"Looks to me like you’re always at your least chatty,” he shoots back, not showing any signs of backing down.

"It's late,” you reply tersely.

"Yeah," he says. "It is late."

The words hang in the air, laced with a double meaning that neither of you acknowledges.

"Too late to be up hounding the bags like they owe you money," he adds, the tone of his voice almost gentle in a way that catches you off guard. Nothing like the Logan you're used to.

“Yeah, well,” you grunt, throwing a particularly sharp jab. “Some of us don’t need all the beauty sleep."

Logan lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, you can feel the vibration of it in your bones. "Funny," he muses to himself, voice going quiet like he's turning your words over in his mind. "I can see why Charles keeps you around."

You huff, sweaty brows knitting together in frustration. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know.”

“Babysit?” He smirks, clearly amused. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

Your resolve finally cracks, your fists sore when you drop them to your sides and turn to Logan with a questioning look on your face.

"What do you want, Logan?”

It sounds harsher than you meant it, rough and exasperated as you start to catch your breath for the first time since he walked in.

Logan doesn't respond, just pushes off the wall to step closer. His scent hits you like a truck now that your focus is solely on him, you can feel your blood start to thrum under your veins. The sweat dripping down your back feels like it’s igniting the tension in your body, and Logan’s only making it worse the closer he gets.

He stops a little less than a foot away from you. It’s too close, he evades your space until all you can see is him. The width of his shoulders, the strong muscle of his chest and torso filling your view.

Logan doesn't say anything for a few beats, just stares down at you with a studying look on his face. It's a struggle to keep still under the intensity of his gaze. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the rhythmic thud loud in your ears as the silence stretches between you.

He tilts his head to the side slightly, eyes narrowing as he trails them over your sweaty face. You're seconds away from saying something, from turning and running with your tail between your legs, when he beats you to it.

He lets out an amused scoff, shaking his head as he walks past you to the large blue training mat in the middle of the room.

"C'mon," he calls over his shoulder, "Try hitting something that hits back, might help clear your head."

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift, but Logan’s already made his way to the center of the mat, turning to face you with a challenging glint in his eye.

You shake your head slowly, not moving from your place across the room. "I don't want to fight you."

Logan chuckles wryly, “Could’ve fooled me, sweetheart.”

The nickname sends a jolt through you, your pulse skipping in response. It’s always the way he says it—rough around the edges but with a softness that’s almost affectionate. You clench your fists tight, as if the simple act of it will keep your thoughts in check.

"Think you can keep up?" he teases, rolling his shoulders in that casual, self-assured way of his. But there's something in his tone, a challenge that makes you want to prove yourself.

You cast your eyes to the ceiling, exasperated, a bemused laugh bubbling from your chest as you do. "You know I can," you reply, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. "This isn't about that."

You should just say no. You should say no and go back up to your room so you can go to bed and forget all about this in the morning. You can barely stand to be in the same room with Logan for more than thirty minutes at a time, training with him is too much of a risk.

"What's it about then? You scared?" Logan's voice snaps you out of your thoughts, a playful smirk curling his lips. He raises an eyebrow, daring you to join him.

That does it. A spark of defiance flares in your chest, overriding the nervous tension that’s been building since he walked in. You’re not one to back down from a fight, especially when Logan's practically begging for one.

Without thinking, you stride over to the mat.

Logan watches you approach, his stance relaxed but ready, like a predator sizing up its prey. You try your best to ignore the smug look on his face as you kick off your shoes and join him.

"Not scared," you shrug, running your fingers over the tape on your knuckles. "I just don't need you getting all pissy when I win." You roll your shoulders, shake out your arms, and square up, focusing on the way Logan’s eyes are locked on yours.

Logan's grin widens, a flash of sharp teeth that makes your pulse quicken. "We'll see about that."

You drop into a ready stance, the tension in your muscles coiled tight like a spring. For a moment, neither of you moves, just sizing each other up. The silence between you stretches taut like a bowstring. Your eyes lock onto Logan's, each of you reading the other, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The air between you feels like it's vibrating, charged with a mix of tension, anticipation, and something else—something unspoken, simmering just beneath the surface.

Then, in a blur of motion, Logan makes the first move, just like you expected him to. He lunges, fast and strong, but you're ready for him, sidestepping the blow and bringing your forearm up to deflect his fist away from your body.

"Slow start, old man?" you quip, a sly smile tugging at your lips as you regain your footing. "Speed isn't what it used to be?"

Logan chuckles, a low and throaty sound. "Just warming up, sweetheart. Don't want you crying unfair when I take you down too quick."

You scoff, rolling your eyes dramatically before launching your own attack. You swing a swift roundhouse kick aimed at his midsection. He anticipates the move, catching your ankle with one hand while his other reaches out to grab your wrist.

But you're quicker. Using the momentum, you twist your body and slip free from his grasp, landing lightly back on your feet a few steps away. The brief contact sends a jolt up your leg, his touch searing even through the thick layer of your sweats.

"Stop holding back," you say roughly, your lips turned down in a displeased frown. "Hit me."

Logan's eyes flash with amusement. "Careful what you wish for."

He advances again, this time more aggressive. He throws a combination of punches—left, right, left—each one precise and controlled. You block the first two, but the third grazes past your defenses, skimming your rib cage hard enough to sting.

You hiss softly at the impact but don't back down. Instead, you duck low and sweep your leg out in a wide arc, aiming to knock him off balance. Logan slides back just in time, your foot swiping through empty air as he evades the attack with a kind of brute grace that you wouldn’t expect.

"Getting fancy now?" he remarks, that infuriating smirk never leaving his face.

You don't respond, springing to your feet with a raised fist in a swift uppercut. This time you connect, your knuckles catching his stubbled jaw with a loud 'crack'. Your whole hand throbs, you can feel the break in your thumb snap back together in a sharp pinch.

Logan stumbles back a step, his head snapping to the ceiling with the force of your hit. When he turns back to you, there's a large bruise blooming along the sharp cut of his jaw. You watch the color of it spread across his skin, angry reds and dull purples that fade as fast as they appear.

There's a glint of something dangerous in his eyes as he meets your gaze. The brown of them darker than before, his pupils blown out and glossy in a way you've never seen.

With a low growl, he comes at you again, faster this time. His movements a blur of muscle and intent. You manage to block the first hit, but not the second, his fist catches your side with enough power to make you stumble back a few steps. Pain flares white hot through your ribs, but you grit your teeth and bear it.

You lose yourself in the rhythm of the fight. The world narrows down to the two of you, the sound of your breaths and the feel of his skin brushing against yours in fleeting moments of contact.

There's a thrill in it, in the way you challenge each other, in the way you push past your own boundaries.

But there's also something more, something deeper. Every time your eyes lock, you can feel the electricity between you, the way your heart skips a beat, the way your breath catches in your throat. It's not just about the fight anymore. 

You feel more alive than you have in a long time. More alive with every sting of each new blow, with the way your muscles burn, with the stray hairs that stick to your forehead.

The heat between you is almost tangible, mixing with the sweat and exertion. Every punch, every block, sends a jolt of adrenaline through your system, making it both exhilarating and maddening.

The scent of him—earthy, electric, and utterly intoxicating—growing stronger with every second. Your senses are on high alert, every part of you tuned in to his presence.

It wraps around your whole being, making it hard to think straight. But you don’t need to think—you just move, letting your instincts take over.

Logan feints to the left and uses it to sweep your legs out from under you in the same move he mocked you for. Your back hits the floor with a hard thud, the give of the mat not doing much to soften the hardwood underneath.

All the breath in your lungs rushes out of you in a sharp gasp. Before you can recover, Logan is looming over you. He cages your body under his own, thick arms on either side of your head, his weight pressing you further into the floor. His breath is hot against your ear as he leans in close, his voice a low, almost growling murmur.

"Gotcha."

You try to come up with a witty comment, a snarky line, a petty insult. Anything at all really—but the words catch in your throat. Instead, you just stare up at him, your chest heaving violently, your heart pounding so loud you're sure he can hear it.

The whole room feels like it’s spinning, and for a moment, all you can focus on is the intensity in Logan’s eyes, the heat of him against you.

Suddenly, your entire body feels like it's on fire. Phantom flames lapping at every inch of your skin that send your head reeling quicker than you can blink. It's not an unfamiliar feeling, but you've only ever felt it outside of a mission once, and it didn't end well.

For a few heart stopping seconds, you're more than confused. Panic starts to set in at the thought of having another "accident" and not even knowing what's triggering it.

Through the messy haze of your panic, you finally see it. The tiny cut above Logan's brow leaking a thin trail of red down the side of his face.

Everything around you dissolves into static, your eyes zeroing in on that single bead of crimson. The cut's long gone by the time it drips from his jaw to the mat right next to your shoulder. Logan's skin stitching back together and leaving no trace that it was ever broken in the first place, but it doesn't matter.

The damage is already done, and you can feel your body start to react.

You can feel your resolve crumbling, the edges of your self-control fraying with every passing second. Your own blood pulses beneath your skin like liquid fire as your stomach churns and twists. The intense need to feel, to taste, to take claws at your throat.

You let out a low, guttural sound, somewhere between a growl and a whimper, as you lose the last of your control.

Hank had called it a frenzy, but that wasn't a technical term.

"You're not in your right mind. You've essentially been conditioned to react strongly to the scent and sight of blood, particularly when you're already in a heightened emotional or physical state. The combination of adrenaline, exertion, and the scent triggers this...well, this 'frenzy' for lack of a better term."

It's like you blackout, and when you wake up, you're straddling Logan's chest with your hand wrapped around his throat in a vice-like grip. The tan column of his throat glowing red beneath your hand, a map of blue veins inked along his skin like spiderwebs as you watch the blood pulse through them.

Your grip tightens instinctively, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to reign in the storm swirling inside you. Everything narrows down to the pounding in your ears, the blazing heat of Logan's skin under your fingers, and the urge to let go, to give in.

Logan's voice starts to trickle in around the static buzzing in your ears, your name falling from his lips sounds strained, but there's a calmness to it. The fog of your instincts begins to fade, the world around you slowly starting to piece back together.

You blink, the haze in your mind clearing as you try to focus on his face, the way his eyes are locked onto yours. Intense, but not clouded with fear like you expected.

Your chest heaves with every breath, ragged and short like they're being ripped out of your lungs. Your wide eyes dropping to where your hand is still locked around his throat, panic surges in your chest like ice freezing over a lake.

But before you can do anything, Logan's reaching up, his hand catching your wrist in a tight grip. His thumb brushes over your pulse point—the touch sends a jolt through you, as if he’s touched a live wire.

“Don't,” he says, like he knows what you're thinking, his voice a rough whisper. The rasp of it vibrates against your hand. “Don't stop now."

Logan’s other hand comes up to rest on your hips, his touch firm but not forceful. He doesn’t try to wrestle control away from you; instead, he holds you steady. His fingers dig into your skin, grounding you.

“Come on,” he coaxes, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sends a shiver of anticipation through you. “I can take it. Give it to me.”

The world around you blurs, your focus entirely on the man beneath you, the way his body feels under your hands, the way he’s willingly surrendering to your control.

You take a breath, trying to steady yourself, but it’s no use. You search his eyes, dark and full of want. There's a heat there, a spark that crackles between you, and it only adds fuel to your fire.

If he wants to push, you're ready to push back.

Silently, you slide your hand up the expanse of his throat, feeling the way his pulse beats strong and fast under your palm. The glow under his skin dissipates as you make your way up, tracing your fingers over his jaw and up to his bottom lip.

Logan’s breathing is rapid, his chest rising and falling under you quicker than before. His lips are slick and red, parted so enticingly that you can help but slide your index finger over them. Your nail digs into the fat of his bottom lip, not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to let him feel it.

Logan lets you toy with him, meets your gaze head on as you push further. Your finger presses deeper, pushing past the seam of his lips to feel the warmth of his mouth, the wet glide of his tongue against your skin.

The sharp bite of Logan's teeth pinches your skin as he closes his lips around your finger and sucks.

Your breath catches in your throat, heat blooming in your core as his tongue brushes over the pad of your finger. You can feel the ache of your cunt between your legs, arousal leaking wet and sticky in your panties.

Your other hand rises up to rest on the side of his face, your fingers grazing over his cheekbone. The touch feather-light but filled with a fierce, unspoken energy. Logan’s breath hitches slightly, his eyes darkening even further.

Your palm splays over the skin of his cheek, the heat of his face seeping into your hand. Logan’s eyes close for a moment, his breath coming in shallow bursts as he tilts his head into your touch.

In a quick move, you dig your fingernails into the fat of his cheek roughly. Logan’s body arches under you, his back snapping off the mat with guttural groan ripping from his chest as you pierce his skin.

You gasp at the scent of him wafting up through the air, at the feeling of his teeth digging into your own flesh. His blood leaking onto the tips of your fingers feels like a shock to your system, both electrifying and terrifying.

His skin glows even brighter than before. A mix of reds and oranges that light up just beneath his skin, the blue of his veins like rivers on a map. Your nails dig deeper into his skin, drawing more blood, the warm, sticky liquid coating your fingers. You watch, mesmerized, as the glow under his skin pulses in response, as if feeding off your energy, amplifying the connection between you.

Logan’s breath hitches, his body tensing beneath yours, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans into your touch, his eyes dark and hooded with desire.

it takes barely any energy from you. The faintest traces of your power used for something none of those demented scientists in white lab coats intended.

None of that matters. All that matters is the raw, animalistic connection between you—the way his body is responding to your touch, the way his eyes shine with want, the way his blood sings in harmony with yours.

You could boil Logan alive in less than a second, burst every vessel and capillary in his body until he's nothing more than a copper stain on the floor. But his hands only tighten their grip on your waist to drag you impossibly closer.

"More," Logan growls, his voice vibrating against your palm as his teeth sink a little deeper into your finger, the heat of his breath searing against your skin. He hooks his hands under your thighs, dragging your body up his chest until your legs are spread on either side of his head. 

Your hands fly to his hair, steadying yourself with two fist fulls of the brown tufts that sit atop his head. You’ve always been curious if Logan styles his hair this way on purpose, or if it just grows like that naturally. You don't have time to ponder it for long before he's letting out another ragged groan and burying his face between your thighs.

You can feel the heat of his breath over the clothed expanse of your cunt, his nose trailing along the inseam of your sweats as he inhales greedy lungfuls of your scent.

"Logan," you gasp, voice gone high and breathy around the edges.

"Tell me what you want," he says lowly, his lips brushing over you with every word.

It's muffled slightly, but the demand in his tone still sends a shock through you. Your grip on his hair tightens as your mind falls into a whirl of sensations and emotions you couldn't possibly confront.

He presses a heated kiss against the fabric of your sweats, right over where your aching clit pulses with need. The sensation sends an electric jolt straight through your core. Your whole body hums with an intense craving, a need that burns hot and fierce.

"Tell me," he repeats, his voice a rough rasp that vibrates against your core.

You swallow hard, your breath hitching as you try to form a coherent thought, let alone speak.

"I want..." you start, your voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and desire. The words are there, lodged in your throat, but saying them out loud feels like crossing a line you’re not sure you’re ready to cross.

"I need you,” you breathe out, the confession slipping from your lips like a secret finally set free “I need everything.”

Logan’s eyes flare with something fierce and wild. Without a word, he pulls you closer, his hands surging up to tear through the fabric of your clothes like it's nothing but tissue paper. The tattered remains of your panties and sweats pool to the floor in a crumpled mess.

The heat of his breath is replaced by the pressure of his mouth, his tongue sliding through the wet slit of your cunt. He lets out a filthy groan at the first real taste of you, the flat of his tongue lapping eagerly through your dripping slit.

The thrill of his mouth against your most sensitive spots sends a jolt through your entire body, your back arching taut as you grip his hair even tighter. Logan’s groan reverberates through you, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in your core.

Logan is relentless, devouring you like he’s been starving for this, starving for you. The wet sounds of his mouth working you over mix with your breathless whimpers and the low growls rumbling from his chest. He works his tongue expertly, tracing every inch of you, mapping out every spot that makes you tremble and moan.

Your thighs tighten around his head, hips grinding against his face almost unintentionally as heat starts coiling tight in your belly. The scruff of his jaw rubs against the sensitive skin of your thighs with each drag of his head, the sting of it just adds to the assault of pleasure. You wish he could leave his mark on you, wish that your skin wouldn’t work overtime to fix the angry red blotches of raw skin he leaves in his wake.

Logan grips you hard enough that you can see the bruises decorating your skin every time you look down. His arms firm and strong where they’re locked around your thighs to keep you pressed against his mouth. His nose bumps against your throbbing clit each time he fucks his tongue into your leaking cunt.

“Logan,” you moan, your voice a breathy plea that only seems to spur him on. He flicks his tongue over your clit, sucking it into his mouth with a harsh pull that makes you cry out, your whole body shuddering with the intensity of it.

“Taste so fucking good, baby,” he murmurs against you, the words muffled by the slickness of your folds. “Could eat you all night.”

“Logan, I’m—” you start, but the words catch in your throat as he sucks hard on your clit, sending you careening over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves, your entire body convulsing with the force of it as you cry out his name, your nails digging into his scalp as you hold on.

Logan doesn’t stop, doesn’t give you a moment to catch your breath. He licks you through your release, his mouth working you over with a single-minded intensity that has you writhing against him, overstimulated and desperate for more.

“Fuck, Logan, please,” you gasp, not even sure what you’re begging for, just knowing you need something, anything to ease the ache that’s still throbbing deep inside you.

Logan pulls back just enough to look up at you, the bottom of his face slick with your arousal, eyes dark with a hunger that matches your own. He licks his lips, savoring the taste of you.

Logan’s hands slide up your thighs, his touch gentle now but still impossibly firm. He trails his fingers along your skin, tracing the sensitive lines where your skin starts to heal the damage he left behind.

“Still with me?” he asks, his voice is softer than before but there’s still an unmistakable rough edge coating his words.

You nod, your voice barely a whisper as you try to collect yourself. “Yeah...I’m here.”

“Good,” he growls softly, his hands squeezing the sore skin of your hips. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You’re on your back in less than a second, Logan flipping your positions so fast it has your head spinning. His mouth crashes against yours, hot and desperate, all sharp teeth and bruising pressure. 

It’s a kiss that feels like a fight, like a challenge, like a promise of something much darker and more consuming just beneath the surface. His stubble scrapes against your skin, adding to the raw, visceral feeling of it all. Your teeth clack together violently, you can taste the faint coppery tang of blood on his lips. 

You kiss him back just as fiercely, pouring all the pent-up frustration, all the desire, all the fear and anger and need into the contact between you. Your hands are everywhere, clawing at his hair, his shoulders, his back—needing to feel him, to mark him, to claim him as yours in a way that’s as undeniable as the blood pulsing through your veins.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him to fill the ache that’s building inside you. Logan grinds against you, his hard cock still trapped in the fabric of his sweats rubbing against your spit soaked cunt. You can’t help the desperate whimper that escapes your throat. “Please, Logan,” you gasp out against his lips, your voice trembling with need. “Fuck me, I need it, please–.” 

He growls low in his throat, his eyes locking onto yours with a fierce intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. “You sure you’re ready for this, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice rough, his breath hot against your skin. 

You nod frantically, your hips bucking up against him darkens the fabric tent of his bottoms. He feels huge, heavy and hot where he pushes against your slick folds. “Yes, please, just—” Logan doesn’t let you finish. 

With a swift, almost feral move, he pushes the hem of his sweats down roughly, the sound of seams ripping rings through the room. You barely have time to gasp before he’s pushing his cock into you, stretching you wide, filling you so completely that all you can do is cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he immediately sets a relentless pace. 

You don’t have any time to adjust to the thick length of his cock carving its way inside of you, the sting of it has your eyes screwed shut. It’s only barely straddling the knife's edge of where pain and pleasure meld together, but it has you crying out his name all the same. 

Logan fucking sounds identical to Logan fighting, guttural groans and growls that are ripped from somewhere deep in his chest to pierce through the air between you. That ring in your ears and shake through your very soul like thunder. 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grates, his voice thick with lust as he holds himself still for a moment, eyes glued to where you’re stretched around him. The puffy, abused lips of your cunt slick with his spit and the pre-come steadily leaking from his dark red tip. “Feels like heaven, sweetheart.”

You moan, high and loud in the back of your throat as your ankles lock around his lower back. Your heels dig into the skin just above his ass as your cunt trembles around his cock, your spongy walls working over him desperately, milking him. 

“You like that don’t you?” Logan taunts, starting to snap his hips with purpose. “You like getting fucked like this, princess?” He leans down enough to growl directly into your ear, “I can smell how much you want it, how bad you're aching for it." 

He slides his hands up your sides, rough palms gliding over your sweat-slick skin as he continues, "You drive me fucking crazy, sweetheart. I can barely think straight with you on top of me, with your scent all over me. You know what you're doing, don’t you? Getting me all riled up like this."

You can’t respond, can’t speak. You can barely form a coherent thought, your lips falling open in a stream of desperate moans and whines as you bury your face in his neck.

The pulse of his carotid artery under your lips is maddening, each beat of his heart like a drum driving you further into madness. You want to sink your teeth into the skin there, to pull flesh and muscle from bone so you can watch the blood run in rivers and streams down Logan’s body.

The taste of him fresh and heady on your tongue as you watch the layers build back up from nothing, nerves and veins weaving themselves back together grotesquely.

“Fuck,” Logan groans, the sound vibrating through your mouth as you press your lips against his throat, your teeth scraping against his skin with barely restrained hunger.

You nip at his throat, your teeth leaving small indentations that fade almost as quickly as they appear. Logan’s breathing is ragged, his chest heaving with every shallow breath as he leans into your touch, his body taut with anticipation.

"Atta girl, that's it," he growls, voice thick with desire as his hands grip your hips even tighter, nails digging into your skin as he ruts into you like a beast. His hips snapping against yours hard enough to sting, the loud slap of it bouncing off the walls to echo lewdly in your ears.

He’s fucking you like he wants to break you, reinforced hips heavy as he pounds you into the floor mercilessly. “Taking my cock so well, best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever felt.”

You can feel the way Logan’s cock jerks and pulses inside of you, the taut heaviness of his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. You know he’s close, the brutal rhythm of his hips gets sloppier by the second.

You press your body up against his, your chest flush with his own as your hands wander over the hard planes of his back, tracing the lines of muscle beneath his skin. You dig your nails into his shoulder blades roughly, basking in the way his muscles roll and flex underneath your greedy palms.

You can feel the heat radiating from him, the pulsing glow of his blood under your fingertips as you explore every inch of him with a hunger that’s almost feral. 

And then, with a low, guttural sound that you barely recognize as your own, you sink your teeth into his neck.

Logan’s reaction is immediate and visceral. His entire body tenses above you, a sharp hiss escaping his lips as you bite down, hard enough to draw blood. The taste of him floods your mouth, metallic and rich, and it sends a wave of heat crashing through you.

You can feel his blood on your tongue, warm and thick, the taste of it driving you wild. It’s everything you’ve been craving, everything you’ve been trying to resist. And now that you’ve finally given in, it’s like a dam has broken inside you.

Logan’s growl is pure animal, his hips bucking up hard as he thrusts into you one last time, burying his cock as deep in you as he can. The force of his orgasm rips through him, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he unloads inside of you. It’s so much, pulse after pulse of hot come that floods your insides. His hips don’t slow, still pumping and fucking like he’s trying to stuff you as full of himself as he can.

The feeling of it pushes you over the edge, your own orgasm crashing over you in a wave of white-hot pleasure that leaves you gasping and trembling above him. Your shaking cunt gushes over his cock as you swallow the blood pooling on your tongue.

Logan’s hips finally still, slotting flush with yours as he slumps onto the floor next to you, dragging you along with him so you can lay flat on his chest. The coarse hair scattered along his pecs scratches the skin of your cheek, you bury your face in the sweaty crook of his neck. You feel hazy, like you’re floating through the air, completely weightless. 

You think you could live here, plastered to the strong planes of Logan’s body, stuffed full of his cock and leaking his come in messy trails down your shaking thighs. 

But eventually, you have to pull back, your breath coming in short bursts as you lick the blood from your lips. Logan’s eyes are on you, shining under the chandelier light, his chest heaving with the effort of breathing. The wound on his neck is already healing, the skin knitting itself back together, but the blood still stains his skin red, a vivid reminder.

There’s a moment of silence, the air between you thick with tension and something else—something new and unspoken. You’re both panting, bodies still trembling with adrenaline.

Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips, smearing the remnants of his blood across your skin. His eyes are locked on yours, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

Finally, he reaches down slowly, like you’re a cornered animal that might turn and run any second. He takes your wrist in his hand, dragging it from the middle of his chest to the muscle directly over his heart. He presses your palm flat against him, blanketing your hand with his own.

“What do you feel,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a breath.

The question catches you off guard. It’s a challenge, but it’s also an invitation—a chance to confront whatever’s swirling inside you instead of running away from it. You hesitate, searching for the right words to encapsulate the storm of emotions you feel thrumming through your bones.

"You," you whisper back, your palm sliding over the sweaty plain of his bare chest. "All I feel is you."

Logan’s eyes soften, and a rare, genuine smile tugs at the corners of his lips. The intensity of the moment seems to dissolve, leaving a quiet understanding between you. He leans in, his breath warm against your cheek, and you can feel the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice a tender caress against your ear. His thumb brushes along your pulse in a feather light touch. “That makes two of us.”

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[writingforstraykids]

We'll be right here

Pairing: husband!Minchanlix x fem!reader

Word Count: 1652

Summary: Getting sick isn't as bad with your three loving husbands anymore. Each of them has their way to take care of you and try to make you feel better.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, sick!fic, husband!min, husband!lix, husband!channie, comfort, short mentions of fever, coughing, sore throat

A/N: I thought I'd write you a little something for you to enjoy until you're feeling better, wifey @slutforchanlix 🖤 As you love all three of them I decided to go for your beloved Chanlix along with Minho☺️🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

You woke up feeling an unusual heaviness in your limbs, a dull ache in your head, and a scratchy throat that seemed to have appeared overnight. The bed that once felt like a sanctuary now felt like a trap as you struggled to sit up, a wave of dizziness crashing over you.

“Ugh, I feel terrible,” you mumbled to yourself, barely recognizing your own voice. Your throat felt like sandpaper, and each word was a laborious effort. You reached for your phone, squinting at the bright screen to check the time. It was still early, but you knew you needed help.

“Hey guys, I think I’m sick,” you texted the group chat with your husbands. Your fingers felt clumsy, and even typing out that short message seemed to drain what little energy you had left.

It wasn’t long before you heard footsteps hurrying down the hall. The door to your room creaked open, and Minho’s concerned face appeared, quickly followed by Felix and Chan. Minho, always the observant one, was the first to approach your bed.

“Y/nnie, why didn’t you say something sooner?” Minho’s voice was gentle but laced with worry as he placed the back of his hand on your forehead. “You’re burning up.”

Felix knelt by the bed, his brows furrowed in concern. “You should’ve called us earlier. We’re here to take care of you, remember?”

Chan sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes filled with concern. “Don’t worry, we’ve got you. Let’s get you comfortable first.”

Minho disappeared into the kitchen, determined to make you some soup. You could hear the clattering of pots and pans, a reassuring sound that brought a small smile to your lips despite the discomfort.

Felix, always the sweet one, began massaging your aching limbs. His touch was gentle and soothing, working out the tension that had built up in your muscles. “This will help you feel better, I promise,” he said softly, a comforting warmth to his words.

You managed a weak smile, appreciating the effort they were putting into making you feel better. “Thanks, Felix. It already helps.”

Felix grinned, his freckles dancing on his cheeks as he did. “Good, because I’m not stopping until you’re back to your usual self. And I might throw in a few jokes to speed up the process.”

You chuckled weakly, the sound turning into a cough that made your throat burn. Felix’s hand stilled for a moment, but he quickly resumed, trying to soothe the discomfort.

Chan reached over and took your hand in his, his grip firm yet gentle. “I won’t let you go through this alone. We’re here for you, no matter what.”

A tear slipped down your cheek at his words, not from sadness but from the overwhelming gratitude you felt. “You guys are amazing. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Minho returned with a steaming bowl of soup, the aroma filling the room and making your stomach growl despite the nausea. “Alright, time for some of my special homemade soup. It’s guaranteed to make you feel better.”

He sat beside you, carefully blowing on a spoonful of soup before bringing it to your lips. “Open up, Y/nnie. Just a little at a time.”

You obediently opened your mouth, the warm broth sliding down your throat and instantly providing a bit of relief. Minho continued to feed you patiently, ensuring you ate slowly so as not to upset your stomach further.

“Thank you, Minho. This is really good,” you said between sips, feeling a bit of strength returning with each spoonful.

Minho smiled, his eyes soft with affection. “Anything for you. Just focus on getting better, okay?”

As the day went on, the three of them took turns tending to your needs. Felix continued his massages, cracking silly jokes that made you smile even when you didn’t think you had the energy to.

“What did the sick tomato say to the other tomato?” Felix asked with a grin.

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “What?”

“I’m feeling a bit under the weather,” Felix replied, wiggling his eyebrows comically.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound blending with a cough. “That’s terrible, Felix.”

He laughed along with you, the sound lightening the heavy atmosphere in the room. “I know, but if it makes you smile, it’s worth it.”

Chan was your constant source of comfort, his presence a soothing balm to your fevered state. Whenever you felt cold, he would wrap his arms around you, holding you close and sharing his warmth. “I’m not going anywhere,” he’d whisper, his breath tickling your ear. “I’ll be right here, I promise.”

You leaned into his embrace, finding solace in his steady heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall of his chest. “I don’t want to get you sick,” you murmured, though your words were half-hearted. The comfort he provided was too precious to refuse.

“You won’t,” Chan assured you, his voice firm and unwavering. “Taking care of you is more important. We’ll worry about me later.”

Minho kept the soup coming, ensuring you stayed hydrated and nourished. He even prepared some herbal tea, its soothing properties helping to ease the soreness in your throat. Each sip felt like a small victory, a step closer to feeling normal again.

“Minho, you’re really good at this,” you said after finishing another bowl of soup. “Have you been practicing?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Just years of taking care of you all. Plus, it’s easy to put in the effort when it’s for someone as special as you, my beautiful wife,” he winked at you, making you blush softly.

The day stretched on, with Felix’s jokes becoming a steady background to the symphony of Minho’s cooking and Chan’s comforting presence. The combination of their care and the medicine they brought you gradually began to ease your symptoms.

As the sun set and the room grew dim, Minho suggested you try to get some rest. “Sleep is the best medicine, after all. We’ll be right here if you need anything.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the day’s exhaustion settling in. “Thank you, all of you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Felix tucked the blankets around you, his touch gentle and reassuring. “You don’t have to worry about that because we’re not going anywhere.”

Chan kissed your forehead, his lips cool against your fevered skin. “Sweet dreams, Y/nnie. We’ll be here when you wake up.”

You drifted off to sleep, their presence a comforting anchor in the haze of your illness. The night passed in a blur of fevered dreams and intermittent wakefulness, but every time you opened your eyes, one of them was there, keeping watch and ensuring you were never alone.

The next morning, you woke to the sound of quiet chatter and the smell of fresh coffee. Blinking blearily, you saw Minho setting a tray with breakfast on your bedside table, Felix fluffing the pillows behind you, and Chan smiling warmly from the foot of the bed.

“How are you feeling today?” Minho asked, his voice gentle as he helped you sit up.

“A bit better,” you admitted, surprised at the improvement. “Still tired, but not as bad as yesterday.”

Felix grinned, his eyes sparkling with relief. “That’s what we like to hear. More soup?”

You nodded, grateful for their continued care. “Yes, please. I think it’s working.” Minho handed you a bowl, and you sipped the warm broth slowly, savoring the taste. “Thank you, Minho. This really is the best soup I’ve ever had.”

He smiled, a hint of pride in his eyes. “I’m glad you like it. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

As you ate, Chan took your hand in his, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin. “We’ll keep taking care of you until you’re back to full strength. No rush.”

Felix leaned in, his expression playful. “And I’ve got plenty more jokes to keep you entertained. Ready for another one?”

You laughed, the sound feeling more natural and less strained. “Always.”

“What do you call fake spaghetti?” Felix asked, his grin widening.

“I don’t know, what?” you replied, curious despite yourself.

“An impasta!” he exclaimed, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the silly joke lifting your spirits. “You’re ridiculous, Felix.”

“But you love me for it,” he shot back, his grin infectious.

Chan squeezed your hand gently. “And we all love you, Y/nnie. We’re here for you, no matter what.”

Tears of gratitude welled up in your eyes again, but this time, they were accompanied by a genuine smile. “I love you all too. Thank you for everything.”

The rest of the day passed in a similar fashion, with Minho ensuring you were well-fed, Felix keeping you entertained, and Chan providing constant comfort. They took turns sitting with you, their presence a constant reminder that you were loved and cared for.

By the time night fell again, you felt significantly better. The fever had subsided, and the aches in your body had lessened. You knew you still had a way to go, but with them by your side, you felt confident you could handle anything.

“Feeling ready for bed?” Chan asked as he helped you settle back under the blankets.

“Yeah, I think so,” you replied, exhaustion creeping in once more.

Felix kissed your forehead gently. “Sweet dreams, Y/nnie. We’ll be here when you wake up.”

Minho adjusted the covers one last time, his touch tender. “Rest well. Tomorrow will be even better.”

As you closed your eyes, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. Surrounded by their love and care, you knew you were in the best possible hands. And with that comforting thought, you drifted off to sleep, your heart full of gratitude and affection for the three amazing men who had shown you just how much they cared.

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[charlottes-diary-entries]

Hello love! I absolutely adore your writing, I was wondering if maybe you could do a poly!mauraders x reader where maybe the reader got injured somehow (maybe quditch?) and the mauraders are like all worried and stuff? Totally fine if you don’t want to do it, I just got injured at my competition and I’m feeling sorry for myself 😂

baby i feel your self-pity, i hate getting benched from injuries!! it's the total worst and i hope you heal quickly, but in the mean time here's something special! it turned more into an independent reader struggling with being worried over, but i hope you enjoy darling. <3

CW: injuries, but thats about it <3

The sound of the students in the stands could only be described as a frightening roar during the match. Through some drizzling rain, Gryffindors and Slytherins had poured out of their common rooms by the dozens to witness the match, which had become increasingly intense.

Foul plays from Slytherins, attempts at similar plays from Gryffindor (which James shut down immediately with a reprimanding and a few threats of what practice would become should such poor sportsmanship continue). You had dodged more ill-aimed bludgers than you could count, and as the wind picked up and the rain got heavier, it was all you could do to stay on your broom.

And at some point, even that became unmanageable.

You could have sworn you'd just blinked and suddenly the noise in your ears increased ten-fold, deafening you, and there were these horrible stars in your eyes.

Then you were on the ground, and there were lots and lots of people around you, and you couldn't really see right, and-

"Shit, shit, shit, love! Shit!"

Was that James?

"What happened? What the fuck happened? Was this one of the snakes, because I swear to fuck-"

Sirius?

They kept shouting, until someone else (a professor?) was shouting at them to quiet down. A lot of movement, fuzzy, dizzying movement, then someone was picking you up and suddenly falling asleep felt like a very, very nice idea.

"No, no, no dove, stay up for us, yeah? I don't- Maybe falling asleep isn't a good idea okay?"

Ah, so Remus was carrying you. You tried to lift a hand to your eyes, to hide from the light, or hide from Remus, or something, but you could barely feel your hand. Scratch that, your entire arm felt like it'd been pulled clean off.

Tears began to slip down your cheeks because fuck, now that you thought about it, your head really, really hurt. Your whole body was burning in pain.

"Oh, don't cry dovey, please, don't cry, Madame Pomfrey'll fix you up so quick, you won't even know..."

You lost the rest of his sentence as you began to drift away. Not that you really wanted to, it just felt much, much easier than staying awake...

All that was what had landed you here, benched at Quidditch with a pair of sunglasses on, a nasty cast around your left arm, and what your boys had deemed a permanent frown that worsened by the minute.

You had woken from the concussion very early the next morning to find an extremely frantic Sirius at the foot of your bed. He kissed you and talked while Remus and James were both still asleep, holding hands as they sat by your bed. Apparently, Sirius couldn't sleep he was so worried about you.

(The conversation didn't get much further than that as Pomfrey entered and began to shoo off the boys. Poor Remus and James only got to give you quick "I Love You's" before being firmly ushered out.)

You had been on bed rest the entire day, Pomfrey also dealing with a freak accident from a first-year potions class. Several children with boils and fevers and a need for so much attention that Pomfrey could not spend time brewing fresh Skele-Gro for you, hence, the traditionally muggle healing methods on your arm. Her potion for your concussion was helping you heal faster, but damn did it make every light blinding.

James had determined you banned from Quidditch practice until you were fully healed. While you understood his reasoning, it did not mean you had to be happy about being benched.

"Lighten up please, darling, glaring at them isn't going to make your head better."

You turned to glower at Remus instead, who sat to your right and handed you a cauldron cake. He smiled brightly and bumped your shoulder before kissing your forehead. Your frown deepened immensely.

"Maybe so, but it's certainly making me feel better knowing they know how much I hate this."

"Am I really such horrid company?" Remus said, a cheeky grin on his face. You rolled your eyes (which definitely did not hurt your head) and turned back to watch James and Sirius fly about in the air. You leaned your head on his shoulder and shut your eyes.

"No," You began, "I just wish I could be up there."

Remus's grin dropped and he placed a kiss to your temple before leaning his head against yours.

"I know dove."

You watched them continue their drills in silence and you had begun to eat your treat when Remus spoke up again.

"Though, it is nice to have you for company. I finally have someone else to ogle the boys with."

At this you snorted, looking up again to follow James and Sirius in the air.

"Yeah, they are pretty hot when they do their thing, huh?"

"Very. Very hot."

"Please, Sirius, my arm's fine now, I can carry my own bags-"

"Not if I have anything to say about it."

Sirius held your books out of your reach with a grin and you huffed, crossing your arms as you both walked to potions. None of the boys had let you carry anything the past week, which was sweet and very gentlemanly of them, but quickly beginning to bother you. Especially as Pomfrey had had you up in the Medical Wing very quickly, choking down Skele-Gro so your arm could heal. Was your arm a tad weaker than normal? Yes! Did it make you a helpless doll? Absolutely not!

"I'm completely serious-"

"No, I am!"

"Siri!" You tried to glare at him, snatching at your bag which he expertly kept to himself. "I can carry my own books, really, I'm fine."

"Hmm..." Sirius stopped cold and began to study you, inspecting you from head to toe. He stepped closer, grabbing your chin, which in turn made you gasp a little bit and lose some of your bravado. He tilted your head each way before grabbing your freshly healed arm and staring it down. You went to interrupt when he slipped your hand into his own and began pulling you along.

"Since you want to hold something so bad, you get me until we say you're alright."

You scoffed as an awful grin grew on his face.

"This is ridiculous. It's almost been a week and still."

"Still what, dove?" A new voice popped up, and James sidled up beside the two of you, taking your other hand.

Your face warmed a little bit as he leaned over to place a kiss on your cheek, but you rolled your eyes and powered on.

"Still you're all coddling me. I mean, you have to let me back on my broom someday, James. Can't keep me benched forever."

At this he frowned, growing a little more serious. "Darling, you need rest to heal. You still need those glasses outside and I'd rather play it safe with you. Don't want you mucking up a solid week of getting better just cause you couldn't wait to be back on a broom. It'd make me a bad captain to let you do that, and an even worse boyfriend."

Again, you grumbled, trying to accept their caring as simply that; caring. He placed another kiss on your cheek and swung your hands back and forth as Sirius spoke up again.

"We don't get many chances to worry over you like this darling, let us baby you just this once? Pretty please?"

He flashed you horrid puppy-eyes as James squeezed your hand again. You rolled your eyes, feeling warmth spread throughout your cheeks and neck.

"Just- let's get to potions. Please."

Both boys grinned and began chattering away as you walked. Would it be so horrible to let them treat you for a while?

Yes. Yes, it would.

Because it would seem, after nearly two weeks of resting and healing spent half in your bed and entirely in the arms of your boyfriends, they still were unwilling to let you return to practice fully.

This thought irked you horribly as you sat, hovering on your broom like a first-year, doing slow laps around the quidditch field no more than a meter off the ground. You picked up your pace a little bit, beginning to feel a bit of wind on your face as you thought of how badly you wanted to be doing more.

"Oi, quit it."

The glare you sent James's way was burning with simmering frustration. You proceeded to stick your tongue out at him and cross your arms, as childish as it felt.

He merely frowned in response, turning to watch the rest of the team drilling catching and dodging with some quaffles. Even if he wanted to place all his attention on you, it would've been entirely unfair to the rest of the team. Sirius was also distracted, i.e., finding a little too much fun in their game of dodgeball. (He'd nearly given a keeper a black eye.) Remus was not there to watch today, instead spending his time studying for an upcoming exam.

With all eyes turned away from you, and this endless itch to actually, finally do something, slipping away was a very easy thing to do.

As you began to fly around the grounds of Hogwarts, shooting up into the sky and diving back down to pick up even more speed, you could've sworn the wind wasn't just whistling in your ears. It was whispering to you that slipping away was the right thing.

You whooped and hollered and laughed as you chased your way around the towers and over the Black Lake. You dared to let your hand fall and scrape the inky dark surface of the water, and the resulting splash endlessly delighted you. Eventually, you decided to settle your little escape under a tree by the shore.

A few pants escaped you as your lungs caught up with all you had just done. After, you'd relaxed for maybe another twenty minutes and it felt like nothing could wipe the smile off your face.

"Jesus, dove, there you are."

Alright, maybe nothing.

You turned to find Sirius landing his broom and jogging over to you, and your face slowly began to drop. He dropped to his knees next to you and gave you a cursory glance, and when he was happy with the state of you, relaxed against the tree as well.

The two of you sat in silence for a minute before you managed to speak up.

"I'm not sorry or anything. By the way. And I-" You glanced over to Sirius, before staring forward and plowing on, "I've appreciated you all caring and coddling me but I'm better and I'm sick of being sidelined and babied and- and-"

You looked at Sirius again to find him smiling at you, completely in love. There was so much care in his eyes that it caused you to stumble over your words and past your point completely.

"And... yeah."

Sirius only continued to smile at you. He then sighed a little and wrapped an arm around your waist to tug you into him.

"Sorry we've been babying you, gorgeous." He paired this with a kiss pressed to your temple. "We're just nervous about making sure you're okay."

"I'm okay. Believe me, I am okay now."

"I believe you, love."

"Good."

You relaxed against him and soaked up the day together. There were birds singing in the distance and a light breeze dancing across the grass. It felt peaceful. You turned your gaze to Sirius and pressed a loving kiss to his cheek.

"I do mean it, I appreciate you all worrying about me. Even if you don't need to so much anymore."

"Not a problem dovey," He grinned, still looking out across the lake before he turned to return your kiss. "It's our job as boyfriends. And now, our job is to convince James you're well enough to do more than float an inch off the ground."

A snort escaped you as you laughed at that, sighing and hiding your face against his shoulder.

"He's gonna give me so much shit for skipping out on practice, floating or not."

"I'm sure it won't be all that bad."

Sirius now smirked down at you, unable to resist pressing yet another kiss to your cheek.

"He's completely smitten with you after all. We all are."

oh my god this is a million years late babes, i'm so sorry. between finals and dorm moveout i've been completely swamped. i'm planning on getting back into the fanfiction grind though, so you have plenty to look forward to coming up darling!! all the best!!!! <3

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

“flu season” - hotch stops by to check on you while you’re home sick (hotch x bau!gn!reader), 1.7k words

cw; mentions of canonical violence, icky sickies, and yearning teehee

———————

You have the flu. 

You have the flu, and it hits you like a bus. 

You have the flu, and it hits you like a bus, and you hate feeling helpless, but you can’t even walk to the bathroom and back without feeling dizzy. 

There’s a waste basket by the bed, lined with a plastic grocery bag. There are four glasses of water, varying in stages of fullness, littered on the nightstand. Your blinds are open because yesterday you wanted to see the sun, but you were too exhausted later in the day to close them. 

Your phone is ringing. You’re groggy, the whole world feeling hazy and heavy, as you lift it from the space in bed beside you and see a call from your boss. When you called Hotch two days ago and told him you were ill, he was incredibly patient with you. Don’t worry about work. Get some rest, he said. Check in so we know you’re okay. Let us know if you need anything. 

You answer the phone on the last ring, and a hoarse, weak voice that is not yours exits your throat. “Hello?” 

“Y/N,” Hotch sounds relieved. Did he think you were dead or something? It’s only the stomach flu. He also never calls you by your first name, which only makes you concerned that something else is gruesomely wrong. “Did you see my calls?” 

You put him on speaker and check your call history. Aaron Hotchner has called you four times in the past six hours. You missed every single one, having drifted in and out of consciousness all day long. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t. Is everything okay?” You ask, thinking something must have happened to him or to one of your teammates. Why else would he be desperate to reach you when you’re home sick? 

“Well, you tell me,” Hotch exhales, an incredulous chuckle lining his voice. The phone muffles the sound, but you know that if you heard it in person, it would sound symphonic. “I was just checking on you, Y/N. I know you’re new to the city.” You sit up a little in bed, as if he were in front of you. “How are you feeling?” 

You run a clammy hand over your sweaty forehead. “Hot,” you blurt out. 

“Excuse me?” Hotch laughs. 

“Hot, like… like a fever. Like I’m running a…” you shake your head at yourself, resisting the urge to scream into your pillow. “Sick. I feel sick, very sick.” 

“What kind of sick?”

What kind of sick? Why would he ask you that? You lean back against the headboard and wonder if he’s trying to determine if you’re faking to get out of work, or if he’s genuinely concerned. You’ve only been with the BAU for a few months, but you feel like you’ve gotten to know everyone fairly well so far. You decide Hotch must just be genuinely concerned. You roll through your symptoms, and Hotchner clears his throat when you’re done speaking. 

“Do you feel strong enough to get to your door?” He asks.

“Huh?”

“Because I’m here. Outside your door.” 

“What?” 

Hotch lets out a breathy laugh, one that seems almost in disbelief of his own actions. “If you don’t want company, I’ll leave, but I thought you might need a hand. I’ve been sick and alone before. It’s not fun.” 

You feel your heart swell a little as you recall what Emily has told you about Hotch. You get little snippets about him from Emily, and from what you understand, he and his ex-wife were painfully separated for a while before she was murdered. You wonder if he was ever stuck at home, ill, during that period of time. 

Hotch says your surname. “Are you still there?” 

“What? Yes. Yes! I’m sorry,” you huff, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. The thought of planting your feet on the ground, however, has you already feeling nauseous. “I don’t, uh… I don’t think I can make it to the door, though,” you squeak. “There’s a spare key under the doormat. But I really look gross, Hotch. And I might be contagious. So, enter at your own risk.”

“I don’t mind, L/N. You keep a key under the - oh, yes, there it is,” you hear Hotch fumble to juggle the key and his phone, and after a moment of static - his hand over the microphone - he hangs up, and you hear the front door of your apartment creak open. “Y/N?” He calls out. 

“In here,” you croak, scrambling under the covers and desperately brushing your sweaty hair out of your eyes. 

Hotch is standing in the doorway in an instant, still in his suit and tie. You glance at your phone and conclude he must have left work directly to come here. “How do you know where I live?” You mumble as he lifts a full grocery bag. 

“Personnel file,” he shrugs. “How’s your fever?” 

You notice he’s lingering in the doorway. He’s waiting to be invited in. “You don’t have to have a warrant,” you smile weakly and beckon him into your bedroom, a lame attempt at humor. 

He exhales in amusement, and you see the smile on his face - light and mild, and you wonder, if you weren’t sick, would it have been a grin? 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Hotch says as he steps slowly into the room, taking a cold bottle of Gatorade from the grocery bag and setting it on your nightstand. He starts gathering the cups of water into one arm. 

“You don’t have to do that,” you protest, feeling embarrassed of your mess. “Hotch-“

“It’s Aaron, outside of work,” he corrects you, and you see a flash of his teeth. “And you didn’t answer my question. How’s your fever?” 

You swallow. “High? I guess?” You say dumbly. 

A warm hand is pressed against your forehead and you are once again very aware of how clammy it is. “When was the last time you took something?” He asks. 

You check the time again, then do the math in your head. “Five hours ago.” 

“Where’s your medicine?” He asked. You shift in the bed, to stand up, and Hotch - Aaron’s - hand is on your shoulder. “Stay in bed. I’ll get it. Where is it?” 

“Bathroom cabinet,” you point to the bathroom. You want to protest further. You want to apologize for the mess, to ask him why he’s doing this, to ask him if he’d do this for anyone else. But you keep your mouth shut, instead rubbing the space between your brows as the inevitable headache kicks in. 

Aaron’s quickly out of your bedroom. You hear him walk into the kitchen, a few cabinets open and shut, and then he’s in your bathroom, same thing, opening and closing a cabinet. He comes back to you with a few crackers on a plate, a fresh glass of water, and your flu medicine. 

“So, let’s talk about why you think it’s a good idea to keep a spare key under the mat,” Aaron proposes as you take the medicine. You nearly choke on the water in your mouth, but manage to down it. His face gives him away - he’s not mad, not even disappointed, just smirky. Teasing and playful were not words you would use to describe Aaron Hotchner. 

Until right now. 

You open your mouth to speak, but Aaron cuts you off. “You spend your whole week working gory murders, kidnappings, terrorist threats. You know that the key under the mat is the oldest trick in the book. Why do you do it?” He asks, leaning against the wall beside your bed. 

“You can sit, if you want?” You offer, pointing to the desk chair in the corner. “Your legs must be tired from hanging out up there on that high horse.” 

Hotch just lets a low chuckle escape him as he rolls the desk chair over. He keeps a respectful distance from your bed, but still crosses his ankles and leans back, like he’s sat there a thousand times. Like he’s somehow comfortable. He looks at you expectantly, as if to say don’t make me ask again. 

“Well,” you feel a bit sheepish, because he is right. Keeping a key under your doormat is pretty dumb. “I guess I figure, most people are smart enough to not do it, so the kidnappers and rapists would assume I would be smart enough, too, so they wouldn’t even look under the mat.” 

Aaron’s expression is priceless, and he opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off. “I’ll just give a spare to someone I trust, how about that?” You suggest, knowing intuitively that the lecture was only going to continue. 

Aaron gives you a nod of approval, and you lean back against the headboard again, stifling a yawn. “I can go, if you want to rest some more?” he proffers, rising from his seat. 

“You don’t have to,” you say quickly, uncontrollably. The words were locked and loaded in your throat before you could think twice. “I mean, I’m probably going to fall asleep soon, but I wouldn’t mind the company. For a little while.” 

You wonder how visibly red your face is.

“I just wanted to make sure you were alive,” Aaron chuckles, his polite, subtle way of declining your invitation, of making sure boundaries are still intact. You know Hotchner is a rule-follower. You admire that about him. “I’ll let you get some rest,” his hand extends, as if to reach out to you. You wonder if he’s going to touch you. His hand retracts after a moment that seems to last for an eternity. 

As Aaron walks towards the bedroom door, he turns around and smiles at you. It’s a real smile. It’s soft. You want to press it like a flower petal, between two book pages, and keep it in a jar on your shelf. 

“I brought you some soup for when you feel up to eating. It’s in your refrigerator,” he says. He taps his hands against the door frame. “Feel better, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow to check on you.” 

Aaron Hotchner leaves your apartment a minute later, and you fall asleep shortly after that. Your head is still pounding, and your stomach is twisted in knots, but it’s not from the nausea. 

[juiles]

Sticking out sucks.

Summary: You are taken in by the Avengers at 13 and the first four months are hell until after one fateful mission, Wanda and Natasha really step up the moment you need parent figures the most.

Age: 13

Warnings: blood, gunshot wounds, broken bones, fever, fever haze, hydra, red room, a little mean Nat but she comes back quick, asshole Tony mentioned, surgery drugs

Important questions!!!

Type: angst, hurt/comfort

Here is the masterlist!!

Here is the request form!!

pic credit to the amazing jaylerdoodles

———————————————————————-

I sat in a daze, my world tilting just slightly as i listened to Steve ramble about something after a rough mission. Tony had messed up but somehow got everyone else to believe it had been me. Now here i sat, staring at the table, my hands folded, placed there. I gently picked at the skin around my thumb.

This is how it’s been for 4 months. 4 months of someone messing up on a mission and then me getting blamed as the youngest member. 4 months ago, Steve rescued me from a Hydra cage at 13. I’ve spent half my life being raised by Dreykov to be a perfect widow but at 8, Hydra got a hold of me. Turned me into the perfect weapon. Years of abuse and torture makes you older than you are. Something that Natasha and Wanda don’t like. They’ve never liked me.

I squirmed in my seat, wanting to escape the yelling. As soon as he let us all go, i stood from my chair and made my way up to my room concealing a limp. As soon as my door closed behind me, I grabbed the first aid kit i kept under my bed and changed out of my dirty, bloody suit and into a tank and bike shorts. The gauze on my thigh was already bright red, despite only being on for a couple of hours.

Slowly I peeled it back and winced at the gaping bullet hole. I fished around gently pulling the bullet out, knowing it was a very shallow wound, i gave it a few stitches and wrapped it up tight with a sterile gauze and some ointment. Looking down, I sighed and gently got up. I cleaned the blood off my leg and took a look out my door, creaking it open slightly. It seemed empty and the bucket and mop i would need to clean the blood up is only a few feet away. I glanced down at my bandaged leg then back at the bucket that i could see. Using my powers would only alert Wanda so I slipped out of my room.

I limped over to the bucket and grabbed it, accidentally knocking over the mop in the process. I flinched and whipped around to run back to my room but with the bullet wound, a concussion and a few broken ribs, I got dizzy and instead of running to my room, i fell face first on to the floor, i managed to catch myself before i could hurt myself but at the same time i heard a bedroom door open and could basically feel Natasha rolling her eyes at me as Wanda gasped.

“Don’t baby her Wands.” She cooly said to the girl standing beside her. “She tripped after waking us up. She’ll be fine.” I winced as I crawled up the wall. I looked over my shoulder to see them standing in their bedroom, Natasha leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, Wanda holding one of her arms, her face twisted slightly in concern.

“Why is there blood on your leg y/n?” I heard a small whisper before i glanced down at my leg and winced seeing blood streaming from the gunshot wound, the stitches must have opened when i fell.

“It-it’s nothing…” I muttered and tried to mask my limp to make my way back to my room but was stopped by a red wisp. I glanced back over my shoulder to see Wanda stalking towards me, I flinched out of habit when she got to me. She turned me around by grabbing both my shoulders and a gasp echoed around the hallway when she saw the red gauze, the blood trickling down my leg.

“Y/n! It’s clearly not nothing!” I took a glance up at her and almost immediately melted when I saw the look of pure fear and care in her eyes but pulled myself together. “It is! I’ll just stitch it up and then clean up my mess.”

“Baby you’re not stitching anything up. You and I are heading down to see Bruce to get you checked over.” I froze and turned properly to face her. “Since when do you care?!” I snapped making her flinch slightly before she closed her eyes and took a deep breath before looking back at me. “I’ve always cared love. I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to show you it but I can’t let you do this on your own.” I sucked in my breath and closed my eyes.

“I didn’t do it… Tony wasn’t paying attention and I had to jump in front of him. He knocked the switch over, I’m sorry… i’m sorry…” I could feel my chest tighten and i tried to push Wanda’s arms off me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

Wanda simply pulled me closer in her arms and slid down the wall, pulling my head to lay flat against her chest so I could hear her heartbeat. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn’t notice Natasha crouching down in front of me or feel her hands rubbing my back until my chest started to loosen and the knot in my throat slowly released, i gasped in breaths which merely just cause me to sob harder due to the broken ribs. “Baby breath. Take a deep breath. Come on baby. Follow my breathing okay?”

I could feel myself calm down slightly as I listened to Wanda’s heart beat, feeling her fingers massaging my scalp while Natasha drew shapes on my back lightly. My eyes slowly drooped as my fingers tangled into her sleep shirt. “No baby. You can’t sleep yet. Stay with us okay?” I groaned sleepily and fluttered my eyes open to look up at her with a slight pout on my face. “I’m sleepy…” I muttered sniffling slightly.

“I know sweet girl but Wanda is right. I’m going to pick you up and we’re gonna bring you down to Bruce okay?” Natasha murmured shifting me into her arms, making me look up at her. I smiled sleepily before breaking into a coughing fit. “I feel gross…” I felt a cool hand on my forehead before Wanda cooed. “Oh darling you’ve got a fever… you’re sick too…”

“You look like me Natty…” I mumbled staring at her green eyes. “I wish you could be my mama… but you don’t like me… i’m sorry for whatever i did…”

“Darling… you did nothing wrong and I’m so sorry I ever made you feel like you did… but i’m here now okay?” She said placing me on the bed, Bruce walking up next to us. I smiled slightly up at her giggling slightly. “Okay mama…” I muttered, to out of it to even realize what i had said.

Wanda’s POV

Both Natasha and i struggled to understand why a 13 year old needed to be on the team. She’s way too young. We haven’t treated her the best, hoping she would quit. Keep her safe. That was until today.

When i heard the bang on the floor in the hallway, i got up and opened the door leaning into Natasha. I watched y/n scramble to get up and i saw the blood trickling down from a bandage wrapped around her leg. I gasped, instantly frowning when Natasha scoffed.

Honestly the next few minutes were a haze, the next thing I knew Nat had a fever hazed y/n in her arms and I was checking her forehead. “Oh darling you’ve got a fever… you’re sick too…”

“You look like me Natty…” Y/n mumbled slightly staring up at the woman. “I wish you could be my mama… but you don’t like me…” My heart shattered at that, we had been so awful to this little girl that she thought we didn’t like her. Her little pout breaking my heart more. “I’m sorry for whatever i did…”

“Darling… you did nothing wrong and I’m so sorry I ever made you feel like you did… but i’m here now okay?” Natasha said through her tears as she brushed the hair out of y/n’s face. “Okay mama…” She mumbled before she fell asleep. Bruce quickly shuffled us out of the room. Natasha plopped down in a chair in the waiting room with wide eyes filled with tears. “Natty?”

“She called me mama… she- god i messed up Wandz… she’s so young… she doesn’t deserve any of this…” Natasha broke down, i quickly pulled her into my arms as she buried her face into the crook of my neck.

“We’ll talk to her when she’s more awake… for now shen she gets out of surgery she’s going to need us to support her… she’s got a gunshot wound to her leg, some broken ribs, a concussion and a nasty flu.” Natasha stiffened. “She got shot… how did none of us notice?” I muttered as Natasha sat up slightly and cupped my cheeks. “We were stupid but we’ll do better Wandz.”

We both looked up when the door opened. “She’s fine. She’s awake and still a little loopy.” Bruce said with a small smile. “She called me Brucey.” He chuckled slightly. “She’s sleepy but asking for her ‘guardian angels’ by the way.”

We all let out a soft chuckle and Nat and I made our way into the room to see y/n trying to rip the IV out of her arm. “No baby…” I mumbled taking her hands into mine. “You need to keep them in for now okay?” I looked at her face and her big green eyes looked up at me, brimmed with tears.

“I don’t like it…” She mumbled. I cooed kissing her knuckles gently. “I know but it’ll help you get better okay?” A small whimper came out of her mouth before she turned to Natasha.

“Mama… hi…” She giggled sleepily up at Natasha who smiled softly and she brushed her fingers over the girls cheek bone. “Hi detka… you aren’t going to remember any of this tomorrow huh? Well i’ll soak it in while i can hmm?” She asked softly sitting next to the girl.

“Mama don’t leave…” Natasha chuckled.

“I’m not detka…” Y/n scooted over slightly looking up at Nat with the biggest puppy dog eyes I had ever seen. “Mama cuddle…?” Natasha hesitated, making the girls eyes water. “Mama…?”

Natasha instantly laid down next to the girl and pulled her small frame into her arms petting down the auburn hair. “Mamas here detka…” I sat down beside the two of them and started playing with her hair. She glanced up at me and smiled sleepily. “Hi momma…” She mumbled burying into my hand.

“Hi malyshka. It’s time to go back to sleep for a little okay?” She nodded a little and buried into Natasha, arms wrapping around mine. I chuckled and looked at Nat who stared at the girl in her arms, her eyes filled with love.

“Goodnight Detka. I love you.”

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Lost Boys Sick!Mate Headcanon

(For whoever requested a Sick Mate Headcanon for the Lost Boys, I hope you enjoy this)

David

•David wants to change you immediately

•He hates seeing you sick, miserable or in any kind of pain and while most people wouldn’t believe David can be sympathetic, for you he very much is

•He has been trying to get you to turn for a long time and while this is a convenient way of convincing you, he really just wants you to get better

•David hasn’t been sick in…several hundred years. He’s the oldest out of the whole pack and so he remembers sickness the least of all of them, the only thing he can relate it to is not feeding for a long amount of time and he knows how painful that gets to be

•He would lay with you in the bed in the cave, whether you live with them in the cave yet or not, that is where you will be staying and you have no choice, he won’t let you be alone while you’re ill

•He often gives you massages whenever your muscles are achy, he knows how good it makes you feel and it makes him feel like he’s able to do something to help you, even if it’s just to relieve a small bit of your discomfort

•He’ll definitely make Marko go out to get you food, though he doesn’t know what kind of food since you keep insisting that you aren’t hungry

•David wants to care for you, he just has no clue how and if you weren’t sick as a dog, it might even be adorable how frazzled he is

Overall Grade of Care: 4/10

Dwayne

•Dwayne would be a major worrier every single time you get sick

•While he doesn’t remember what it’s like to personally be sick, he does remember his younger sister being sick when he was human and dying of a fever, so every time you’re even remotely warm he attempts to put you in an ice bath

•When you are bed ridden he is sure to make you stay in the cave, he’s always by your side and will often sit and read to you until you drift off to sleep

•He tries to keep you fed as much as you’ll allow with your upset stomach and he gives you plenty of water, to the point you wonder if vampires can survive being waterboarded cause you’re ready to kill him

•Dwayne is very much like David, he doesn’t know how to take care of a human that’s sick and he doesn’t understand that sometimes you just need to let an illness run it’s course

•Eventually he would buy some medicine at the store (Marko’s recommendation) and give it to you. He’s completely stunned by how quickly you finally fall asleep with how badly you’ve been coughing but the medicine works

Overall Grade of Care: 5.5/10

Paul

•Paul is chill when you get sick, he knows most of the time it’s just a little cold

•He gives you a few shots of whiskey and smokes a joint with you until you pass out, most of the time you wake up feeling better

•When you don’t however, he becomes frantic

•He will run around like a human having a manic episode. He makes sure you’re as comfortable as you can be, and if you’re not he goes to the store and buys more pillows and softer blankets. Hell get you new pajamas and more boxes of tissues than you’ll ever use

•He cleans the entire area you’re in as best he can in a cave, trying to get rid of germs that could make you sick all over again. It would be funny if you didn’t want to strangle him for moving so supernaturally fast that he makes you even more dizzy which makes your stuffy head hurt more

•He tries not to bother you too much, getting you to sleep as much as he can because apparently humans only heal when they’re sleeping so you need to sleep until you feel better

•He doesn’t quite understand that there’s a limit to how much NyQuil you can take

•Paul means well and he wants to help, he just goes too far with it most of the time

Overall Grade of Care: 7/10

Marko

•Marko is probably the best of the boys to have taking care of you when you’re ill

•He gets you medicine immediately and actually reads the instructions to give you the correct dosage

•He ensures you are comfortable in the bed, making sure to keep the blankets on when you’re cold and removing them if and when your fever gets too high

•When you’re too warm, which seems to be most of the time, he will strip to his boxers and crawl into bed with you, his cold skin making you feel better almost instantly

•He goes to the store and gets you whatever you want but also picks some things for you to make you feel better. He gets you your favorite tea bags to make you hot tea, the Chamomile helping to calm you and be able to sleep better, he also gets you some cans of coke to sip on when your stomach is upset

•He makes you soup everyday to keep you eating, even if you cant hold too much down, it’s not too heavy on your stomach

•Marko will also rent movies (and by rent I mean take them from Max’s store when he’s not looking) to bring back for you two to watch together to keep you entertained

•Marko was a human not too long ago, Paul being the only one younger than him, and he remembers very well how to take care of sick people, he is very good at making sure you get well as quickly as you can

Overall Grade of Care: 9.5/10

Lost Boys Masterlist

[kentofic]

a bite-sized nanami x f!reader sickfic as i recover from a cold of my own 💖 suggestive but no smut

You give a hearty sniffle, the covers tucked up to your chin as you huddle under the warm blanket, shivering. You sigh. You hate being sick. You’ve been laid up for the past day with a fever, stuffy nose, and scratchy throat. There’s no end in sight yet—but, to your luck, your sweet husband has stayed home to play nurse for you. And you do love being taken care of by him.

“Kento,” you call out, your voice hoarse, cracking around the edges. You cringe at the sound.

You don’t see how Kento halts in the next room, warmth pooling low in his stomach. You have no idea how deeply, how instantly, it affects him—the sound of your voice, pitched low and throaty like this. He reminds himself for the hundredth time that you need rest, that he has no right to jump your bones when you’re sick and exhausted. No matter how infuriatingly sexy you sound. He clears his throat, trying to gather himself.

“Yes, darling?” you hear from the living room. His tone betrays nothing.

“Can you bring me some water please? I’m all out.”

“Sure, be right there.”

You stare at the ceiling, slightly dizzy, as your husband bustles about in the kitchen. Soon he’s by your bedside with a glass of cool water, a small plate, an apple, and a paring knife.

He guides the glass into your hands, watching approvingly as you take a long sip. Then he picks up the apple and the knife and begins peeling it. You watch him with a smile, your cheeks and lips flushed rosy with fever.

“How did I ever deserve such an attentive husband,” you murmur, your voice like warm gravel. Kento’s hands falter for just a second. He clears his throat and resumes cutting small slices of the fruit. He feels the beginnings of a flush creeping up the back of his neck.

“Hush. You know I love taking care of you.”

Your chuckle is like a soft burble of water, punctuated at the end by a sniff. Kento holds a piece of apple up to your mouth, which you dutifully open for him. He pokes the piece between your lips, his thumb grazing your bottom lip as he withdraws his hand.

“Mm, tastes good,” you hum, low and soft, around the mouthful of fruit. The sound goes straight to Kento’s groin, and he coughs to dislodge the breath that catches in his throat. You peer up at him, concerned.

“You’re not getting sick too, are you?”

“I’m fine,” he assures you, smoothing your hair from your forehead. You catch his wrist and tug, trying to pull him closer, even weak as you are in this state. He leans forward to humor you. You scrutinize him with eyes soft and glassy from fever.

“You’re flushed, Kento. Are you sure you don’t have a fever?” you worry, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead. He lets out a soft sigh at the contact, his eyes fluttering for a moment.

“I’m not sick, sweetheart. Just guilty of loving my wife too much,” Kento murmurs. He pulls your hand from his forehead to place a soft kiss to your palm. You shudder at the tender brush of his lips on your skin, made extra sensitive from fatigue and fever.

“Do you love her enough to give her a kiss, even though she’s full of germs?” you wheedle, eyes crinkling at the edges as you smile at him. He chuckles as he laces his fingers with yours.

“I love her enough to give her much more than a kiss,” he smirks. You shiver again, this time not from fever, and you clench your thighs together as Nanami traces the softness of your bottom lip with his thumb. You let out a breathy sigh as he noses into your cheek before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“But, as enticing as you are, you need your rest, love.”

You pout, letting out a disappointed sound as Kento pulls back. His gaze is soft but firm.

“Don’t whine. Get well first, then I’ll lavish you with all my saved up affection. I promise,” he says, his voice hushed, as he presses a final kiss to the top of your head.

You chew your lip before giving him a reluctant nod. You snuggle back under the covers, your eyes slipping shut. You’re filled with the determination to heal now, if you’re to get what you want out of your husband.

Kento watches you as your breathing evens out, your brow relaxing as a feverish sleep pulls you under once again. He sits there for a while, just admiring you—the way your hair splays out on the pillow, your warm cheek smushed so cutely against it, your lips parted as a soft, sleepy moan escapes you.

Kento stands suddenly. He makes a beeline for the bathroom, his pants tight. He chastises himself as he swallows the urge to rip off your blankets and keep you warm another way.

[wosoragebaiter69]

a bad batch

barça femeni x teen!reader

request: here

A/N: do you guys ever wonder what showers in the diff teams lockerooms look like? is it just a big room with showers and they’re all naked together or is there cubicals? if anyone knows please enlighten me

TW: Vomit, illness, swearing

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It wasn’t your fault really, it was whoever decided that the KFC given to you was actually safe to eat. Don’t they have quality managers for that? Despite it literally having feathers on it still, it was pretty meh. Not even enjoyable chicken.

That’s how you find yourself hunched over a toilet bowl, throwing up all contents of your stomach and more. You’re sweating but cold, you definitely know you have a fever or sorts but you’re uncertain how bad.

Worse thing is, training was supposed to start in 5 minutes. No way you were getting there now, not like this.

You shoot a quick message off to Jona explaining you don’t feel well and it’s probably something you ate. He replies quickly saying the usual of taking off however long is needed to get back to full recovery.

What’s the one thing you don’t consider in all this? You’re very overprotective teammates.

You end up puking more, and passing out on the bathroom floor due to exhaustion, the cool tiles feeling magical against the heat your body radiates.

- - - - -

You’re awoken by harsh knocks on your door. Your head hurts, your throat is scratchy, you’re dizzy and delusional, you feel like shit.

You stumble toward the door, opening it to see Frido and Keira.

“Jesus.” The Englishwoman says before pressing a firm hand and against your ablaze skin.

“Jona told us you said it was a light sickness? This is bad.” She says, rushing inside with the blonde Swede behind her. You were teammates with Frido on a national level as well so she took on more of a role while you settled in Barcelona.

“Come on, you shouldn’t be standing älskling (darling). Sit down, come.” She rests her hand on your back guiding you to the couch to sit down.

“Have you eaten?” She wipes away the sweaty hair away from your forehead.

“No.” You whisper softly.

“Ok, we’ll get you to eat and then into a bath ok? If we don’t get this fever down we might have to take you to a hospital.” The words compute in your mind, you don’t want a hospital. You just have to follow what the older 2 say and you’ll be fine. That’s what you tell yourself at least.

- - - - -

After eating a couple spoons of chicken broth Keira gave you, you’re taken to the bathroom and stripped into your sports bra and bike pants.

“Get in the water älskling, you’ll feel better I promise.” Frido kisses the side of your head, helping you in the bath.

It’s cold, and you do not like it.

“Frido, cold.” You whimper, trying to get out.

“I know but you have to stay. This is needed, trust me?” Her heart breaks at the sight of you in so much discomfort. But she knows it’s for the better.

You cry, along with everything else you’re feeling now, you’re cold and not allowed to move. Keira starts to stroke through your hair whispering soft words of affirmation.

“Shh bub, stop crying. You’re ok, it’s all gonna be ok.” She looks over to her teammate who is measuring your fever.

“It’s still a bit high, 37.8. Just a little longer älskling, then you can go to sleep does that sound ok to you?” You can’t even recognise her statement, only focusing on the cold your body feels.

After a couple more minutes, the girls decide you’ve had enough time to cool down so they change you into fresh pajamas, putting you to sleep in your own room before coming up with ways to hopefully get you to feel better.

- - - - -

When you wake up again a couple hours later, you feel even worse. Every body part aches and you feel the need to throw up again. So, you muster up all the energy you have and make a bee-line to the toilet.

Luckily making it in time, you spill more contents of your stomach. Someone has tied your hair back but you can’t will yourself to move.

“Hey, relax.” The accented voice says. You do as told and fall into Caroline. When did she get here? But you do as told, not wanting to feel this way any longer.

“Feel like shit.” You mumble, exhausted.

“I know, Marta and Ingrid are also here now. We will check your temperature soon ok? Right now you just need to not stress and stay here alright?” She runs her fingers up and down the sides of your torso until Ingrid comes in.

“I’ve got the thermometer. Could you open your mouth for me?” You open it without question, and she visibly cringes at the reading when she takes a look at it.

“This is not good, this isn’t normal. Look.” She shows it to her national teammate. Who also cringes.

“Tell the others to pack her stuff, get Frido here. Tell her the temperature and we need to go to the hospital.” This is when you start to worry, even in your delirious state.

There’s commotion outside the walls of your bathroom but you can’t will yourself to care, slumped against Caro hoping you’ll feel better soon.

Frido rushes inside, picking you up off the floor. She rushes to the car and gets in the backseat. In the front is Keira and Ingrid, in another car is presumably the other couple.

- - - - -

Arriving at the emergency department, you’re immediately taken to a private room where they hook you up to machines and an IV. You try to fight them, feeling too overwhelmed by the situation but Frido takes the chance to hold your hand in hopes of calming you down.

“Deep breaths älskling, it’s not too long before they’re gone.” Her words are a comfort to your ears, and she’s right because the doctors leave soon after that.

You look down at the little thermometer on your finger, showing the temperature of your skin. 41.5°.

You cringe like all the other girls who had seen it previously. Despite your hatred for hospitals, you’re happy because it means that the pain should go away sooner.

Frido has been on the phone for a bit, and she walks over to you.

“Magda wants to speak with you.” She smiles lightly, and you take the phone holding it against your ear.

“Hi Magda.” You say, voice an octave higher than usual.

“Hey little one, heard you weren’t feeling too great. Are the girls treating you right?” You hum.

“Yeah, they’re good.” She seems content with the answer.

“Ok good, we need you healthy for the next camp. Can’t have the mini star gone.” You laugh slightly at the given nickname.

“Alright pass me back to Frido, stay well and don’t do anything stupid. Please.” She begs over-dramatically.

“Come on, I’m not that bad!” You laugh, even if it made your stomach slightly hurt.

“Sure, sure. Talk to you later little one.”

“Bye Mags.” You pass it back to the older Swede and the door to your room opens revealing Mapi and Alexia.

Alexia walks over to you, concern visible between her brows. Mapi heads straight to Ingrid. (Not a surprise).

“You don’t look well at all. I’m not sure how you managed to text Jona.” You shrug, she takes a long breath.

“We’ll talk about saying how sick you actually are later, for now you should get some rest. We’ll be here when you wake up.” You do as told, quickly falling asleep without fight.

- - - - -

Over the coming days, the girls watch over you like hawks until they’re sure you’re better and you won’t snap in half at a slight gust of wind. It got annoying, but you couldn’t really say no when they were just trying to make it easier for you.

Whenever you threw up, cried in pain or overall didn’t want to do anything. One of the girls would be there to take any anguish you had away. No matter what, Barca isn’t just a team. But also a family.

—————————————————————————

sleekswosobsession: number 1 writer for cringe ending lines

anyways i need help from you anons, i have an english short story (800 word) narrative coming up but i need ideas.. i’m a writer not creative producer. but i do know that YOU have some ideas so please give it to me. these are the topics:

1. betrayal of trust

2. consequence of bad timing

3. Individual against society

(go wild but not too wild cuz i have to give it to my teacher)

[liillyliilly]

take me home, please? sugawara koushi x reader content; helping out a co-worker when he had a headache really makes you feel like his mom sometimes- aka pure fluff words: 1120

Just how did you end up in these situations? Likely due to who you chose to be friends with.

So as you stood in front of Sugawara’s third grade class, talking about the school library, you couldn’t help but notice the shit-eating grin Koushi had on his face. The exact same face from high school. He had a raised eyebrow, and was jutting out his bottom a little in amusement at your dialogue.

You clasp your hands together, “Does anyone have any questions.”

In the back, Sugawara raises his hand while sitting at his teacher’s desk. You rephrase your statement, “Which of you students has a question about our school library?”

The bug-eyed seven and eight year olds looked at each other for a moment, then just blankly stared back at you.

You slowly nod, embracing the awkwardness. As the librarian at Ohya Elementary School, you weren’t really ever in charge of teaching lessons, you just talked to students about books when they would come for library time during the week. But Sugawara, your high school friend, now co-worker, had asked- no, practically begged- you to come and teach his students about all it takes to be a librarian.

Sugawara stood up, clapping his hands three times and his students copied the motion.

“Alrighty, Rose class, we’re on lunch duty today, go wash up. Make sure to thank our lovely librarian for teaching us a little bit about her job.”

The littles ran up to you, forming a single file line. One would bow, before rushing out the classroom to wash up. You kept repeating small slight bows with just your head. After 20 nods of your head, you felt a little dizzy, but could manage.

“Koushi, if you surprise me with having to talk to your students again, I won’t hesitate to complain to the administration. You’re the teacher, you’re the one who's supposed to teach.” You sit down on one of the little desks, your feet comfortably reaching the floor due to the lack of height to the small table.

Sugawara tucks his hands into his pockets, shrugging. He sits down next to you, on a separate desk, stretching his legs out across the rainbow carpet below your feet.

“I like it when you teach though, your eyes get that mix of fear and excitement.” He chuckles.

“Because your kids are freaking scary!” You whisper-yell, throwing a hand up in exasperation. “Ever seen a seven year old not act like an ankle biter? I don’t think so.”

You shiver a little, thinking about the grubby fingers. But all the students made up for the childish grossness they carried when they would hold a book up to you so you could check it out for them. The way they’d say thank you for helping them find a good book to read, or even when they’d ask to hold your hand when walking into the far back corner of your library. Those were the moments that made your job worth it in the end.

“Still, thank you for teaching a lesson. My headache is still pounding.” Sugawara holds a hand up to his temple, rubbing it in circles.

Even though it had been a shock when Sugawara poked his head into your office a few hours ago, you accepted his request fairly quickly. Because you could see the clenched jaw and squinted eyes he had in reaction to the brightness in your office.

“Mrs. Ito is going to take your class for their lunch duties yeah?” You ask, standing up from the table. Sugawara had asked the fellow third grade teacher to watch his kids for the rest of the day so he could go home to rest up. Mrs. Ito was a very no-nonsense woman, she would run his class like the army, but hopefully tomorrow Sugawara would be able to have an easier day.

You lean forward in front of Sugawara, place a hand on his forehead, and it burns. “Koushi, you’re running a fever!”

You keep your hand on his forehead, using your other hand to cup the back of his neck to tilt his face up to you a little. Then his neck starts to heat up under your fingers.

“Your neck is boiling, are you having a heat flash?” You lean closer.

Sugawara chokes on his saliva slightly, trying to put some space between his face and yours. The smell of your floral perfume, the soft touch of your hands, the criminally adorable nametag you had on your white cardigan, not to mention the baby blue dress you had on. It was all too overwhelming for him.

Clearly the blush was misinterpreted by you, which gave Sugawara some leeway. He put his hands on your hips and stood up, twisting you around so your calves hit the back of the small desk.

“I just need to get home, I think.” Sugawara loosens his hold on you, but keeps his hands hovering around you. Until you shake your head in understanding and slide out from between him and the desk.

“Are you good to drive home?” You grab your purse from the coat hook near the entrance of the class and pull it over your shoulder.

Sugawara sighs a little, putting on his best act to win over your pity. “I don’t think I’ll be able to.”

You frown, sad for Sugawara. He continues putting on his best portrayal of sickness- even though his headache was only a mild migrane and not one that required a trip to the hospital.

He pushes a little further into your friendship with him when he asks, "Take me home, please?"

It had become habit for him now, to request little things from you. He hoped that somewhere along the way, that his requests would endear you to him. Making you like him more and more, even if it was just out of friendly obligation sometimes.

“Ah, well, I can drive you then. Let’s go.” You always found yourself taking care of Sugawara one way or another, and this was just one of the ways you expressed your friendship and kindness for him.

Sugawara follows you to your car like a puppy.

Mrs. Ito has Rose class scooping up rice and putting it onto their peers plates. When she pauses to have the kids swap jobs, she gets a glimpse of you opening the car door for Sugawara through the window. Your head was down and focused on unlocking the vehicle.

Sugawara had his head in his hand, looking at you lovingly as he leaned against your car. Mrs. Ito almost, but didn’t, smile at the way her fellow third grade teacher was acting so twitterpated for the school librarian.

[ifimdreaming]

Sick

Luke Hughes x Reader // Blurb

a/n: I’m sick rn so I wrote this about luke taking care of a sick reader and cuddling together.

-

It’s hard to describe the feeling of bliss that covers you as his hand is gently rubbing your back. Reassurance that he’s not going anywhere is evident in every soft stroke against your skin.

You weren’t used to someone caring so much. You weren’t used to anyone devoting their time to you or caring to help you feel so loved and protected.

You needed that. You needed him by your side. You had spent all morning trying to find the strength to get over your illness but you were useless on your own.

You finally decided to call him from the floor of your bathroom and urge him to come over which he was more than willing to do.

And you felt so guilty but you knew you needed him.

Lukes eyes stay fixed on you as you lay beside each other in your bed, although your eyes are closed as you lay with a towel across your forehead, barely dressed and fighting the worst flu you’ve ever experienced.

But that didn’t stop your boyfriend from sticking as close by your side as humanly possible. Including holding your hair while you were throwing up and peeling your body off of the bathroom floor. helping you take a shower and then ultimately getting you in bed with medication, food, and water in your system. Making sure you were all taken care of.

Your head was still so dizzy you could hardly focus on anything besides for how badly you felt in this moment. Lukes soothing voice occasionally checking in on your condition keeping you as sane as you possibly could be

“Has the medicine started kicking in yet?” He asks in a whisper as he adjusts himself beside you, reaching for the blanket to cover your shivering body. He brings his hand up to your face to move your hair away from your eyes, unaware if you are even still awake to acknowledge his question.

“Mhm” you hum reluctantly, not really sure if what you’re saying is true considering you’re still fevered but feeling the effects of the night time cold medicine making you extremely drowsy.

“Good baby. Why don’t you go to sleep now.” luke says to you again reassuringly making sure you know you don’t have to fight yourself to stay awake.

You knew he’d stay. You knew he’d take of you. But you needed to be sure.

“Please say you’ll stay” you say to him, your muffled voice barely audible, not feeling strong enough to open your mouth very much to speak clearer.

“Of course I’ll stay. I’m not going anywhere baby. Go to sleep” he says with a sweet tone that fills you with comfort as he moves himself impossibly closer to you.

He reaches his hand to stroke your face and places gentle kisses on your cheeks and down your neck, causing you to let out a soft giggle.

You open your eyes to see his furrowed brows and concerned eyes let up as he sees you smiling back at him. You lean up to place a kiss on his lips. You couldn’t help it.

Luke returns the favour and passionately kisses you back, his hand shooting up to stroke your hair as he pulls you into him.

You pull away gently, “thank you” you say with a small smile, “for taking care of me” you add.

“I love you.” He says and follows your lead as you pull the covers over both of your bodies, getting more comfortable in bed.

You turn your body so your back is flesh against his bare chest, scooting your butt into him and letting him spoon you with his arm draped around you, holding you close to him.

Luke leans his face into your neck and kisses you again softly

“I’m right here baby. Always” he whispers to your ear knowing how much it really means to you to hear that.

Just his presence alone is enough to make you feel so much more cared for than you ever could’ve imagined.

As you lay in silence together you can feel his heartbeat against your back and the subtle rhythmic thump is enough to finally ease you into a peaceful sleep.

-

-

[taleeater]

In With the Rain [Rewritten]

I didn't like how this turned out the first time so I edited it to make it softer and more in character. :] <3

TMNT Raphael x Reader

Pronouns: Gender Neutral

Warnings: illness, fluff, domestic, non-sexual caretaking

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Raphael was waiting for you to get home from work in your apartment. But you’re late. It’s been raining all evening, and he got soaked on his way over. Raph made sure to dry off quickly with a discarded blanket when he let himself inside through your window, so he wouldn’t get your floor wet.

An hour goes by. The cop show he’s watching is getting boring and he wonders if maybe you stopped for groceries on the way home. 

Another half an hour passes, and he’s anxiously checking his phone. He considers going out to look for you, when the lock on your door turns. He stands to attention, and when it’s you who walks through the door, he slumps with relief.

“Where have you been?” He says casually from the couch. You don’t respond, and he notices something is off. You’re swaying in place by the door, struggling to slowly shed your coat off. 

You woke up with a scratchy feeling in your throat this morning. Work ran late. You’d forgotten an umbrella. And your hair is dripping wet. 

It’s been a long day. 

You suddenly slump forward and brace a hand against the wall, hit with a dizzy spell, and Raph immediately rushes to your side at the door. His hands are hovering over you, not sure what you need. 

“Babe?”

You’re panting hard. Raphael wonders if you ran home for some reason and gets worried. He looks around you for any indication as to why you were late and sees no shopping bags to help with. He leaned his head down to try and look into your eyes, trying to get your attention. But he sees your hazy red rimmed gaze and guesses you weren’t feeling very good. Were you okay...? 

“(Y/n), are you sick?”

You lifted your head slowly when you heard his voice, barely registering it as your head swam. Raph held your cheek in his palm and brushed some wet strands of hair out of your face, and felt the scorching heat under your skin. 

You groan tiredly and shut your eyes tight against the light of your apartment. Legs shaking and unsteady, you leaned your weight into Raphael’s offered hand.

“That’s some fever you got… Hey. Let’s get you into bed, okay?” Raph spoke to you softly in his husky voice. You swallowed dryly and barely managed a slight nod, still not opening your eyes. 

Raph took the lead, wrapping an arm around your waist and slowly led you down the hall towards your bedroom. Your legs felt like jelly. The long day running around at work that ran late, the dizzying trudge home through the biting cold rain, you tried to focus on the sight of your door at the end of the hallway but your vision swam with every trembling step. You only managed to get half way before your legs gave out from under you.

“Woah!! Hey, hey, hey, I got you.” Raph was quick to hold you up and support your weight. After some shifting he pulled you close and scooped you up off the floor, carrying you the rest of the way to your room. 

He carefully sat you down on the edge of your bed, watching carefully as you swayed in place trying to stay upright. Your heavy lidded eyes were trained on him as he bent down to pull off your sopping wet shoes and socks.

“....sorry…” You mumbled quietly, exhaling a deep shuddering breath. 

“Don’t be. I gotcha.” Raphael looked at you softly. His brow ridges knit together in concern. 

He reached up and gently pressed a kiss to your heated forehead, making you shudder a sigh. His fingers traced your sides and found the edges of your sweater and shirt.

“Arms up.” He muttered, slowly pulling off the damp fabric. Once it was pulled off, you slumped back onto your bed, panting lightly. He did the same with removing your soggy pants. After the wet fabric was removed, he rushed to your bathroom to retrieve a proper towel and hang up the clothes to dry.

When he returned only a minute later, you were starting to doze quietly on your bed. He snorted at you fondly.

Raph wasn’t always the best at being gentle. But he did his best to dry out your hair and slid on some soft pajamas while you muttered tiredly. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll send your boss a text and ask April to bring us groceries tomorrow.” He crawled up on the bed over you after discarding the towel. “You want some medicine or somethin?”

You made an adorable sour face, scrunching up your nose at the proposition. Raph chuckled. He then reached under you and scooped you up again, agilely pulling down the covers of your bed with his foot before sliding you under the comfy blankets. 

He took a moment to pull out his phone and shoot a quick message to his brothers that he would be staying over with you for a while to take care of you. Mikey immediately responded with heavy exaggerated despair that you were sick. Donnie followed up by asking if he needed to stop by and give you a check up. Leo eventually responded with confirmation that Raph would not be back in the morning, and respectfully wished you well. Raph smirked at his phone as he responded with assurances that he would tell them if you needed anything. Then he felt a small tug on his sash.

He looked over to you, your eyes shiny with fever as you pushed down the edge of your sheets and wordlessly begged him to join you.

Raph’s eyes softened as he gazed at you warmly. He couldn’t say no to you.

Tucking his phone away, he untied his belt and his mask and slipped under the covers beside you. His arm slid beneath your head and other snaked over your waist, pulling you close as you snuggled against him for warmth. Raph buried his snoot in your hair and inhaled the scent of rain, tracing your back comfortingly. 

 Raph looked out the rain pattered window as the city lights illuminated each individual droplet. Your soft, even breathing warm against his chest.

In less than a minute you were soundly asleep. Raph peeked down to check on you, taking in your flushed cheeks and pallid exhaustion. In that moment he resolved himself to take care of you. 

Raph sighed and hugged you closer to him, muttering to himself. 

“……you idiot.”

[cleo-fox]

As the Clock Strikes Midnight - Part I

Series Masterlist Chapter Summary: In which your story begins. Chapter Warnings: Off screen parental death, implied alcoholism, financial ruin, Loki being vaguely menacing in a library.

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

Once upon a time, you had a family and you were happy.

Your father was a lord with a modest estate to his name. You had enough money to live comfortably and pay your servants well, but not so much that you lost all perspective. Your parents were good, kind people who were well-liked and well-respected, and they loved you very much. Though they had been married for many, many years, they still behaved as a couple newly and madly in love. Your mother’s eyes lit up when your father walked into the room and your father looked at your mother like she was the sun and moon and all the stars combined in one dizzying and glittering person who lit up his entire world.

In the darkest part of the night, when all your tears had been spent and your heart felt as though it would never stop breaking, you wondered if it would have been better had he loved her a little less, if that would have made things easier for him in the end. It’s the sort of thought that you feel guilty having, the sort of question that you know you’re not supposed to ask—after all, some stones are better left unturned.

Your bright and glittering mother burned too brightly for this world and it seemed rather bitterly poetic that she should be taken by a fever. Her eyes shone bright as new silver coins as the sickness burned through her, her fevered mind conjuring demons and shadowy figures from the flickering firelight in her chambers. The shadows in her mind made her weep and scream so loudly that you couldn’t help but hear it, even though your father tried to shield you from the worst of it. Worse, though, was when she went very still and quiet, her rattling cough the only sign that life still lingered in her too bright eyes.

She was only sick for a fortnight, but it felt like months of pressing cool cloths against her burning brow and waiting with bated breath for relief that did not come.

She died at sunrise, leaving you alone and taking a part of your father with her.

He tried, your father. He really did. He got up and got dressed every day. He still took you on rambling strolls through the city, still took an interest in your studies, still quizzed you on history at the dinner table, still told you he loved you. But his eyes never really regained their former sparkle and his face grew hollow and just a shade too thin. He drank more—always at night after he thought you’d gone to bed. Sometimes, you would find him staring empty-eyed into the fire, like if he looked hard enough, he might catch a glimpse of your glittering mother dancing in the flames just beyond his reach.

The worst part of it was when you tried to talk about it, he insisted he was fine, even as he began to neglect the house, even as he did not hire replacements for the servants who had begun to leave. You suspected—but could not say for certain—that if you were to look at the house’s accounts, you would find a good deal of red in the ledger. He grew weaker and thinner, like he was trying with all of his might to just disappear.

Your father died like your mother—in the quiet of the night before you could say goodbye.

But your problems were only just beginning. 

You hadn’t expected them to bring you before the king’s steward, but that is where they take you when you arrive at the palace. The palace as a whole is light and airy and bright, but Fritjof’s office feels like a dungeon—largely because of the man himself. Fritjof is a thin and reedy man who would seem less imposing and severe if he were carved from granite. He sits at his desk as he looks you over, his mouth drawn into a thin hard line like you've already disappointed him.

“Do you know why you’re here, girl?” You don’t know it yet, but this greeting is a rather apt example of what your entire relationship with Fritjof will be: cold, distant, and abrupt.

You’re not sure if you should look him in the eye—he seems like the sort of man who would interpret a direct gaze as a sign of impertinence while simultaneously demanding it as a sign of respect. There is no winning with that sort of man—you’re young, but you know this.

Ultimately, though, you decide to look him in the eye. Not for him, but for yourself—it at least gives you the illusion that you’re somewhat in control. It’s a comforting illusion, even if it is a lie.

You clear your throat. “My father’s debts, sir.”

He sniffs slightly and it’s somehow dismissive, like you’d said the wrong thing and he’d expected that. “No.” He picks up a quill and makes a careful note on one of the papers sitting in front of him. “You are here,” he says as he writes, “because of the Allfather’s generosity.” He looks up, fixing you with a stern gaze. “You will do well to remember that.”

“Yes, sir,” you say.

He returns to his writing. “You are not of age and you have no family to take you in.”

This is a fact that you’ve become quite well acquainted with, but you are still surprised by how painful it is to hear Fritjof say.

“The Allfather has settled your father’s debts and you are now a ward in the employ of the crown. You will take no wage until such a time that your debt to the crown has been repaid. You have ceded all claims to your title and any property of significant value.”

He sets his quill down and looks up, his expression devoid of any warmth. “You are a servant, you are indebted to the crown, and you will remember your rightful place at all times. I do not tolerate foolishness, laziness, impertinence, or stupidity. Do I make myself clear?”

You swallow, your fingernails digging hard into the palms of your hands, any hope of finding kindness at the palace well and truly extinguished. “Yes, sir.”

Fritjof stares at you for a moment longer and you get the sense that he’s trying to decide whether you’re truly clever enough to have answered his question. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from squirming under his gaze. Finally, he clears his throat.

“You will work in the kitchens. Grete will see to your training. You are dismissed.”

You don’t really know where the kitchens are or who Grete is, but you exit as quickly as possible, desperate to leave Fritjof and his icy gaze well and far behind you.

Years pass and you come of age in the punishing pace of the palace kitchens.

You are an average worker, precise and methodical, but not exemplary or incompetent enough to draw much attention. You like it this way—the less conspicuous you are, the less likely that you’ll stumble into Fritjof’s crosshairs. While Fritjof spends very little time in the kitchens, his general presence in the palace has the same effect as an icy draft on a guttering fire. He doesn’t exactly seem to like anyone in particular, but it feels like he reserves a particular kind of disdain for you especially. You’re not entirely sure why—it’s not as if you’ve done anything other than simply exist in front of the man—but you try not to think on it much. At some point, you mention it to Grete and she laughs.

“That man has never smiled a day in his life,” she says. “His soul’s made of vinegar. Keep your head down and pay him no mind.”

You laugh, but you still can’t quite shake the feeling.

Grete is something like a friend, you suppose. She’s around your age and prone to gossip, but she’s pleasant enough. She makes an effort to include you in her small group of friends—Marit, Solvi, Lise, and Ylva. It’s not quite the same as your life before, but you have something that resembles a social life, which is more than you expected given Fritjof’s icy reception.

The head cook, Anja, also turns out to be something of a blessing. While the details of your current situation have left you feeling a little wary about trusting anyone, Anja proves to be the exception to that rule. She’s not exactly a warm person, but when she finds you crying in the pantry one night not long after you first arrive at the palace, she sits you down in front of the fire and fixes you a mug of warm milk.

“I’m not one much for sentiment,” she says gruffly as she hands you the mug.

You tense in anticipation of the lecture you’re certain is coming.

“But losing both your parents in such a short time, that’s a heartache I understand.”

You don’t really know what to say to that, so you nod and take a careful sip from your mug.

“I won’t tell you it gets easier,” she says, “but the pain dulls after a while. It’ll become an ache you can live with.”

Anja is quiet for a long time as you sip at your milk, but it’s not an uncomfortable quiet. “You’re a smart girl,” she says eventually. “This—” she gestures broadly at the kitchen, “—this is just a short season in your life. You won’t be a ward of the crown forever.”

It’s the first time that anyone has said anything like that to you, the first time that your debt has felt like anything other than an immovable and immutable obstacle. It’s a hope that feels practical and you feel something lighten in your spirit. 

You blink away more tears and Anja pretends she doesn’t see. “Thank you,” you say.

Anja pats your shoulder as she stands. “Wash the cup before you go to bed.”

For the most part, you keep your head down and focus on your work, dreaming about the day your debt is repaid and you can leave the palace behind.

Though you’re curious about your outstanding balance, you decide that you cannot ask Fritjof about it for a while yet. While Fritjof’s general unpleasantness and seeming dislike of you is a motivating factor, the main reason is because the amount you owe is large enough that it doesn't seem particularly prudent to check until enough time has passed for your work to start to make a difference.

So, you wait and work.

It’s many years after your arrival that you finally drum up the courage to knock on Fritjof’s office door. Though you are now a woman grown, you can’t help but feel like you did on that first day: wide-eyed and terrified, your fingernails digging into the palms of your hands in an effort to maintain your composure. Even though you’ve never asked him about this before, Fritjof still looks annoyed as he hauls out his ledger, licking his index finger as he flips through the pages.

Your knees are shaking when he finally slides the ledger across his desk for you to inspect. You suck in an uncertain breath while your eyes scan across the page until you find your name.

And there in Fritjof’s precise script is a horrible truth: your balance owed has barely moved at all.

You have worked until your body ached, forgone sleep and many other comforts, and it all amounts to a raindrop in the ocean. At this rate, you will be an old woman by the time it is paid off in full.

You have years of practice holding back tears, but this creeping sense of despair and the lump in your throat are both new. You feel as though you’ve lost something important and after a moment, it occurs to you that the feeling you’ve lost is hope.

“Will that be all?” Fritjof says gruffly.

You jolt. “Yes. Thank you, sir.”

You only allow yourself to weep later that evening under the cover of darkness.

But despite that loss, this is the year that everything begins to change, though you won’t know that until much later.

You spend the first week after Fritjof’s revelation walking around in a dazed fog. You eat little and sleep as soon as your work ends in the evening, clinging to what scant comfort your dreams are able to provide. But from that consuming fog of hopelessness emerges a strange kind of freedom. It’s not exactly apathy so much as it is perspective—suddenly, the little things that bothered you seem pointless, arbitrary rules that kept you in line feel less consequential. Does it truly matter if you sneak an extra pastry into the pocket of your apron when so many more years of backbreaking work lay ahead of you?

It’s this change in perspective that motivates you to begin visiting the palace library.

Reading is a pleasure that was taken from you when you came to the palace. You had managed to keep four favorites from your parents’ library, but you have read them so many times over that it is difficult to enjoy them in the same way that you had before. With all of your wages going toward your debt, you have no money to buy books of your own, not even the cheap paperbacks they sell in the marketplace. From time to time, you might be able to arrange a trade with one of the other servants—bartering an extra shift for a borrowed book—but your reading interests and theirs did not always align. A library is a luxury that you can barely even begin to imagine—and one day, it occurs to you that maybe you shouldn’t have to imagine it.

You’re not exactly breaking a specific rule. That is the story you intend to tell if you are ever caught. The library is open to the entire palace and no one has ever specifically said that servants are excluded. Granted, if you have to guess, you’re fairly certain that you’re not supposed to be there, but you’re prepared to play dumb if it comes down to that.

You are still careful, though. You only go very late at night during your free hours. You don’t stay long—maybe an hour at most, the clock chiming midnight always serving as your cue to exit. You never take anything with you—you read quietly standing in the stacks, your eyes straining in the dim lamplight.

You like this new rhythm to your days—it gives you something to look forward to, a glimmer of light in an otherwise exhausting existence. The only person who notices you coming and going at late hours is Grete, but she easily convinces herself that you’re sneaking about because you’ve taken a lover. You roll your eyes and tell her that you’ve simply grown fond of a late evening walk. She doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t try to stop you either, which is the only thing you care about.

It’s three weeks in when you’re caught. You expected this would happen at some point, but you didn’t think it would be so soon and you didn’t think that one of the princes would be the one to catch you.

Your stomach drops as you recognize the emerald gaze boring into you from across the room. You hadn’t seen him sitting there, hadn’t heard him come in, and there is no way to hide the open book in your hand. It’s not like you could pretend that you are here on urgent kitchen business, either. If Thor had been the one to find you, you might have had a hope of pleading your case, but Loki...well. Loki isn’t exactly known for being particularly merciful.

You meet his gaze dead on, your chin jutting out almost instinctively in quiet defiance. He looks at you, utterly unreadable, his gaze flitting briefly to the book in your hand. There’s a slight twitch at the corner of his lips—something that could be a hint of amusement, though you can’t quite imagine him smiling in this moment.

He holds your gaze for a moment more and then his gaze drops back to his book.

You stare at him for a few seconds before retreating back into the shadows of the stacks, your heart beating wildly. You’re not entirely certain what this means. Perhaps he is biding his time; perhaps he will go straight from here to Fritjof’s office after he finishes his book. Perhaps he will wait until morning.

You consider this for a moment. If he intends to report you, your time in the library is surely limited; you’ll be back to rereading your own books and making bargains with the other servants. This could be your last chance to enjoy a new book for quite a while. You might as well make the most of it.

It’s not easy to bring your focus back to the text, but you manage, even though your heart is still thundering in your chest. Your legs are a little wobbly, but you convince yourself to stay until the clock chimes midnight.

Loki looks up as you are leaving the library. You keep your eyes on his, chin tilted up as you dip into a perfunctory curtsy. You’re not quite sure if it’s amusement or something darker that makes his eyes glitter like jewels, but it’s out of your hands now and you’re resigned to whatever fate has in store. You leave the library with your head held high, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling under the weight of Loki’s gaze.

When all is said and done, though, he doesn’t report you.

He’s there the next evening when you return and most of the ones after that. You seem to have reached some sort of unspoken agreement with him, though it baffles you. You are not entirely certain of his motivations—perhaps he sees you as an amusing curiosity, perhaps he does not care enough about rules and protocol to be much concerned when someone breaks them. Perhaps it’s simply the fact that you never seek to deprive him of the chair that he favors—the red one right by the window. Or perhaps he still intends to turn you over to Fritjof and he’s merely waiting for the right moment to do it. Whatever the reason, he seems content to allow you to go about your business and you decide that it’s a reprieve that’s best not questioned overly much. 

Still, even with this silent truce between you, even with your vow not to think about all the ways this could go wrong, Loki gives you the same feeling you get when you discover a wasp trapped indoors: a slight sense of unease, the feeling that you must be aware of his presence at all times or risk some sort of danger.

Careful, you think.

Sometimes, you lock eyes and it’s hard to ignore how hard your heart beats in your throat, how difficult it is to hold your head high and not look away. It gives you a strange feeling, but not necessarily an unwelcome one.

He’s also rather absurdly handsome, which doesn’t help matters. 

Careful.

Every year, the palace hosts a masquerade ball. It’s meant to be a celebration for all of Asgard—everyone is invited, even the servants. Inviting the servants is a nice gesture, but a slightly thoughtless one—a ball requires an enormous amount of work, especially from the kitchen staff. If everyone took the night off to attend, there would be no celebration at all.

Many years ago, Anja had implemented a solution to this problem. There would be a rotation—the full staff would work together the day of the ball, with one third being dismissed a few hours early to attend and the other two thirds remaining in the kitchens to work. The assignments would change every year so everyone got the chance to attend. It wasn’t perfect, but it was fair and no one could find any fault with fair.

The problem for you was that Fritjof was the one who actually arranged the staffing for this. And every single year, you are assigned to the group scheduled to work. You know that this is intentional on Fritjof’s part: it is the sort of pointless, petty revenge that he is fond of and it requires little effort for him to accomplish.

It doesn’t really occur to you to complain about it. You’re trying to keep your head down and complaining to Fritjof is not worth the trouble it would cause, even though you would very much like to go. So, every year you ignore the sympathetic looks from Grete and the other girls and try not to think about the dress you have tucked away in the trunk in your room as you work the night away in the kitchens.

Among the few belongings that you were permitted to take with you to the palace is a gown that once belonged to your mother. You wanted a bright, glittering reminder of her when she died and this dress was the brightest and most glittering one in her wardrobe. It is several seasons out of fashion, but it is beautifully elegant, all ivory silk and lace and hemmed with silvery embroidered leaves. The matching shoes are encrusted with blue and silver beads that glitter like glass when they catch the light. A matching mask of silver filigree accompanies it—your mother must have worn it to one of the masquerade balls many years ago.

It is an impractical dress to keep—you have never worn it anywhere outside of your own room—but it’s nice to put it on and pretend sometimes. If you ever get the chance to go, this would be the dress you would wear—everyone dressed a little outlandishly for the masquerade and a gown a few seasons out of fashion would draw no special attention.

It’s a silly, passing thought—just another daydream that makes your old life seem not quite as far away. 

But in the year that everything changes, your absence from the ball is finally brought to Anja’s attention.

On the day of the masquerade, Anja summons you to the larder on the pretext of helping her with some pastries. The moment the door closes, she whirls on you, fixing you with a stern gaze. You tense and for a moment, you think she must have found out about your trips to the library.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you’ve been assigned to work during the masquerade every year since you’ve arrived?”

Your relief is immediate, accompanied by a dizzying rush of adrenaline that almost makes you want to laugh. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“Of course it matters,” says Anja with a level of feeling that surprises you. “Everyone's meant to have a chance to go, not everyone except for one person. You should have said something to me.”

You know you’re speaking out of turn, but the indignation in Anja’s voice is oddly disarming. “I didn’t think Fritjof would allow it,” you say.

Anja’s shoulders sag slightly and there’s a flash of softness in her eyes that disappears almost as quickly as it appears. “I’ll thank you not to repeat this, but that man is too hard on you.”

You shrug, not really sure what to say.

“Luckily, he’s predictable,” she continues. “He’ll be in and out of the kitchens early on in the evening, so I can’t change your assignment without him noticing. Once desserts go out, though, he’s likely to stay in the ballroom. After the cakes are iced, I’ll send you to go get dressed. You won’t have more’n two hours in all, but it’s enough time to get cleaned up and dressed and have a dance or two before the unmasking at midnight.”

Your mouth hangs open. This was beyond what you had hoped for. “Really?”

“Don’t gape at me, girlie, it’s unbecoming,” she says, lightly tapping your cheek. There’s something warm growing and expanding in your chest and you realize there are tears brimming in your eyes. “Don’t you cry on me either or I’ll change my mind,” says Anja gruffly, though there’s warmth there.

You nod, hastily wiping your eyes. “I just—I never thought...thank you, Anja.”

“It’s the decent thing to do,” she says, brushing you off. “Now look lively, there’s a lot of work to be done yet.”

You think of your bright and glittering mother and your kind father and the life that they wanted for you. It’s just a masquerade, but you can’t help the small, hopeful feeling that blooms in your chest.

Little do you know that this will be the start of something rather extraordinary.

Next chapter

[rimaiahwrites]

My sick little baby (a mini read)

Finally finished this, been sitting in my draft for about a year and a half tbh:( When reader gets sick and and anddd she’s super subby and eren is soo daddy (fave eren) and just wanna baby her :) Sweet 🧁 (not proof read mb lol I’ll edit later)

When y/n got home from school she didn’t feel the best but she still pushed herself to clean up a little and make dinner for her husband Eren before he gets home from work, but when she woke up the next morning her head was pounding and her stomach was dropped when she sat up and the next thing she knew she was up and running to the bathroom and leaning into the toilet letting the rest of last nights dinner out. When she was done her eyes were watering and she was dizzy as she walked back to her bed.

She pouted when she realized her husband had already left for work and laid on his side of the bed. It was not long before tears was streaming down her face because she hated being sick especially when her daddy wasn’t there with her. She grabbed her phone from the other side of the bed and called him. She was in no shape to take care of herself and she knew it. It rang twice before his smooth voice hit her ears. “Wassup baby?”

“Papa…I don’t feel good.” Her lip quivered and her voice cracked feeling her stomach cramp up. “baby what’s the matter?” He cooed stopping his hand movement from writing on his paper now feeling worried for his little princess.

“Can you come home? I think I have the flu.” She whined, wishing he was home already to make her feel better. “You did feel hot when I was in bed with you this morning…you need daddy to come home to take care of you?”

“Yes please I need you, I already throw up and I feel so weak..” she whispered. That was all she needed to say before he was packing his suitcase up and headed to his car to get to his beloved wife.

When he got home he found her curled on the couch wrapped in her pink and white fluffy blanket watching finding Nemo. When he sat his keys down her head popped up he could tell what kind of mood she was in with the pout on her lips, his subby whiny baby.

“Oh my poor babyy.” Eren cooed picking her up bridle style sitting her on his lap. Her bottom lip wobbled and she grabbed on to him tightly. “My princess doesn’t feel good?” She shook her head cuddling his neck. “Have you eaten yet?” She let out a quiet no in the sweetest voice and it melted Erens heart. He sat her back down and headed to the kitchen looking around for something to give her to eat then his mom’s chicken noodle soup recipe popped up in his head. Whenever eren was sick as a kid she would make him chicken noodle soup and crackers and it alway made him feel better..So he got to it, it was a easy and quick recipe and it took no longer than 15 minutes, He also made a her a cup of liquid iv in her pink and white teddy bear water bottle.

Erens pov—

“Here drink this princess…” I shook her awake and gave her the cup, her shaky hands reached out to grab it. My baby was so weak it broke my heart, she was mostly dehydrated from barely drinking or eating for the whole morning. I put my hand on her forehead and she was burning up, i cringed a fever was a good sign because I knew that her body was fighting off whatever it was but I definitely needed to check her temperature.

I went and got the thermometer and her medicine, soon as she saw me coming with the bubblegum pink bottle of liquid she whined loudly, being very overly dramatic. She hated taking medicine with a passion but of course I wasn’t going to just let her sit there with a runny nose and a headache and not do anything.

I poured her a big tablespoon of the medication and lifted it to her mouth, her lips sat in a pout.

I sighed, “baby please open up, it’s gonna make you feel better, promise.” She shook her head no, she was in no way ever a bad girl but as soon as she got sick she was very testy with me.

I hated to get stern with her at a time like this, her eyes glossy and lips pouted so prettily on her face.

“Open, now I’m not going to say it again.” I tilted her head up with my two fingers.

“But pap—“ soon as she opened her mouth I shoved the spoon in her mouth, her little dramatic ass gagged as she swallowed it down, scrunched up face like she just teated the most foul thing in the world. I chuckled as I rolled my eyes.

“This will make you feel better promise, now let’s get some food in you.” She whined and rubbed her stomach.

“My tummy hurts I don’t wanna’ papa” she whimpered but of course she still ate, because no way was I about to let her go all day without eating or drinking. She drank half her cup of water and was all ready feeling a little better.

I grabbed her and carried her up stairs to our bathroom to run her a hot bath.

My bath was a jet tub so when I poured some of her favorite bubble bath there was more bubbles than water at this point, I made the water hot because she normally liked to be boiled alive every time she takes a bath or shower.

“I just wanna lay down..” I turned around to see her standing in the bathroom door way, her teddy bear in hand.

“I know but you’re sweaty baby, C’mere.” When her head touched my chest her whole body went limp and supported its-self against me.

“Let’s get you outta these clothes” I mumble, tossing her shirt to the other side of the bathroom, into her hamper. I lifted her up and placed her in the tub. I smile, Her aching body begins to loosen up from the warm water, her chunky little cheeks squashed from pressing them against the cold edge of the tub finally feeling like she’s able to relax she lies her head down on the edge of the tub, whimpering every time I gently message her scalp. Her once fresh braids now a bit frizzed for tossing and turning on my cotton pillow case without her silk hello kitty bonnet.

“You feel good baby?” I smile, she nods her head only before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep. I grabbed her bath rag and wiped her runny nose gently trying to not irritate it more than it already was, red and raw from blowing it all day. I wash her body, starting from face to chest, to her bottom half to her feet, trying not wake her.

I grabbed her towel and carry her, her legs dangling at my side secured with my hands interlocking under her butt. She let a huffed breath, coddling her face into my neck.

I putt lotion on her whole body, head to toe. I placed my shirt that looked like a dress, stopping mid thigh to her.

“Papa?” I heard softly, looking up from sliding her panties on. Her big brown eyes filling with tears. Worried, I moved up to her face and wiped them with my thumb stroking her face. Her skin so soft and clean

“What’s the matter pumpkin?”

“I..I love you so much, you’re the best husband I could have ever asked for, you take such good care of me.” She cried her lip wobbling, my poor baby was always so emotional whenever she was sick.

“I know baby, I know, I love you and I’ll always take care of you. Through sickness and health till death do us part baby I mean it.” I grin seeing a giggle creep through her pouty face.

“You’re so corny.” She smiled, for the first time today.

“I know as long as I get to see that beautiful I’ll say whatever.” I mumble kissing her lips softly.

“You feel better?” She nodded closing her eyes briefly before answering me with a quiet yes. “M’ sleepy ..”

“Yeah? Alright let’s go to sleep.” I pulled her to the top of the bed and wrapped my arms around her, her arms tucked between us both, while her head rests in my chest.

My sick little baby .. I thought before kissing her on the forehead and drifting off to sleep myself

[dovesdreaming]

Healing touch

Summary: when you’re ill Ben ditches royal duties to make sure you’re looked after properly.

Request

Masterlist

-

You never liked getting sick. Then again, who did? But this time, the fever hit you harder than ever. Your head pounded, your throat felt like sandpaper, and every inch of your body ached. You lay curled up in bed, surrounded by tissues, blankets piled high, trying and failing to get comfortable. The fever made your skin burn while chills sent tremors through you. Every time you shifted, you groaned softly. Why did this have to happen now?

A soft knock at your door startled you. You weren’t expecting anyone. Most of the other students were busy with classes or other duties. “Come in” you croaked, your voice barely audible. The door creaked open, and to your surprise, Ben stepped inside, holding a tray. He flashed you that familiar, warm smile, the one that always seemed to make things a little better. “Hey, I heard you weren’t feeling well” he said softly, closing the door behind him. “Thought I’d stop by”. You blinked at him in disbelief, trying to sit up but immediately feeling dizzy. “You… don’t have to be here. Shouldn’t you be doing royal stuff or something?”.

Ben shook his head, walking over to place the tray on the bedside table. “Royal stuff can wait. Taking care of you is more important”. Your cheeks flushed, and this time, you weren’t sure if it was from the fever or his words. You opened your mouth to protest, but Ben gently pushed you back down into the pillows. “Don’t even think about getting up” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “You need to rest”. You sighed, too tired to argue, and sank back into the bed. “I probably look awful”.

Ben chuckled, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside you. “You look perfect. Even with the sniffles”. You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. Ben had a way of making everything feel lighter, even when you felt like absolute rubbish. He reached for the tray and lifted a bowl of soup. “I made you some soup. Well, I didn’t make it. The palace kitchen did, but I brought it. That counts, right?”. You couldn’t help but smile, though it hurt to swallow. “Yeah, that counts”. Ben carefully scooped a spoonful of soup, blowing on it to cool it down before bringing it to your lips. “Here, this’ll help”.

You hesitated for a second, feeling a little embarrassed about being so helpless, but the concern in his eyes melted your reluctance. You opened your mouth, and the warm broth slid down your throat, soothing the burning sensation. It was such a simple gesture, but the tenderness behind it made your heart swell. Ben fed you a few more spoonfuls before setting the bowl aside. “I brought some tea, too. With honey. It should help your throat”. You smiled weakly as he handed you the cup, his fingers brushing yours. His touch was warm, and you found yourself grateful for it, grateful for him. He didn’t have to do this. He was the future king of Auradon, and yet here he was, taking care of you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“You’re too good at this” you murmured, sipping the tea. Ben raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. “At what? Taking care of someone?” “Yeah” you mumbled, blinking up at him through fever-heavy eyes. “You don’t have to do this, you know”. Ben’s expression softened, his eyes filled with that quiet, unshakable kindness that made you feel safe. “I want to. I care about you”. His words sent a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the tea or the soup. You stared at him for a moment, feeling the vulnerability of the moment sink in. You’d never been good at being cared for. You were a villain’s kid, after all. You were used to taking care of yourself. But with Ben, it felt different.

He reached over, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his touch cool against your fevered skin. “You’ve always been strong” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But even the strongest people need someone to take care of them sometimes.” You swallowed hard, feeling the lump in your throat that wasn’t from being sick. “Why are you so good to me?” Ben smiled, leaning closer. “Because you deserve it. And because… I love you”.

Your breath caught in your chest, and for a second, you wondered if the fever was making you hallucinate. But the look in Ben’s eyes told you it was real. He meant every word. You blinked at him, stunned. “You love me?” Ben chuckled softly, brushing his thumb gently over your cheek. “Yeah. I do. And I’m not going anywhere”. For the first time that day, you felt a flicker of relief that had nothing to do with medicine. The fever, the aches, the sickness, they all faded into the background as Ben sat there, watching over you, his presence steady and unwavering. “I think I love you too” you whispered, barely able to keep your eyes open as exhaustion tugged at you.

Ben’s smile widened, and he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest” he murmured. “I’ll be right here”. You didn’t have the strength to reply, but the warmth of his kiss lingered on your skin as your eyes fluttered shut. The last thing you felt before sleep claimed you was Ben’s hand gently holding yours, his thumb tracing soft circles on the back of it.

-

Thank you for reading!!

[lwyikas]

The Story Of Us ft Kuroo Tetsurou

w:thank you to anon who requested this!

"Since a twist of fate, 'cause we're going down and the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now"

You watch ceiling while lying in your bed

When was line of friendship between you and him so blurred? Was it when he start to hug you longer than usual? when he walks your house every day without exception? When he dance all night with you at your birthday party? What happened yesterday was a breaking point.

You two on you way to home after school, after his training over. While you tell him something with exaggerated hand gestures, something falls on your hand from the air. Ew,you hate birds, it’s disgusting.

He helps you while trying to get a napkin from your bag, he holds your phone and jacket on his arm. You are not aware of his eyes glaming at you.While you are angrily cleaning the shit in your hand, sun’s lights reveal their brightness to your face in exactly most wonderful way. He is watching you with small smile. God, you are divine.

His heartbeat gets faster, it’s getting hard to think

When he tilts his head, you two come face to face.

Your heartbeat gets faster too

You both didn’t dare to move, but what happened Tetsurou looked at you as if he was reading your soul with his charming eyes and brought his face that close to you? Why was his warm breath so close to you?

When you remembered that, you felt a slight chill from your spinal cord to your neck.

You were dizzy or you were have fever? You weren’t sure. He wasn’t either. He could kiss you if he bowed his head a little. He seemed to expect a permisson from you. He was hesitant. Would he kiss you?He will,he will he’s closing his eyes ,he’s getting clo-

“Bzzzzzz”

Suddenly, magic broke with phone ring, stars in his eyes was lifted and its real world again. After saying wait quietly, he picked up his phone. Who was it? Did they have to call him now? And why does this concern you, you would never have wondered about these things 2 months ago.

He comes back after call ends He scratches his neck but doesn’t know what to say. This is weird, very confused, but it felt so right to him at the moment.

“It was my dad, said he will come home late today”

“do you want to come us for dinner? Mom would be very happy” yes, she appreciates him very much, she would always comfortable when he was with you. She is aware that he is protective of you.

“I need to rest directly, i’m hell tired, but thanks, another time” yes, he is very tired, but he still wants to talk about “almost kissing” thing just happened, but he is afraid. Were you attitudeful? Should he apologize? He didn’t get anything from your expression.

When you two approached your house, he couldn’t resist. “I’m sorry”

“About?”

“You know what about , it was a mistake, i’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable”.Mistake?,your heart ached. You did feel like a fool.

Oh, a simple complication

Miscommunications lead to fall out

“you‘re being selfish” you shout with anger.Nerve in your voice causes him to raise his eyebrow.”You just can’t focus on what you want at that moment and do it.”

“Me selfish? I don’t have magic genie, i can’t understand what your thoughts in advance,”.

“You have to think before you do something, i have feelings too.”

“But my feelings never matter to you, do they?” His tone raises, he doesn’t like where this going.

“Seriously,a mistake?” Your eyes burn from tears. You turn around so he can’t see your face.

“Look, i didn’t mean that, you know that too!” He should improve his communication skills, he can’t pick up and organize sentences he has in his head. He still doesn’t risk confessing you his feelings completely, so you’re too special to even risk losing.

So many things that I wish you knew

So many walls up, I can't break through

“I don’t know any shit” you leave him there and get in house. He just looks behind you. Then he aggressively kicks a stone on road and curses himself.

Now I'm standing alone in a crowded room And we're not speaking

There some kind of semester activities in school garden. It’s quite crowded, but you’re sitting alone with a bitch face that has passed into a corner.Tetsurou sitting a few seats away,scrolling down his phone. You haven’t talked him since yesterday.

and I'm dying to know Is it killing you like it's killing me? Yeah I don't know what to say

he sees you nervously pulling at your clothes and trying to look busy and he is doing his best to avoid you.He may have chosen his words wrong, but he thinks you’re exaggerating and his pride won’t allow him to fix things, for now.

But you held your pride like you should've held me

You are determined not to talk him even when you feel weight of his piercing gaze on you. This silence is disturbing, but he started it, you don’t want to embarrass yourself.

Why are we pretending this is nothing?

I'd tell you I miss you, but I don't know how,

I never heard silence quite this loud

When another guy from your class shouts to you for look at a science stand related to plants, you accept because you are very bored. He continues to look behind you with only frowned eyebrows.

Fuck pride

This is looking like a contest of who can act like they care less but I liked it better when you were on my side

After school, you see him in corner of street while walking home alone. He was looking at leaning place against the wall. He straightened up when you showed in his view and was about to say something when you pass in front of him without caring.He calls out “hey wait, we should talk”

"You shouldn’t talk to me, you can make other mistakes sir”

“You pull what i said in wrong place,there’s many things you don’t know”

“Tell me then” you fold your arms nervously. Your reactions are exaggerated but you are impatient.

“length of foot is equal to the forearm”

"Really?"

“I read it is valid for 90% of world’s population”

You are trying to hold your smile“this information will very useful, be serious now”

He sighs. Now or never

“I love you” he said bravely. He can’t believe himself, he succeeded, wow world didn’t explode.

“I love you too?” You answered with confusion

“No,dumbass, not like that, not as a friend”

Oh

Your hands starts tremble with excitement, you’ve always dreamed of this, but you still can’t silence your thoughts

What if it doesn’t work? Then you will lose both;your love and your best friend. You can’t handle it. Maybe it’s the right thing to live your feelings inside your head?

That special place Tetsuro have in your life is something can’t compare to anything and its enough to make you think about every small detail about him down to every subtle detail.

When he sees your red face and trembling hands, he panics too. Come on girl say something. He makes you sit on a bench and crouchs front of you.

“look we can pretend i never confessed if u want-“

“Absolutely no!You can’t take it just back”

“Listen, i really like you, no, even more than like, but i will never force you, you have all tim-“

“ I feel same”

He looks you in shock but in seconds he starts to smile, his massive hands caressing your cheeks. “But i have hesitations”

“What hesitations?We can overcome these together”

“So were friends and what if we become distant? i don’t want to ruin everything and-“ your tone getting lower. “I don’t want to lose you”

“Don’t think this as losing,it like more evolving.You’re not losing your best friend,you’re just getting something extra,there’s no way you can lose me, you have to put up with me forever”you giggle and he kisses edge of your lips.

“You can never imagine how long i’ve been dreaming of this”

Maybe the story of us isn’t that tragic at all

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Heya ^^ ! This is my first time ever making a request so pardon me senpei for any mistake ! =^_^= * blushes * Can you plz plz plz write a scenario about a female reader who is treating and taking care of Zoro/Sanji/Law ? After being exhausted from battle with wounds and high fever and being dizzy .

I've searched a lot about this scenario but no one wrote about it T○T so it will be amazing if you do ♡_♡. Arigatoo senpai ~♡

Hey hey! I picked Zoro from the three, because like, vulnerable Zoro? *drools* …but if I have time I might do the others! I made this a wee bit smutty (ok maybe a lot) but... I hope you still enjoy!

Tender, Loving, Care. (+18)

Pairing: Zoro x afab!reader

Summary: Zoro suffers serious injuries. You provide him comfort in the ways he needs it the most.

Trigger Warnings: sex, injured sex, p in v sex, sponge bath porn?? I didn't proofread this my apologies. <3

You saw him go down. You could tell by the way he wasn’t getting back up that Zoro had been severely injured. You held your breath watching his body in a pile of smoldering rock. He still wasn’t moving.

“Zoro! Zoro you need to get up! Please!”

Still nothing. You started to run towards his body, not caring about the danger around you. You had to get to him. You screamed his name while you were running hoping he would pick up his head. Eventually, after what felt like both an eternity and a single moment, you reached his still body. 

“Zoro it’s me, I’m here! See? I’m right here! We’re gonna get you to Chopper and you’re going to be fine!” You lifted his massive shoulders up to try and prop him up on his knees. This was the point where you saw the amount of blood. Maybe he wasn’t going to be fine… no. He had to be okay. There was so much left unsaid between you. He couldn’t go now. 

Struggling to hold him up you tried to look his face. 

“Please… Zoro… I need you… I need you to be okay…”

Zoro’s swollen eyelids fluttered open.

“Y/n…?”

The tears in your eyes that were welling finally spilled over. “Yeah, it’s me. You’re gonna be okay.”

You barely remember getting him back to the ship. Especially with his condition progressing as much as it was. By the time you had found your other crew mates Zoro’s skin was burning up, you worried his wounds were already getting infected. 

You handed his heavy body over to Chopper and an annoyed Sanji, irate that he had been chosen to help carry this green lump back to the ship’s med bay. 

“Waisshh…. Y/n? Where’shh y/n going?” Zoro slurred out, eyes darting around in all directions, clearly dizzy with pain and fever. 

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, moss head I will drop you on your ass and sail out of here without you.” Sanji bit back. 

——

You paced in front of the med bay for an hour biting your nails, waiting for Chopper to come out with news on Zoro’s condition. 

Nami popped her head into the hallway. 

“You seriously need to chill out before you wear holes in the floor going back and forth like that. He’s gonna pull through, he always does.”  

“You don’t know that. You didn’t see how bad it was…” Tears pricked at your eyes again. 

“Yeah but it’s Zoro.” Nami made a good point. The man hadn’t become the world’s greatest swordsman, there’s no way his heart would give up on him without achieving it. 

She ducked her head back into the hallway and you continued pacing. After a few moments your tiny fluffy doctor came out of the room taking the rubber gloves off his han-… hooves. 

“He’s going to live.”

You shakily exhale, finally feeling able to breathe again.

“Luckily I had the type of antibiotics he needed on hand and I was able to suture up the wounds across his chest and clean them up. He’s going to need to rest for awhile but-“ Chopper diligently explained his course of treatment. You interrupted him by scooping up his tiny body and squeezing it. 

“Oh thank you so much! You’re the best doctor in the whole world, we’re so lucky to have you!” You set down the reindeer and asked, “Could… could I see him for awhile?” 

Still heart-eyed at your praise, he agrees. 

“Sure y/n, it might do him some good to have a little company!”

You nod and grab the doorknob and open the door to the med bay. Zoro lay on a hospital bed low to the ground. You barely recognized him under all the gauze bandages, some showing old blood stains. You carefully tread over and kneel beside the bed… You had never seen him so fragile. He was always so forceful, so confident, so unbreakable. But here he was, sweating and wincing in a hospital bed. You were scared that just breathing too hard around him would make his pain worse. You were so mesmerized by his state that when he spoke you jolted upwards. 

“Y/n…”

You let out a sigh, “I’m here.”

“You saved me-“ He could barely make out the words, straining for each breath.

You shushed him quickly, “No. No talking. You need to save your energy. Please, just rest.” You reached out and gently placed his bandaged hand in your shaking one. He struggled to get out a protest before lolling back into a deep sleep. 

You waited until he started snoring to let go of his hand and head over to the sink and grab a washcloth. You dampened it with cool water and returned to Zoro’s bedside. You spent the next few minutes dabbing the sweat beading his forehead and clearing up patches of blood on his body that Chopper had missed. 

You were so worried about him, but you couldn’t help enjoying this intimacy. There had always been something between you and Zoro. Neither of you would ever acknowledge it, but it was clear to everyone that you were special to him and he to you. He always passed the first plate of food to you at dinner (if Luffy didn’t rip it out of his grip), he would stick close by you in difficult fights in case you got into a jam, and he would hold your gaze longer than he would with anyone else. 

You slept next to him that night. In fact, you slept next to him every night for the next week. After each long day with your crew, you returned to Zoro’s side, silently switching places with Chopper as his attending. You would freshen his pillows, re-wrap his bandages, all while telling him about your day. Each day his strength grew and he was able to move more and engage in more conversation. He was still too weak to sit up or lift his arms for more than a few moments. After 7 days in the infirmary and however many days before that you had to insist…

“I’m giving you a bath. You smell like literal shit.” You sidle up next to his bed on your knees with a bucket of water and a fluffy sponge. 

“The hell you are, woman! You’re going to drop me in the tub and I’ll crack my head open!” Zoro tries to sit up on his elbows.

“I know I would, that’s why I’m going to wash you here.” You begin to soak the sponge and wring it out over the bucket of warm water. "I don’t care what you say, you reek.” You reach your spare hand over his chest and start removing his bandages. You unwrap them to his waist and start moving the damp sponge gently over his broad chest. He let out a hiss at the sudden moisture on his skin. Silently you continue to wash him, nearly knocked backwards when you lifted his massive arms to scrub the pits. After awhile his upper body was sufficiently clean and you moved your position a few feet down on the bed to begin at his lower half. 

You felt your breath quicken and your heart start to beat faster. Your intentions were to care for him and his health but you failed to realize this would involve you seeing him completely naked. You hands hover over the bandages on his pelvis before reaching forward. 

“Y/n… you really don’t have to…” Zoro protested, his cheeks tinged pink at the awkwardness of the situation and how close you were to touching him there…

“I want to, Zoro, it’s fine. Please just relax. Let me do this for you.”

He flopped his head back onto the hospital bed in frustration, knowing he was far too weak to argue with you or stop you. You hands starting removing the bandages around his lower half, trying not to stare at his penis even thought it was directly in your line of sight. 

*hmm… carpet does match the drapes…* You chuckled to yourself. He was impressive, even soft. 

His breathing quickened as you starting washing his lower stomach. Trying to stay platonic, you zone out and stare at a point across the room. You slowly moved the sponge in circles, trying to eradicate his body of any filth left behind by fierce battles. You felt something tap the outside of your wrist. You snap out of your focus and realize it was the tip of Zoro’s cock. He had become hard from your hands on him, his huge dick leaking and bobbing up towards his stomach.  

You were shocked, your head snapped up towards his face. You felt your face turn red. He felt his cock brush you again and moved his wounded arm to cover his eyes. Zoro groaned into the pit of his elbow. 

“I am SO sorry about this y/n… I just can’t help it… You’re just so… you know… ugh” Zoro turns his head to the side to further hide from your gaze. 

You couldn’t believe he was like this… so shy and tender in front of you. You decide to push it further. 

“I’m so… like what, Zoro? Tell me… You can trust me…” You lower your voice to barely above a whisper. You needed to hear him say it. 

“Fuck, y/n…” Zoro still covered his face. “You’re so fucking hot, okay? You’re so pretty. Look at you, beautiful, even? I mean of course you are, I don’t know, okay? And your hands are so soft… and you saved my life, y/n…” He finally moved his arm and turned his head to look at you. 

“How could I not feel like this around you?” He finally said.

Your brain went haywire and you could have sworn you blacked out. You jumped up, dropping the sponge back in the bucket and caged in his head with your arms. You met his eyes for a moment, so soft and pleading, unlike anything you’ve ever seen in him. You smashed your lips on his in a frantic kiss. Zoro returned your action as much as he could in his state, not able to move his arms or neck the way he wants. He wishes he could have his hands all over your supple body, round and heavy breasts, your plush ass… But he couldn’t… not tonight at least.

You pulled back from him for a moment to remove your clothes. You were so needy for him that he didn’t even get a chance to enjoy your naked form in full before you jumped back on top of him. Zoro groaned as you slid back and forth across his thick length against his stomach as you worked yourself up on him. You were letting out soft pants, grinding your pussy on his member at a quick pace. As you moved on his body your breasts dangled dangerously close to his face. He was so close to being able to suckle your soft pink nipples, just begging to be kissed, but his injuries wouldn't allow for it. Damn it.

“Slow down woman…” Zoro breathed out, he never suspected you as someone who was so bold sexually. “What are we rushing for? I’m half dead, baby.” Zoro panted out a laugh.

“I-I’m sorry Zoro it’s just I need you so bad… been waiting so long to have you like this… and when I thought I lost you? I-“ 

Realizing that this situation had affected you greatly as well, he simply must oblige to your needs. 

“Okay then, baby, you can have it. Take it. It’s yours.” 

You held your hips up and lined his fat cock up with your seeping hole. You sunk down and sighed dreamily as it filled you better than you had ever imagined in your wettest dreams. 

“Fuck-“ Zoro groaned and slammed his eyes shut. You cunt was fluttering around him and he thought that was going to be it for him. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. You had your head thrown back, hair dangling down to your ass, lips parted in an open mouthed slight smile. 

“Oh my God Z, why didn’t you say it was this good before?”

Zoro smirked at your praise. 

“You never asked.”

You start to bounce up and down shallowly on his cock. The way it was deliciously filling you to the brim each and every time had your head swimming. Your belly was starting to tighten with each bounce and he could feel your pussy gush more and more down his balls. 

“You’re close babe, you’re so messy. I had no idea you were such a dirty little girl. You in here every night, taking care of me like you’re so innocent. But really? You wanted to be here riding my cock, huh? Such a perfect, nasty little thing. You wanna cum for me? Make it even messier?”

You had no idea he could be so dirty! He had been barely alive a week ago and now he was reading all your filthiest thoughts through telepathy with his dick buried in your womb. 

“Yes please, yes I want to cum please! Wanna make a mess on you, Zoro, please!” You tried to grind yourself to your own release, but you felt two large scarred hands grab your waist. Zoro was using what little strength he had left in his body to push you down further on his cock and grind it into your sweet spot. 

“Oh my god I’m gonna-!” You scream. The pressure releases and your pussy rapidly spasms, each bringing you a wave of pleasure as you gush onto Zoro’s pelvis. Zoro never lets go of your hips, wanting to make sure he is working you through your full orgasm. 

“There it is baby, I know,” He coos at you as he grinds your body into him frantically. You were whining incoherently.  “I know baby, I need it too, I’m almost there… fuck, y/n” 

Zoro groans as he pumps your body full of his cum. He was gasping for air, he had never cum like this before. 

He looses his grip on your waist and you fall towards him, landing on his huge chest. He splays his arms out as his sides and you wrap your arms around him. Both of your chests were heaving. After a few moments Zoro looks down. 

“Fuck… I think one off my wounds opened up…” He touched his chest and brought his fingers up to his face. “Shit…”

You were immediately brought out of your post coital bliss and jumped up to grab your clothes. 

“There’s no time for that! What if I die here!” Zoro shouted at you. 

“Oh you’ll be fine! And I am NOT explaining to Chopper why I’m leaving this room naked! And frankly, you better not either.” You snap back at him.

“Fair…”

“I’ll be right back.” You say as you finally pull your shirt over your head. You reach for the doorknob and pull the door open to leave. 

“Oh hey y/n?” Zoro hollers at you from the bed in the center of the room. 

“Yeah?” You respond.

“Love you.”

You smile back at him. 

“Love you too.