#if i can get my brain to be quiet long enough to fall asleep

[actual-changeling]

good god my sleep schedule is fucked, 6:30 am and my meds should be kicking in but they're not and i really need to fix this

[corinthianism]

SOMETHIN' STUPID || VIKTOR

pairing: viktor (arcane)/fem!reader additional tags: viktor's pov, viktor is a certified yearner, maybe ooc, unrequited love that's actually requited, no physical descriptions for reader other than having dainty fingers and being shorter than viktor, hopefully correct use of czech pet names, barely proofread synopsis: the ever-brilliant viktor finds himself drowning in feelings for his colleague, so what does he do? bury them, of course.... until he learns that love is not something you can just ignore.

author's note: hello everyone! it's been a long, long while since i've written anything so i thought i would try and see if the ol' writing machine (aka my brain) still works lol. this is more of a blurb than anything so please go easy on me. also trying out something new by writing in present tense (lmk if it flows well!) viktor might be a little ooc but i'm still trying to fully understand him. hopefully my characterization of him in future fics (if any) will be more faithful to the viktor you're all familiar with. anyways, enjoy 2k words of viktor yearning like CRAZY 🫶🏼

Viktor doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. How many more times would your eyes meet from across the room at one of those parties he never really wanted to attend in the first place? How many more times would your fingers brush in the early morning, when he accepts the steaming sweetmilk that you so kindly got for him? How many more times would your laughter intermingle softly late into the night, when exhaustion took over and your writing started to look more like chicken scratch rather than letters?

He might just go insane.

How was it possible to want someone this much? Maybe he’s experienced something like this before, in tiny amounts, for people he hasn’t thought about in years. Deep down, he knows that even if he added all of those fleeting romances together, it would still only be a fraction of what he feels now. For you.

He can’t pinpoint that exact moment in time when everything changed. There were definitely a few of those moments that stood out more than others, but none of those instances were the catalyst for whatever this is. But they certainly don’t help his case.

A few words of encouragement.

A book recommendation.

A smile— so soft, so intimate, he briefly allows himself to believe that it was meant just for him. Something precious for him to keep, to be his and his alone.

In the dim light of the lab, he finds you asleep on your desk. The humming glow of the hex crystals leaves you blanketed in a gentle blue. He’s heard tales of this before, from when he bothered to listen to such things. It would happen just like this, they said: his heart would beat so fast, it threatened to leave his chest entirely. His skin would burn with something unmistakable, a feeling that left one in a state of simultaneous confusion and clarity.

He feels it all now and he finds it polarizing. It’s too much and not enough. He chases and runs away from it at the same time. A part of him wants it to stop, to go away and leave him forever for the sake of ending this game he’s painfully losing… but a greater part of him hopes that it will grow and grow to the point where maybe you’ll notice and do something about it. His palms get a little sweaty just thinking about making the first move. Symptoms of a lovesick fool.

The soft sound of your breathing quiets the pounding of his heart, prevents the wretched feelings from overflowing and spilling everywhere. Even if it was just for tonight. Tonight, he keeps his lips sealed, fights to keep himself from reaching for you. It would be unbecoming of him.

His eyes land on you again, observing how your head rested on your arms. Understanding hits him then, why you’re so bothered by seeing him stay at the lab so late that he ends up falling asleep. That position couldn’t have been comfortable. Of course, he knew that from experience, but it’s your comfort he’s thinking about right now. He wonders if this is what you felt whenever you woke him up and implored him to go home.

Surely not.

No, he can’t wrap his head around you possibly viewing that act the same way he does. Not when he wants to bottle this moment, wants to capture the preciousness of seeing you like this. It just can’t be the same.

So can you really blame him if when he finally rests a hand on your shoulder to wake you gently, he lets it linger there for just a little longer? An infinitesimal piece of time that he claims for himself. He never thought himself to be the sentimental type, but he cherishes it all: he cherishes the way you blink slowly as you returned to the waking world, and your tired murmur of his name that makes his chest tighten.

It’s just a wisp of a moment, never really tangible enough for him to hold in his hands, but he cherishes it all the same. It’s burned in his memory, in his very being, the same way everything else about you is. Every piece of you that you so generously gifted him.

“You should go home, darling.”

The word slips past his lips before he could even think about it. But he allows himself this one indulgence. He can’t help it. He’s always been a bit greedy.

“What time is it?” you ask.

“Far too late for you to be here,” he answers.

You huff out a breath of a laugh, “That’s rich coming from you.”

He finds himself smiling. How does someone manage to be so endlessly endearing without even trying?

It takes an embarrassing amount of effort for him to pull back his hand from your shoulder. Had you been more awake and had the room been brighter, he might’ve schooled his expression into something more neutral. Something to hide the unbridled adoration in his eyes. He doesn’t do that now. With the shield of darkness to protect him, he lets the mask come off. He lets his affection for you wash over him in waves. It would’ve been liberating, if it wasn’t for the tiny detail that that affection was unrequited.

Still, he says your name with utmost care. “You must go home and rest.”

To his surprise, you listen. You mumble a tired "okay” and gather your belongings, slipping on your coat. “You should go home, too, Vik.”

“I will. Soon. I just need to finish a few things.”

Your face twists into a frown, “No, you’ll do that tomorrow.” Before he can interject, you speak up again, “Just… come with me? It’s late and I don’t want to walk home alone.”

His brain refuses to reconcile with what his eyes see: the trepidation written all over your features, the way you clutch the lapel of your coat just a little tighter. He knows it’s a trap, you just want to get him out of the lab but how could he possibly reject the promise of a few more minutes with you? The chance to pretend, even if it’s just for those precious few minutes, that he was taking you home as someone more than a colleague? More than a friend? Only a fool would say no to you. Or perhaps he was a fool either way. He really must be going insane.

He says yes almost instantly.

It’s cold in Piltover tonight. It makes his bad leg ache more than it already does, and so his strides are a bit more careful. He doesn’t say anything about how you also slow down to match his pace but he appreciates your considerate gesture nonetheless.

The moon hangs in the sky big and bright, making everything around you seem softer. It’s picturesque. Almost romantic. He tries his best not to entertain that thought for much longer. Instead, he focuses on what you say to him so he could ignore the traitorous thoughts his mind conjures up and the way his knees were protesting because of the cold.

Conversation with you is easy— terrifyingly so. It was one of the first things he noticed about you when you first met.

Early on in the process of finding sponsors and securing funding, him and Jayce quickly realized that they needed help. Yes, Jayce is a friend of the Kiramman family. Yes, Viktor is Heimerdinger’s protégé, but they’re academics. At the end of the day, Jayce’s warm personality could only do so much when he was still greatly inexperienced with navigating these more political spaces and for all of his experience and perceptiveness, Viktor knows he’s no good at sweet-talking sponsors, either.

Enter, you.

Caitlyn Kiramman was the one to recommend you, her former tutor. Jayce was quick to back her up, remembering that you were also Academy alumni; a particularly strategic businesswoman. Viktor was hesitant at first, knowing that a third party could complicate things. Hextech was born out of the dream to help people. He worried that bringing business and politics (even though he knew it was necessary) into the mix would warp Hextech into something it wasn’t. Jayce convinced him to take a gamble, and it seemed that the potential of Hextech was enough to bring you back to Piltover from your travels across Runeterra.

It took him a while to warm up to you. You weren’t nobility, but most definitely well-off. Even more so after your years as a business consultant to organizations all over the continent. He respected you, sure, but Viktor had a hard time trusting someone who was so… privileged. How could you possibly understand how important it was that Hextech remained a beacon of hope for the less fortunate? Perhaps it was naive of him to think that way, as much as he hated to admit it.

But true to your reputation, you delivered exactly what they needed. You bridged the gap between Viktor and Jayce’s hopes for Hextech and the support they needed from sponsors, protecting them and their inventions from being taken advantage of.

Suffice to say, you earned his admiration.

Never in a million years would Viktor imagine that you would captivate his entire being, too.

It was daunting. Scary, really. Especially now that he’s beginning to understand the full extent of his affections. Years and years of burying that softness from his youth deep beneath the armor of his intellect— all that hard work diminished by a pretty girl. Gods, he really is just a man. Not even that. With you, he feels like a highschooler with a crush. It’s painful. Downright humiliating. But he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not when you link your arm around his, laughing at something he said. Was he really that funny? Probably not. He’s just happy to make you laugh.

“You don’t have to be nice about it. Salo is a grade-A asshole,” you grinned. “We both know it. If I have to spend another dinner with him present I might actually stab a fork in my eyes.”

He smiles, “Ah, but that wouldn’t save you from his incessant chatter.”

“I’ll stab the fork into my ears too."

“I might just follow after you,” he hums, “you’ll have to check if it works first, though.”

Your friendship blossomed when your visits to the lab became less for work and more for leisure. You wanted to visit, wanted to learn more about what he and Jayce were working on and why. Everything after that was just dominoes. You, with all your fiery passion and sharp wit, have become a permanent fixture in his life and now? He could hardly imagine life without you in it. You're one of his dearest friends and, much to his dismay, that makes his current predicament even more challenging than it already is.

Before he knew it, the two of you were standing in front of your apartment building— one of the most luxurious in Piltover. He could only imagine how much it cost, though he knew for certain that your penthouse probably barely made a dent in your wealth. He’s gotten somewhat used to your differing lifestyles, but he’s never completely able to not marvel at it. A gust of wind kissed his skin once more as he turned to look at you.

“This is me,” you say, gloved hands in your pocket and your lovely, lovely face framed by your hair and ruby red scarf. He recognizes it as the gift he gave you a year ago now. A spur-of-the-moment purchase on one of the rare occasions he was actually outside Academy grounds. He remembers thinking that the color would look nice on you. He was right. He finds himself holding onto the seconds before he has to go. “Thank you for walking me home, Viktor.”

“Of course,” he nods but the calmness of his voice don’t match the way his eyes bore into yours. “It’s only proper.”

“Proper?”

“Yes. Proper. I am a gentleman, after all.”

His accent comes out thicker, emphasizing the words more than he means to.

“I didn’t take you for someone who cared much about propriety,” you tease.

“Is it because I’m from the undercity?” he deadpans and he relishes in the look of horror on your face that replaces your grin.

“What? No!” you exclaim, smacking his arm when you realize he’s just joking. “You. Are. Impossible.”

A laugh bubbles out of his chest, “Oh, that’s cruel. You would hit a defenseless man? How heartless.”

“Shut up. That cane of yours is a weapon of war. Don’t think I haven’t seen you smack Jayce with it.”

“If I hit him with it, he probably deserved it.”

“Poor Jayce,” you laugh as well. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

Viktor smiles.

“I do not think you could even if you tried, lásko."

He freezes and so do you. The laughter—the music—that you shared for the briefest of moments was thoroughly snuffed out, leaving you both in a silence that threatens to swallow him whole. He didn’t mean to do that. He didn’t mean to speak so gently, but there is not a part of Viktor that could withhold this sincerity from you. Specks of the truth, of the confession he’s barely managed to wrangle into submission and lock away somewhere dark and unreachable.

He pulls back on instinct. He’s shown too much, said too much. You don’t move. He is petrified.

Your eyes widen and he sees his reflection in them, staring back at him. This is it, he thinks. He’s crossed the line and he’ll have to deal with the crushing blow of your rejection.

You manage to compose yourself and what you say next is… well, unexpected. Your tone is light, clearing the air and allowing him to breathe again.

“Do you say that to every woman or am I a special case? I’d hate to be part of a roster.”

He’s taken aback, but he feels a weight lifted off his shoulders. You are a miracle in his eyes. Washing away his worries with a kind smile and a few choice words. He laughs again and this time, he doesn’t stop himself from speaking the truth. It’s now or never.

“Surely you know by now that you are singular,” he whispers, his accent a pleasant drawl in your ears. He takes a step forward. It is gravity that pulls him in, not the Earth’s, but yours. A force that he can’t help but be drawn to. Not that he would ever dare to resist it now that his fear has shrunk down to something a little less debilitating.

His face is inches from yours. You don’t move. He gets a little braver.

“I do not appreciate your implication that I would pay attention to anyone else,” his voice is low, honest. “As if anyone could compare to you. As if you don’t hold my very being in the palm of your hand. Miláčku, I adore you. Don’t you know that?”

There is a hint of pleading in his tone, begging you to understand the full scope of his feelings from those few words so that he wouldn’t unravel before you, a bundle of nerves and petals the same shade as your scarf.

“Say something. Please,” his fear rears its ugly head once more. “Say the word and we’ll pretend this never happened. I will remain your colleague and nothing more. A friend, if you would allow it.”

“What if I don’t want that?” you ask, your own voice a little shaky with uncertainty. Maybe it was also fear. That, he’s not quite sure.

Viktor doesn’t fully trust what he’s hearing, thinks it to be a figment of his deluded imagination, but his heart is screaming at him now to push forward.

“What is it you want, lásko? Tell me and it shall be yours.”

You're almost breathless when you finally respond, “You. I want you."

The world stills. Time itself screeches to a halt. There is only you and him, together in this moment that he knows will be woven into the threads of his soul. He has never known euphoria quite like this. He can’t name it yet, doesn’t know if this is love. He can only hope that it will be.

When he looks into your eyes again, he does not see his own terrified reflection. He just sees you. And the sheer intensity of your gaze that rivals his own. Have you always looked at him that way? Was he just too blind to see it?

“Do you mean that?” he finds himself asking. He has to— has to make sure that this is real.

You smile again, dainty fingers intertwining with his. It is a gentle smile, a hopeful smile that answers his question before you even open your mouth.

“I do,” your voice is so gentle and yet it squeezes his heart. “I’m yours, Viktor, if you’ll have me.”

He brings your knuckles to his lips, places a reverent kiss on them like you’ve given him the world. In a way, that’s exactly what you did. Maybe his lips were always meant to be on your skin, worshipping you like the goddess you are. It feels too natural for it to mean anything else.

And for the first time in a long time, he allows himself to hope.

“I would love nothing more.”

[ceramini]

THEN DONT ᭢᭡ sjy

𝟏𝟑𝟕𝟖𝒾 ──── loser!jake f!rea ✿ angst & smut ᵕ ᵕ blow job, riding, based on this ask ❞ 𝑫𝑰𝑨𝑹𝒀 ｡ ⠀

REBLOG FOR A KISS !? ʕ´   ᩙᩙ `  ʔ

Jake doesn’t mean to overhear it.

He’s just in the hallway, minding his own business, looking for you, actually—when he hears the voices. Familiar ones. People he knows. People you love.

He freezes when he hears his name.

“I mean, yeah, Jake’s sweet and all,” someone says with a shrug. “But don’t you think she could do better?”

He doesn’t breathe.

“I always thought she’d end up with someone… I don’t know. More put-together. More confident. He’s like a lost puppy most days.”

There’s laughter. It’s not malicious. Not sharp. But it cuts Jake anyway. Deep.

He doesn’t stay to hear the rest.

The feeling follows him. Clings to his ribs and gnaws at his throat like guilt.

You don’t say anything when he curls into your side that night and holds you tighter than usual. When he kisses your shoulder instead of your lips. When he pulls away before you can touch him.

You always assumed Jake was clingy because he was horny or needy or soft. But sometimes it’s because he’s scared.

Scared you’ll leave.

Scared someone better will come along and you’ll finally realize he’s nothing but a sad, annoying, insecure boy who likes Legos too much and cries too easily.

A few days pass.

He doesn’t bring it up.

He tries to act normal. Happy. Like his brain isn’t chewing him alive with doubts. He makes stupid jokes, buys you snacks, plays with your hair in bed until you fall asleep on his chest.

But the pit in his stomach only grows.

And then it gets worse.

Jake’s lying in bed with you one lazy afternoon, head on your lap, when your phone buzzes. You ignore it at first—too caught up in rubbing little shapes over his temples, humming some random tune, but he notices.

You’ve got a lot of DM requests.

When you finally go to check one, Jake sees it.

Not the message, but the sender. The profile pic. A verified account.

A face Jake remembers from weeks ago; a party you dragged him to, where he sat awkwardly in the corner nursing a Sprite while you chatted and laughed and looked so effortlessly you.

He remembers that guy talking to you. Tall. Perfect smile. Designer shirt. Confident in that smooth, cocky way Jake could never be.

His chest tightens.

He doesn’t say anything. Just makes a mental note. Later that night, when you’re asleep, Jake opens Instagram and searches the guy’s username. And of course, it’s bad.

He’s gorgeous. One of those guys who looks like he knows he’s gorgeous. Shirtless gym selfies. Thousands of likes. Flirty captions. Comments full of girls. Jake scrolls for way too long, each post punching a little deeper into his gut.

He looks at his own profile after. Blurry mirror selfies. You in the background of half of them, making fun of his camera angle. His follower count isn’t even close.

He shuts his phone off and stares at the ceiling.

Why are you with him?

Why him, when you could have that?

He gets quiet again.

You notice.

“Jake,” you nudge him on the couch. “Why’re you all droopy?”

“M’not.”

“Liar. You’ve been weird.”

He shrugs, avoiding your eyes. “Just tired.”

He’s not. He hasn’t slept properly in days.

But what is he supposed to say?

“Hey, I stalked one of the hot guys in your DMs and now I feel like crawling into a hole and dying because I will never be good enough for you?”

He doesn’t want to sound pathetic.

So he smiles instead. The weak kind.

You frown. “You sure?”

He tries to lighten the mood.

“I mean, it’s not like you don’t have a thousand guys in your inbox dying to take my place.”

You snort. “Jake.”

“I’m serious. I saw a few. Some of them were hot.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Jealous?”

He shrugs again. “Maybe.”

“Well, I’m with you, dummy. So what does it matter?”

He laughs, quiet, breathless. “Yeah… sometimes I don’t even know why you are.”

You roll your eyes and swat his arm. “God, I don’t even know why I’m dating you sometimes.”

You mean it as a joke. Obviously. But the second it leaves your mouth, you feel the shift.

Jake goes still. His smile fades. His face falls. Something breaks behind his eyes, quick and silent and devastating.

And then, softly—

“…Whatever.”

You blink. “Jake—”

He stands, brushing your hand off his leg. Doesn’t look at you. “I’m gonna go build for a bit.”

Your heart sinks. “What?”

“I’ll be in my collection room.”

The door closes behind him before you can say anything else.

You sit there for a while, stunned. Confused. Guilt blooming like a bruise across your chest. You didn’t mean it. It was just a throwaway line. Something stupid. Something Jake normally laughs off.

But this time—he didn’t.

You wait ten minutes. Then twenty.

You try knocking.

No response.

So you go get the box from the closet. The new Lego set—the one he’s been talking about for weeks. The one you secretly ordered and saved up for. A rare one. He’d been rambling about it all month.

You crack the door open, peeking inside.

“Jake?”

He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, a half-built model in front of him, but he’s not moving. Not building. Just staring.

You step inside quietly, holding the box.

“I got you something.”

No response.

“It’s the Galaxy Explorer set. The vintage re-release. Remember?”

Silence.

You set it down gently beside him. Still nothing. You kneel in front of him, heart twisting. “Jake…”

He blinks up at you slowly. Eyes dull.

“You’re not gonna open it?”

He shrugs.

And that’s when it hits you. He’s not just upset. He’s hurting. Like, deeply. Broken in a way Jake almost never lets you see.

Your chest caves in.

“Jake,” you whisper, crawling into his lap. “Come on. You’re the best boyfriend—”

“I’m your only boyfriend,” he mutters, eyes downcast. “How can you say the best when there’s no one to compare to?”

Your throat closes.

“I was joking,” you say quickly. “Baby, I swear—” He doesn’t answer. You feel the tears in your own eyes now.

“I’m not good at this,” you whisper. “At being soft. Or saying how I feel. You know that. But Jake—fuck, you’re everything to me. I don’t want anyone else. I can’t. You’re the only thing in this world that makes me feel safe. And stupid. And warm. And real.”

You’re babbling. Desperate. Pulling at his hoodie until you’re straddling him fully, pressing your forehead to his.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur. “Even when you’re sad. Even when you cry. Especially then.”

Jake closes his eyes, a tear slipping down his cheek. You kiss it away. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He swallows. “You didn’t mean to.”

“I know. But I still did.” You kiss him softly. And again. And again. Then lower. Down his neck. To his chest. To his stomach.

You kneel between his legs, hands trembling as you tug his sweatpants down. “Let me show you,” you whisper.

And then you take him into your mouth, slow and reverent, like you’re praying. Jake gasps, hips jerking, hands flying to your hair. But you don’t rush. You worship. Licking and sucking, moaning around him just so he knows how much you love it. How much you love him.

He starts crying again—quiet and raw—and you don’t stop. You let him fall apart while you give him all the softness you usually hold back. When he cums, it’s with a broken sob of your name.

And when you crawl back into his lap, he holds you like he’ll never let go. You ride him slowly, tearfully, kissing every inch of his face.

“Jake,” you breathe. “Jake, I love you. I’m sorry. You’re everything to me. I’m never leaving. I swear. I swear.”

He doesn’t speak. Just holds your waist and cries silently, thrusting up into you like it’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. And when you both finish, shaking, clinging, crying into each other’s mouths, you don’t move.

You stay like that. One trembling mess of love and fear and forgiveness.

TAGLIST ࿀ ׁ @gxwesn @gyarumindd @somuchdard @ssanhwatto @jinxedly @seokjinthescientist @hoonprksung @eunvyue @kkxheeluv @enhawonnie @ghost-of-minnie @underscorealastor @yazmike @tokkisluv

[gingerhaole]

In January 2021, I got sick. I tested negative for Covid, but I assumed it had to be that, given the severity and duration. It lasted something crazy like four weeks, and after that I had this crunchy lingering cough and a host of other issues that just never went away, namely incredible fatigue.

I was always tired, never woke feeling rested, and started napping more and more, for hours at a time, sometimes three naps a day. I would sit to work on art and just tip sideways on the sofa. I'd be so tired I'd lay on the floor for a moment and be out instantly. My memory was failing me more and more, and the brain fog was constant. I felt really, clearly stupider, and the people in my life started to resent how much I slept. It was ruining my life.

I figured this was long Covid. My doctor treated me for post-nasal drip, allergies, mild hypothyroidism, vitamin deficiencies, depression. I ate better, exercised, got enough sleep. Nothing made me less tired.

Finally I saw a sleep specialist, answered a lot of questions, and did a sleep study at home. Found out I have pretty severe sleep apnea -- I will stop breathing roughly 30 times an hour. She hooked me up with a CPAP machine -- a nose snorkel -- and it became my new best friend. It's actually pretty comfortable, quiet as a whisper, and I finally get enough oxygen when I sleep. I sleep like the dead, not a moment of unrest until the morning.

The trouble was, I was still tired. Still falling asleep randomly, still losing motor function when drowsy. My sleep specialist diagnosed me with narcolepsy.

Apparently sometimes, when you get the flu and it hits you just right, it can trigger narcolepsy. Way back in January 2021, what I thought was Covid was a nasty narcolepsy activator that's been fucking with me ever since.

My doc put me on a stimulant specifically for narcolepsy, and it does work, but it's not a miracle cure. I'm still tired, but I fall asleep a lot less frequently, and I can fight through it. I told my doc that I still got very tired occasionally, and she said, "Sometimes a nap can help you get through the rest of the day. It's okay to nap." Being given that permission after years of feeling guilty and ashamed of sleeping so much made me cry on the spot.

It's a work in progress. I feel like I have my brain back, at least. But if you find yourself with symptoms like mine, see if you can ask your doctor about doing a sleep study. I think narcolepsy is more common than we think, and you don't have to feel like you're doomed to it.

[daytaker]

The Gang React to You Falling Asleep on Them

Lucifer

*deep sigh that speaks volumes to how difficult it is for this man to get any sleep, and here you are, conked out on his shoulder...*

If you don't wake up within a few minutes, he'll have no choice but to move. He is not the sort to be so sentimental that he can't bear the thought of disturbing your precious sleeping face. Of course, he won't be an asshole about it; he'll be careful and try not to wake you up. He might even drape his jacket over you for your nap.

But only if he doesn't need it.

Mammon

"Hey, my arm's gettin' a little stiff, can I just-- ...ah."

Oh. Ah. Alright. Cool. This is happening. Hmm. Damn. Not super comfortable, and it's kinda inconvenient to be trapped here, but, pshh, what's he supposed to do, wake up a sleeping human? He's heard that can lead to...cardiac arrest, or something. He ain't gonna murder you just to move a little sooner.

You did not just start snuggling him in your sleep. Did Mammon score today or did he score today? Too bad his arm's starting to fall asleep, but, well, nothin' in life is free.

Leviathan

"What...? WHAAAAAAT?" (But only in his brain. He doesn't want to wake you up. Mammon says that can lead to cardiac arrest in humans.)

He's pretty sure he's the one who's going to keel over from heart problems at this rate. He hadn't even realized you were getting sleepy. Are you bored watching him tackle this single-player old school RPG? Did you hate it all this time and you never even mentioned it?! Why is your face so close?! Do you not have any idea the kind of mental torture you're putting him through right now?!

Deep breaths, Levi. Deep breaths. This happens in anime all the time. It's...usually a good thing! It means that the main character and their love interest are tripping all the right flags, and... and how long is this scene going to last? Those scenes almost always end with the two still on the couch, then they skip to the next day or something. How long is he going to have to just sit here... suffering...?

After about ten minutes, he's reached his limit and he gently shakes you awake. He is so embarrassed that he insists you go to bed now, and he will not take no for an answer. Good night. Goodbye. *door slams*

AAAAHHHHHHHHH.

Satan

"Hm? Have you been getting enough sleep...?"

Satan would be very pleased with the situation, though probably less intensely excited than Mammon. He'll make whatever small adjustment is necessary for his comfort, then settle in and read for as long as it takes you to wake up. He feels very warm and fuzzy. It's nice. Hopefully you do this more often. But he should really ask you about your sleep schedule. Levi must be forcing you to stay awake too often.

Asmodeus

"Aww, aren't you adorable?"

This is precious. He needs to document it. As soon as he realizes what's happening, he'll carefully pull out his D.D.D., making sure not to wake you up, and start snapping pics. A few of you, a few dozen selfies with you, a few with him pretending to be asleep too, and then a perfect shot of him kissing your forehead. Grammable as fuck.

Er... is that drool he can see in one of those photos? ...You're going to have to wake up. You can't just drool on his brand-name jacket.

Beelzebub

"Oh."

He's used to people falling asleep on him, so this doesn't really throw him for much of a loop. However, he's a bit more careful of waking you up. He knows that if he wakes Belphie, he'll just fall back asleep within a few seconds, but you're not quite so adaptable. So he'll do his best to stay quiet and not move much.

But no matter how hard he tries, he's never going to be able to turn off his stomach. You'll probably wake up with a start as his stomach roars at you about twenty inches from your face.

Belphegor

"...zzzz..."

Who are we kidding, we all know he was asleep first. Probably, he's the reason you fell asleep so easily. He's soft and warm, perfect for drifting off to dreamland...

Diavolo

"Very bold! You really are astonishingly brave."

It's not every day someone has the stones to fall asleep in his presence, let alone fall asleep and use him as some sort of glorified pillow. What a nice change of pace.

He'll continue doing whatever it is he was doing before, but he is a busy demon, running the Devildom and all. He'll slowly and carefully extricate himself when it's time to move, then have Barbatos bring you a blanket and prepare some tea for when you wake up.

Barbatos

"Humans are awfully needy creatures, aren't they."

He can't help but chuckle. You just pass out during the middle of the day? Then again, it's possible you're probably not entirely well. He'll have to disturb the young master to ask what sort of accommodations to make for you. Of course, he's sure Diavolo won't mind. But it's irresponsible to let yourself drift off like this in the castle of the king of the demons, isn't it? This isn't a resort.

Sleep well, human.

Solomon

"You're just looking cute on purpose now, aren't you?"

Oh well! Looks like he's stuck here for now. Too bad. He'll smile, put an arm around you, kick his feet up, and settle in for the long haul. Hopefully you're able to get a good, solid nap in.

Most likely, you both will. He'll pass out too within ten minutes, give or take.

Simeon

"Oh- shh. There, there."

Well, if you aren't adorable... You must be so tired. He's glad you feel so at ease with him that you let yourself fall asleep, and you certainly look cute, but he's also a little concerned that you're this tired. He'll patiently wait for you to wake up. Then he'll make you some tea and gently remind you to take better care of your health.

Luke

"Eh...?! Hey! ...WAKE UP!"

How tired are you?! You need to get better sleep! Sheesh, you need to be more careful too. You almost crushed him.

[fairytaleendingss]

Could I request another platonic relationship where the reader finally falls asleep on one of the Thunderbolts after not being able to fall asleep for several days, and then Bob or John decide to carry them to their bed?

Your writing is so beautiful, and I have several more ideas, if that’s okay to send them in?

Sweet Dreams

Summary: Sometimes you all needed someone you could lean on. For you, that term may even be needed in a more literal sense.

Pairing: (Platonic) Thunderbolts* x gn!Reader, kind of John Walker x reader (written as platonic but can be viewed as romatic if you want it to be).

CW: Mentions of trauma, alcoholism, nightmares, unhealthy coping mechanisms, descritptions of poor mental health.

Thanks so much lovely! Feel free to send as many requests as you like. I'm buried deep in the hyperfixation rn so the more Thunderbolts requests the better!

This one ended up getting deep really quickly but I loved getting a chance to touch on everyone's coping mechanisms. I think thefact that they've all been through so much is what makes these characters so unique and fascinating. It's something I find really interesting to explore in my writing and I hope I was able to do it justice. Let me know your thoughts.

--

Sleep didn't come easily to you these days. In fact, it hadn't for a very long time. It was no secret that your past wasn't a particularly pleasant one, and much like the rest of your teammates, there were some lasting aftereffects.

It was something the group had become rather good at over time as you all began to warm up to each other. It had become routine for the rest of you to notice when one of you were having a bad day or night or week. You'd all learnt to notice the signs.

You could tell when Yelena was drinking again. You noticed the way she'd reach for wine at dinner when the rest of you were drinking water or when the vodka bottles in the liquor cabinet had grown diluted.

You could sense when Ava was self-isolating. Those times when she'd retreat for hours or sometimes days on end, into the dark quiet of her room and you wouldn't hear from her until she pulled herself out again.

You'd learnt to understand the patterns of Bob's moods. You recognised the highs when they came and prepared for the inevitable lows that followed.

You knew when Bucky was having nightmares. You could see it in the purple stains that formed beneath his eyes and the way his hands would shake as he made his morning coffee. You could see it, even when he insisted he was fine because as much as you're able to heal from it, that kind of trauma never fully goes away.

You could tell when John's mind began to wander away from him. When the pent up guilt and self-loathing bubbled to the surface. You understood when he'd get irritable and snap at his teammates because you knew he didn't mean it and all that bottled-up anger had to be directed somewhere.

Even Alexi had bad days. Sometimes you'd find him at night, in the kitchen or the living room sitting and staring at the wall, eyes blank as his brain rolled over all the regrets he nursed in the darkest corners of his mind.

Everyone had tells. Their own unique signs and symptoms that emerged whenever the darkness from their past had grown too much to bare and spilled out of them like an overfilled bottle.

The only upside was, that in recognising everyone's habits and behaviours, you'd also found your own ways to help. Slowly but surely you'd all begun to learn what worked (and what didn't) when it came to supporting your friends through their ups and downs. And soon enough it had become habitiual, almost second nature, to understand when your teammates were hurting and what you could do to help.

In fact, it was something that seemed to bring you all closer together. The knowing deep down, that you could fully trust each other to accept and understand you, even on your worst days. The realisation that just maybe, you didn't have to go through these things alone.

So it wasn't particularly surprising when your teammates had noticed a change in your behaviour over the last couple of weeks. They could tell just by your slow reflexes and heavy movements that you were having trouble sleeping.

Usually you were brighter. More vibrant and full of energy. A warm glow seemed to radiate from you wherever you went, one that made anyone around you feel safe and comfortable. However, recently, it seemed to have faded.

It wasn't a rare occurance in your life. Every once in a while you'd find yourself stuck in a loop, plagued never-ending with flashbacks from your past at night as you were trying to sleep. Every time you closed your eyes, you'd be bombarded with memories of all the trauma you'd experienced, all the people you killed. It washed over you like a wave crashing onto a rocky cliff face.

Bucky was the first to notice. He was just observant like that. He'd begun to grow concerned after you dropped one too many items in the kitchen one morning while preparing breakfast. He'd tried to talk to you about it later that day. He'd asked how you were and you told him you were fine. He knew you were lying but he also knew that he shouldn't push you if you weren't ready to talk. Instead, he kept a close eye on you. He lingered just outside the noticable radius, helping you out in whatever ways he could. Moving a chair out of your path before you could walk into it or picking up various items for you and putting them away when you'd left them somewhere strange.

It wasn't long before, the others began to pick up on it too, the way you didn't seem fully present. Ava noticed you spacing out more often in conversations and Yelena didn't like how clumsy and careless you'd grown in your training sessions together. Alexi noticed how you'd stopped laughing the way you usually would at his ridiculous jokes and Bob could feel the way you were pulling back from group activities.

Everyone did their best to accomodate you, supporting you in the ways they know you needed. A cup of coffee left out for you when you came into the kitchen, your favourite takeaway ordered for dinner on a Friday night. Your laundry folded in a neat pile at the end of your bed when you were sure you'd forgotten to take it out of the machine (most likely curtesy of Bob).

However, despite your appreciation towards your friends efforts, the darkness still loomed, cold and quiet but unbearbly obtrusive.

--

It was three in the morning when you found yourself tucked away on the compound's couch, scrolling absently on tiktok as some episode of 'Parks and Recreation' played in the background on low volume. You weren't really watching, you just needed something to fill the silence.

The thoughts were loud that night. They protested every time sleep began to draw near. You were left wide-eyed and shakey as you watched scenes play behind your eyelids, of all the people you'd hurt, all the things you'd done wrong. They haunted you like dark figures in the corners of your mind, like your brain was screening some twisted, traumatic movie, made just to gnaw away at you.

All of a sudden your room was too small, too dark, too quiet. You'd decided the living area seemed a better fit. It wasn't like you were going to get any sleep anyway.

You looked up when you recognised the sound of footsteps padding down the hall towards you. You could tell they were John's before he even stepped into the room. He always moved with such urgency, like he had some place to be.

He moved into the doorway, rubbing his eyes tiredly before they landed on you. He send you a meek smile, awkward but laced with sincerity.

"Hey. What are you doing still up?"

You shrugged. "I could ask you the same question."

He nodded, stifling a yawn as he further entered the space. His blonde hair was tustled from sleep and his eyes half-lidded as they adjusted to the low light of the room. He seemed tentative and unguarded. Less threatening than you'd ever seen him in a pair of oversized, blue-plaid pyjamas. It was almost funny to think that this was the same deadly supersoldier that could send you flying with a single punch.

"Oh Parks and Rec," he muttered absently, gesturing to the flickering TV screen. "Great show."

He flopped down on the couch beside you, sinking into it's cushions like they were the softest in the world.

"I can turn it up if you like," you offered reaching for the remote.

"No, that's okay. This is fine."

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, eyes glued to the screen in front of you. You could see the way his lips pursed as if he wanted to say something but couldn't think of the right words.

After a beat, he cleared his throat. "So... nightmares huh?"

"Yeah, kind of," you looked downwars, fiddling with the loose threads of the blanket in your lap. It was something you always found difficult to talk about. All of you had things that kept you up at night, and you didn't feel it was right to drag your friends in with you. So you let it sit, like a wait upon your chest, threatening to keep you down.

John let out a breath through his nose. "I get them a lot too."

You sighed softly. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Oh no, it's fine," he remarked quickly, as if he was trying to patch a wound but was scared of pulling the stitches too tight. "Well, I mean, it's not really fine. It can be really bad sometimes actually... but what I'm trying to say is, I get it."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his rambling. After all, John Walker was definitly not known for his eloquence but you appreciated the effort all the same.

"Thanks," you respoded softly. "Although, I’d prefer if you didn't."

He seemed to go quiet at that, like he wasn't sure what the next move was. He scratched at his beard as he blinked a few times towards the TV screen.

"I guess, with everything we've been through, it's pretty normal to have feelings left behind. It's good, in a way, I think. It means we're still human."

He smiled sadly in your direction, his eyes swimming with a kind of emotion that could only be felt by someone who'd experienced everything he had.

"Maybe you're right," you sighed. "Sometimes I wish I could be numb instead."

He nodded once, but it looked as though the gears in his brain were still turning.

"Look," he stated gently, turning in to meet your gaze. "I just want to say that if you wanted to talk about it, you can. Even if you don't... sometimes it's just nice to know someone is there."

You couldn't place what it was exactly. If it was the gentleness of his voice or the genuine concern that seemed to swim in the blues of his eyes but something about what he said, hit home. It was as if just his presence beside you had managed to take some of the load from your shoulders and make you feel ever so slightly lighter. Like that weight that you constantly felt sitting on your chest, didn't have to weigh you down so much, as long as you were willing to let someone help you lift it.

"Thank you, Walker. Really. That means a lot."

With a small smile, you scooted closer to him on the couch, adjusting your blanket so that it was splayed over both your laps. John welcomed the affection, lifting an arm to throw comfortably over your shoulders. And for the first time in a while, you let yourself feel safe.

Your eyes drifted back towards the TV screen as the two of you watched the show in silence, feeling the rise of John's chest beside you ever now and then as he chuckled at something Andy Dwyer said.

Before you knew it, your eyes had drifted shut.

--

When the rest of the team made their way to the living room the next morning, they were surprised to say the least, at the sight of you, curled up against John's side, soundly asleep. Your hair was a mess and a small patch of drool had formed in the fabric of the man's pyjamas but he didn't seemed to mind. He knew this was the longest you'd slept in a while.

He was awake and reading something on his phone by the time the team congregated.

"What has happened here?" Alexi's voice boomed as his eyes landed on the sight before him.

Yelena was quick to shush him, knowing how tired you must have been to fall asleep on John of all people. Although upon closer inspection, you seemed pretty content with your choice of human pillow.

"Is she okay?" Ava inquired softly.

John nodded. "Yeah, I think so. Just tired mostly."

"Do you want me to take her to bed?" Bucky offered, looking between the two of you with a mix of concern and confusion.

"Nah, thats okay. I don't want to wake her up yet."

Yelena and Ava shared a look. John sighed before they even had chance to speak, knowing what was coming.

"Aww, how adorable!" Yelena teased.

Ava gave him a dramatically sappy look. "Looks like John Walker does have a heart after all."

John just rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Laugh it up."

"Okay, that's enough hovering, guys. Lets just leave them be," Bucky reasoned once he'd decided nothing was too far out of the ordinary, ushering the group away.

"Wait, stay still a second," Bob muttered as the rest of the team went back to doing their normal morning activities.

Before John could even process what as going on, he heard the shuttering sound of a camera.

"Oh, come on Bob, seriously?"

Bob just shrugged as he lowered his phone, giving John an awkward smile.

"Sorry, but it is really cute."

John just shook his head as Bob walked away, then took a moment to look down at where you were tucked tightly into his side. He couldn't help the smile that graced his lips. As much as he hated to say it, he liked being the person someone could lean on sometimes. He lifted a gentle hand to stroke your hair.

Even he had to admit, you did look pretty cute.

--

You woke up near midday, tucked safely away in your bed. You didn't know who'd brought you there but there was a fresh glass of water set on your nightstand with a sticky note resting beside it.

You picked it up, trying your best to make out the messy scrawl in the darkness of your blackout curtains.

"Drink this. Then come downstairs whenever your ready. We're all here if you need to talk, or if you don't."

Your lips twitched ever so slightly upwards. Then you sat up, drank your water and headed to the bathroom for a shower. Slowly but surely, you were beginning to feel more like yourself again.

It wasn't perfect, but it was a start.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Notice Me

Pairing: Highschool!Bucky x Highschool!Reader

Summary: After feeling overlooked for so long, you finally get asked out but no one other than Bucky Barnes.

Word Count: ~1k

Warnings: self-esteem issues; insecurity; sweet Bucky

Author’s Note: I'm sorry it this seems slightly rushed. But thank you for the request, my dear!! I hope you’ll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

They don’t really look at you.

They glance, sometimes. Pass by. Ask for notes or lab slides, ask if you’ve started the assignment, or if you can just, maybe, double-check their citations.

They are kind, most of them. You don’t mind. You’re good at slipping into corners. Good at folding yourself small. Quiet is easier than being misunderstood.

You exist like background music. Always there. Never quite heard.

So you never notice him noticing you. Not at first.

You know his name is Bucky. You know too, that he usually sits in the back and he listens. There is something about the way he watches the board, the professor, the world, as if he’s been absent from it and only just returned. His hands are always tense. He smiles as if he’s afraid it will hurt. But he’s kind. Surprisingly kind.

One time you dropped your pen in the aisle and he bent down to get it before you even noticed it was gone. He didn’t say anything when he handed it to you, just this soft half-nod and a look you couldn’t quite make out.

You never think about why he is always early to class.

You never think about why he always sits close enough to hear you speak when you rarely do.

You learn that his real name is James.

James Buchanan Barnes. He says it one day during a project when the professor’s taking attendance, and someone makes a joke about it being a mouthful.

You don’t laugh.

You like the way he says it. As if he’s reclaiming it from something.

He glances at you when he says it. You don’t know what that means.

You write his name down in your notebook and immediately scribble it out. You hope no one saw. Especially not him.

You catch him watching you three times before you start counting.

Once, when you were half-asleep during a film analysis.

Once, when you answered a question the professor had barely finished asking.

Once, in the hallway, while you were struggling with your scarf and your hands wouldn’t listen to your brain, and he stepped forward as if he was going to help and then didn’t.

He smiled instead. A small one.

You smiled back.

You think about that smile too much. More than you mean to.

It’s raining the day he asks.

The world smells like wet pavement and leaves. Everything is a little too loud, too soft, too much.

You’re clutching your bag to your chest, hurrying off. You think you hear your name but it’s hard to tell with the thunder.

But then your name comes again.

You turn.

To Bucky.

He looks as if he didn’t plan this, which means he probably did. He’s wearing a coat with the collar turned up, hair a little damp, hands in his pockets as if he doesn’t trust them to stay calm.

He says your name again, formulates it as a question, as if he’s checking if you’ll run.

You don’t.

“Hey,” he says. “Sorry- this is probably not- just, uh, I’ve been meaning to ask you- do you want to- go get coffee? Or tea? Or something?” A pause. “With me.”

You blink at him, a droplet of rain falling from your lashes.

You think you forgot your heartbeat somewhere on the walk here. It finds you again. Loud.

“I mean-” he rubs the back of his neck, and you see something strange in his eyes. Nerves. Hope. Fear. “Only if you want to. Obviously.”

God, you think of every time you told yourself no one noticed. Every time you melted into the background like wallpaper, like breath, like shadow.

And now he’s standing in front of you in the rain, looking at you as though you’re the only thing in color.

“I’d like that,” you answer, voice small but sincere.

His shoulders drop in relief. He beams.

And later, over coffee, you learn that he’s been wanting to ask you for weeks. Months, maybe. That he almost said something when you helped him format his paper. That he actually knew how to do it on his own. That he almost chickened out again this morning.

And it made you feel seen. Uncomfortably, carefully, exquisitely seen.

[frudoo]

I really like your writing! I'm so glad I found your page. I was wondering if I could do a drabble or little one shot ask about the 141 boys (poly or individual doesn't matter either way) I just had this idea because there's so many ideas about the boys not thinking they're good enough for their girl but what if it was the opposite way and I was wondering what you'd think their reactions would be.

The idea is that their girl is on the phone with her friend thinking they can't hear her talking (maybe they were asleep or out for a run or something) and her friend asks how things are going with them. Their girl full on gushes about the boys to her friend and her friend is like "oooo sounds like love to me! Have you told them yet?" And their girl is like "I... No of course not...They can't love me, I couldn't possibly expect them to."

This is long but thank you for listening to me ramble!

PLEASE I got so sappy with this one I just couldn't stop my fingers from typing. Also you're such a sweetheart <333

Warnings: Mentions of self-doubt, food, mentions of sex. Fem!Reader. MDNI.

Kyle Garrick:

     Kyle’s had a long day, and the man just wants a proper cup of tea. He starts down the hallway, but when he hears his name coming from your room, he stops dead in his tracks. He knows it’s wrong, but he can’t help but crack your door open to eavesdrop a bit. 

     “I’m telling you, he’s perfect! When I have a bad day, he’ll take me out for coffee, or we’ll go for a walk or just look around the pet store. Sometimes he’ll even do my laundry! It’s- it’s not a crush anymore. I’m in love with him,” you ramble on to your friend, who’s giggling with glee over the speaker of your phone.

     “Well, have you told him?” She questions excitedly, and you go quiet for a moment.

     “Of course I haven’t. Why would I? It’s not… it’s not like he feels the same. I’d just be hurting myself,” you reply sadly.

     Kyle frowns deeply, and he’s almost positive he can physically feel his heart breaking. God, he’d rather fall out of another helo than ever hear you sound so distraught again. He wants nothing more than to barge into your room and pull you into his arms, kiss away all your doubts and prove to you just how much he loves you. Instead, the sound of your voice brings him back to reality. 

     “I think I’m gonna grab a snack. It was good talking to you,” you hang up the phone and open your door, surprised to see your roommate standing right there. “Kyle! Shit, did- did you-? I’m so-”

     “Y’mean it?” Kyle asks softly, not wanting you to feel embarrassed.

     Even so, you sheepishly nod your head, unable to meet his eyes. His warm hands cup your face and lift your head up to look at him, and he smiles so warmly that you can’t help but do the same.

     “Silly girl. I love you, too.”

     John Price:

     The base was dead today, barely any paperwork to do or new recruits to train. For the first time in months, John was able to get off on time, and he decided to surprise you with a bouquet of flowers and your favorite Indian food. When he arrives at your flat, he uses his spare key to unlock the door and steps inside, kicking off his boots—ever since that one time you playfully lectured him on keeping your home clean, he’s engraved the rule into his brain.

     John sets your gifts on the island in your kitchen, glancing around for any signs of where you could be. You’re definitely home, he can tell that much by your keys dangling off the holder and your own shoes by the door. He carefully steps through the hallway and hears your unmistakable voice in the bathroom, along with the quiet sound of running water. He goes to turn the handle but decides against it when he hears his name slip from your lips.

     “God, I love John so much, you don’t understand. He’s everything I could ever want. Every time I see him, I just- I wanna kiss him stupid, y’know? I mean, shit, he’s already seen every part of me since he’s my best friend and all.”

     “So… when are you gonna tell him? It sounds like he’s interested, babe,” your friend’s voice rings through your phone. “Best friends don’t normally just see each other naked.”

     “Oh, stop it. There’s no way he could feel the same. I’m just… I couldn’t ask that of him. It wouldn’t be fair.”

     John’s heard enough. He trudges back into the kitchen and fixes your plate of takeout, as well as a glass of wine and some chocolates. He arranges the food on a tray and brings it back to the bathroom, not even bothering to knock before walking inside. You scream, and normally he would laugh, but he’s so hurt that you think you’re unworthy of his love, and he’s dead set on proving otherwise. 

     “Do you always scare the shit out of people you’re trying to surprise?” You laugh, hand resting on your chest as if it’ll calm your beating heart.

     “Only the one I’m in love with, sweet girl.”

     Simon Riley:

     “M’gonna step out for a smoke, love,” Simon informs you, and you nod politely.

     The coffee shop is a little too crowded for Simon’s liking, and he needs a break. Your company is the sweetest he could ask for, and he feels bad leaving you for even a second, but the demons in his head were begging for an escape. Still, he stands by the window where your table is located just so he can keep an eye on you. Call it a weakness, but when he sees you messaging your friend, he can’t tear his eyes away from the conversation. Thank the heavens for the little slip-up the café made, having the one-way windows installed inside out.

yeah he’s like,,, stupidly perfect

it’s like he’s trying to make me lose it???

like sir i’m already in love with you

what more do you want

lmaooo why haven’t u told him yet????

he’s obviously in love with ur dumb ass too

oh fuck off

you know we’re just friends

don’t give me hope

     Simon frowns deeply, tossing the butt of his cigarette on the ground and crushing it with his boot. He’s spent his whole life in shackles, deeming himself unlovable, unworthy of anything good or sweet or kind. But when he met you, those thoughts dissolved like melting snow—he even took the mask off for you. He didn’t even know it was possible to love somebody so much, so to have the one person he adores more than anything in the world doubt herself? He won’t have it. 

     He reenters the coffee shop in a hurry, long legs striding over to you as quickly as possible. Before you can even react, he leans down to press his lips against yours, hands firmly on your face to keep you still. When he pulls back, he’s near tears looking at your shocked expression.

     “I don’t love y’like a friend. I love y’like a man loves his wife, like you’re the air I breathe. I’ve always been yours, y’hear me? Always.”

     Johnny MacTavish:

     Johnny’s expecting to feel your warm body beside his when he wakes, but instead he’s met with the soft thud of his arm onto the unoccupied sheets where you should be. He frowns and rubs the sleep from his eyes, checking his phone—it’s only 4:00 in the morning, and the sun isn’t even out yet. You’ve obviously not been in bed for a while, and it worries him. Did you leave in the middle of the night, all by yourself? Shit, what if something bad happened to you?

     Johnny hops out of bed and quickly pulls on his jeans from last night, starting a frantic search through his house. You’re not in the bathroom, or in any of the spare rooms, not even the sunroom where you love to cozy up and read a book. The last place he thinks to check is the kitchen, and lo and behold, there you are, brewing some coffee and talking on the phone to someone. Your best friend, he realizes, when you put the call on speaker to pour yourself a cup. 

     “It’s just… last night, he told me he loved me, and it- I don’t know. It ruined me. I couldn’t even finish, I had to fake it.”

     Johnny freezes and leans against the door frame. His stomach feels sick suddenly—did he really fuck up that bad last night? God, he knew he should have just kept his mouth shut, but he figured there was no better time to confess his feelings for you while he was… well, inside of you. He really thought you felt the same. Your little sniffle drags him out of his thoughts, and his eyes land on your now crying figure once again.

     “N-no, you don’t understand. I know he just said it because of the sex. I’m not… he couldn’t love me. Not the way I love him. We’re just friends who happen to sleep together sometimes. It’s my own fault for catching feelings when he- he deserves someone so much better,” the break in your voice destroys Johnny and all he can do is listen as your best friend calms you down.

     He doesn’t make a move until you’ve hung up. Only after you’ve set the phone down does he come barreling in, wrapping his strong arms around you, ignoring your shriek of surprise. Johnny pulls back to cup your face in his hands, thumbs wiping away the fresh tears that managed to slip past your waterline.

“Ye’re the only one ah want. D’ye understand? Ye’re the only one fer me. Ah meant wha’ ah said, hen, ah love ye. There’s no’ a force on this earth tha’ could make me want ye less. Ye’re mine, alreit? As much as ah’m all yers.”

[pinkusmaximus]

So many “taking care of Logan after a long day” fics exist. Why not Wade?

Wade, who is canonically in constant chronic pain due to cancer ripping apart his cells and then being knitted back together by his healing factor. Who, in the comics, isn’t just scarred, but constantly has open wounds on every plane of his body. Whose brain is constantly being literally eaten by cancer and replaced and is tumultuous in his emotions at best (bipolar girly here, relatable). Who so desperately tries to be a good guy when he knows it matters the most. Who throws his all into protecting the people he holds dearest to him. Who is, in reality, doing one of the only jobs that accommodates his conditions, and is still doing it to take out people he believes are causing others harm.

Doesn’t he deserve to be greeted with a warm, reassuring hug and a soft kisses to his features? To be helped out of his suit as his body succumbs to the mounting exhaustion and relief at being at home, taken to a warm (but not hot) bath with a soothing soak blend you’d carefully researched to ease the discomfort of the ever-changing landscape of hills and valleys in his flesh? He knows you know that they don’t help him heal and certainly doesn’t prevent them from reappearing, but he likes to believe (or pretend) that it eases the itch and ache, if only for just a little while.

He likes it when you sit with him, asking gently probing questions about your day to get you talking and less concerned about him. And he likes hearing about your day, the mundane and even routine things that he lacks. He likes it when you offer to help wash the blood off of him, knowing that your careful hands will be gently massaging away at his aching muscles. It’s one of the few times he’s really quiet; letting your hands work off the red to leave behind Wade, just Wade.

When you help him out of the bath, leaving him to the bedroom with his favorite pajama pants and one of seemingly unending shirts with phrases like I GOT MY CLIT PIERCED AT CLAIRE’S or I MAY BE STUPID, you return to the kitchen to take dinner out of the oven. Some kind of one-sheet-pan recipe you’d looked up earlier in the day while you were at work. Whatever it is, it smells amazing from in the bedroom, and he quickly comes out to wrap his arms around your waist and lean over your shoulder to take a deeper whiff, calling you Martha Stewart and Guy Fieri’s bastard scandal child or asking if you were extracted straight out of Gordon Ramsey’s left nut.

You have a lovely dinner with Wade singing your praises the entire time, and god, it knocks him right out. Do not let that man go sit on the couch after a good, filling meal like that, because that is where he will pass out and you couldn’t move him with a forklift. Take him by both hands, lead him into the bedroom, get him on the bed (let him make his comments, they are unavoidable whether he’s horny or not), turn the lights off, and crawl under the covers with him. Press your body as close to his as possible; he’ll probably want to be skin to skin if he can stay awake long enough to get you both out of your clothes. And to perhaps everyone’s surprise except yours, it’s really not all that sexual in nature. He finds the smoothness of your skin soothing against his own, and he runs a little cold, so he finds refuge in the warmth you provide. He likes to pull the covers up to your noses and kiss you under the blankets like you’re hiding some big secret, making you giggle as he shushes you to keep quiet.

His favorite place to sleep on nights like this is with his ear against your chest; the sound of your heart still beating and your lungs still pulling in air is a great comfort to him. If it’s comfortable, he’ll want to fall asleep with your fingers lazily entwined, and pro tip— he finds it incredibly relaxing to have you run your fingertips along his palm, down his wrist and up in the inside of his forearm then all the way back down until he falls asleep. Congratulations, you’ve got yourself a content and quiet Wade all to yourself until morning. Enjoy it. Make sure you kiss his cheeks and nose and forehead while you’re at it; it makes him smile in his sleep.

[guiltyandashamed]

headcannons: you're under the weather

Whether if it was from being overworked by the 7 brothers, the Devildom's particular climate and mid-season chills, or just plain old human fragility, you were sick. This is how the 7 brothers notice, react, and take care of you, even if they don't have the whole day to dedicate to your wellbeing.

(I'm trying the whole 'you' narrative style. Lmk how it goes)

Lucifer

Lucifer is the type to notice before you even admit you’re sick. He’s attuned to shifts in behavior—less appetite, fewer words, slower movements. Even if he's buried in paperwork or preparing for a meeting with Diavolo, he’ll pause long enough to brew a pot of perfectly steeped herbal tea and leave it on your nightstand with a handwritten note: Rest. You’ll be no good to yourself—or anyone—otherwise.

He checks in throughout the day under the guise of needing something, but always with a cool hand to your forehead and a silent reassessment of your condition. He pretends not to hover. He absolutely hovers.

Mammon

Mammon panics at first. “What?! You’re sick?! Since when?!” He sounds more offended than concerned, but he’s already tossing blankets into a pile and ordering you to lie down. He’ll cancel his shoot or skip class without telling anyone, opting to sit at the edge of the bed watching over you like a poorly disguised guard dog.

Despite pretending he’s just “being nice,” he quietly swipes medicine from Satan, texts Asmo for skincare-safe tissues, and buys your favorite snacks. If you drift off mid-conversation, he mutters, “Jeez, you better get better soon, or I’m not gonna sleep either.”

Leviathan

Levi doesn’t know what to do at first. His brain goes to worst-case scenarios. But after pacing around and googling symptoms, he brings a tablet loaded with anime, tea, and a pile of blankets. He’ll stay just far enough away not to catch it but close enough to murmur, “I made you a watchlist. All comfort stuff. No heartbreak.”

He checks in by sending you DMs when you're apart, sometimes just sending cat memes or in-game currency he spent hours farming for you. If you were gonna be laid up in bed, might as well, he thought.

If you call for him, he’ll mask his worry behind a hoodie and rush in with a muttered, “Don’t die, normie. I’d be mad.”

Satan

Satan handles illness methodically. He brings books—soothing poetry, mystery novels, anything to distract—and explains the medicinal properties of the teas he brings. He wipes down your room with enchanted cloths to purify the air and keeps the temperature just right.

Even when he’s busy, he’ll enchant pages to read themselves aloud to you or write small notes in margins like: Don’t strain your eyes. I’ll quiz you later.

When you can’t sleep, he’ll sit by the bed, reading aloud in a steady, low voice that always somehow makes you drift off mid-chapter.

Asmodeus

Asmo comes in dramatically, gasping, “My poor baby, look at you!” But under the sparkle is genuine care. He brings silk-soft tissues, eucalyptus balm, and a humidifier set to glow in soft pinks. Even when he has modeling gigs or salon appointments, he finds time to sit at your bedside, painting your nails or playing with your hair to keep you relaxed.

He hums lullabies while dabbing your forehead and insists you stay in bed while he handles everything. “No, no—being fabulous can wait. You’re my top priority."

Beelzebub

Beel notices when you’re too quiet to eat. That’s when he knows something’s wrong. He brings soups—handmade, nutritious, sometimes bizarre Devildom ingredients but always filled with effort.

Even during his tough sports seasons, or after a long shift at Hell’s Kitchen, he comes back with warm food and a clean towel for your forehead. He sits beside you, large frame a quiet comfort, sometimes offering a bite to encourage you to eat.

If you fall asleep with his hand in yours, he doesn’t move, even if his legs go numb. “You can hold on,” he murmurs. “I’ll stay ‘til you’re better.”

Belphegor

Belphie is surprisingly perceptive when you're sick. He’ll tease you with a sleepy smile—“You finally caught a real excuse to sleep all day, huh?”—but he’s already tucking you in tighter.

He climbs into bed with you, back-to-back or arm around their shoulder, and mutters that shared body heat is good for recovery. Even when he has council meetings or errands for Lucifer, he sneaks naps in with you between responsibilities.

He hums soft tunes, drapes his favorite blanket over you, and grumbles when you try to get up. “Just nap with me, will you? You'll wake up feeling better."

[loveanddeephistory]

LaDs x honors student

I am working on my honors undergrad thesis. And I am suffering. Here's another self indulgent not proofread headcanon list on how the guys would support someone on an honors project/masters/ whatever you personally want to supplement it for.

Get that degree babes these men would support you

Mild content warning for Sylus's section because of guns but. We've all seen him cleaning his gun in the Destiny Cafe soooo

WC; 2.2k

Again, not proofread, just whipped this up while glaring at my thesis lmao

Xavier

Bro has gotten how many degrees by this point???? Don't know if he was necessarily in an honors college but he was absolutely smart.

He sympathizes with the stress. But he will NOT allow this thing to get in the way of your sleep.

If you stay up an hour or two past when you normally go to bed expect him to be sitting on the couch or dozing off beside you in the library while he waits for you to reach a stopping point.

What he will NOT allow is you pulling an all nighter. It doesn't matter how close the deadline is, you're not skipping multiple nights of sleep.

"The project will be there in the morning." He tries to gently chide you, guide you to bed once you hit save and confirm it's gone through. If you try to resist? That's when he'll remind you that as soft as he is he can and will just pick your ass up.

He saves your work for you, puts a bookmark in the book you almost fell asleep in, and scoops you up in his arms. Whine, complain, and grumble all you want. He's taking you straight to the bathroom. Help you freshen up, brush your teeth, wash your face. Then it's straight to bed.

It doesn't matter how determined you are. You won't write your best work falling asleep every two seconds. Besides, the second you feel him curling up behind you, his arms wrapped around you so sweetly? How can you stay awake a second longer?

Expect him to try to make you breakfast in the morning. You gently persuade him to just make the coffee or tea while you make breakfast.

He was right, after all. Sleep gave you the fresh start you needed. Everything was saved and a good night's rest gave you a new perspective on what you were writing about.

He's there with you at the library for reading dates while you research, he'll pick your brain if you feel stumped about a certain section. Or just be quiet so you can rant about your mentor before collapsing into his chest for a much needed hug.

And trust, he's there when you present it. Fresh flowers from Jeremiah wrapped in a dainty bouquet. The ribbon your favorite color. Seeing you so confident and proud of your work makes him glow. Literally. As you find his face there are little orbs of light floating around. Expect celebratory hot pot for dinner when you're done presenting, a long awaited celebration of all the hard work you've done.

Rafayel

Rafayel isn't good about deadlines. You and Thomas often need to hunt him down and lovingly badger him into completing things on time. But when it comes to you? He can be a damn drill sergeant.

He knows how important this is for you. He knows you've worked your ass off for this. He sneaks out of exhibits and galleries to bring you your drink of choice, he'll set up an easel or sit down with his sketchbook to body double for you while you work. He gives you fleeting glances, of course. He can't help but draw you. You look beautiful so focused, so determined. Don't be surprised if his next few sketches of you are you in various positions, working away.

He makes sure you drink enough water, and if you're having a hard time finishing working he'll stay on a call with you until you're ready to finish up and call it a night. You're not burning out or passing out on his watch, no sirrrrr

If you're struggling with a certain portion, be it how to phrase something or you just don't understand it, he might offer to call someone up if he knows someone who could help. Is your project on microbiology? He had a former student at his adjunct professor job who might be able to help. History? He'll call in a favor from the history profs he knew.

That being said, he knows you're stubborn, and want to do it yourself. So if he can help best by just listening, then that is what he'll do.

He is so proud of you. His cutie, his beloved, is so smart. He's fascinated and astounded by whatever it is you do, regardless of whether or not it's an interest of his.

Your passion is so beautiful.

But he won't let you burn out. If he can tell you're getting close to the end of your rope he's whisking you away for a vacation. If your mentor tries to give you shit he'll just wave it away as a research trip! See? They're hard at work anyway.

They don't need to know that he's squirelling you away to a private beach where you two can be uninterrupted. Inspiration comes in many forms, after all.

He ensures you're drinking enough water and taking ample breaks. And, surprising no one, you still get it done.

He's there, front row. Your favorite flowers ready. He mingled with your professors and board before you present, and he's simply radiating pride.

During applause don't be surprised if he's leaning over to someone else, pointing at you, bragging about how smart his cutie is.

Zayne

Zayne's torn. On the one hand, he recalls the many sleepless nights in the library during medical school. He knows what it's like to study hours upon hours. But he also knows a lack of sleep, nutrition, and water will impede your progress.

So he tries to find a balance. In between patients at the hospital he'll text you reminders to take a break, get something to eat, and drink something other than coffee.

On his few days off if you're still hard at work he'll join you. Bring his laptop to work, even though you scold him for working on his day off, just so he can body double with you. He'll spoil you with a coffee or box of study sweets of your choice- so long as you agree to drink enough water while consuming them.

He texts you reminders to get a good night's rest, and scold you if he catches your eye bags looking a bit deeper.

If you're still working when he gets out from a late night at the hospital expect to be treated to a late night dinner/early breakfast. Just an excuse to spend time together in your crazy schedules.

If you ask him to look over your work don't be surprised if he's merciless. Pointing out every citation error, every typo, every grammatical error, every flaw. His goal isn't to make you cry (though it would make me cry ngl) he just wants this to be as perfect as you are. He'll help you figure out the citations, go back and forth with you on your interpretation of a source until your reasoning is rock solid.

That being said if Zayne sees a single tear of frustration expect some more macarons.

A benefit? If you need to actually defend this project no one will be as bad as your own boyfriend. And at least your boyfriend would apologize if he took it too far, a board or peer will not. They also wouldn't give you a hug and some macarons.

He clears his calendar as far in advance as he can as soon as he knows what day you're presenting. No surgeries, no patients, no nothing. He's completely cleared off.

So that day is entirely yours. He's dressed sharp, sitting front row. To anyone else he's the picture of the calm, stoic, handsome doctor they all know he is.

When you catch his eye you notice the tiniest nervous twitch. All he wants is for this to go well for you.

It's flawless. You speak comfortably, confidently. You claim your work and research with pride. And as everyone is allowed to question you, Zayne poses the perfect questions to make your project look even more impressive. He allows you to go even deeper into the research you didn't have time to touch on, impressing everyone even more.

It's perfect. You excel, and you beeline to him when it's all said and done.

Zayne couldn't be any more proud.

Sylus

There are plenty of conventional ways he can, and does, support you.

Body doubling, encouraging you to rest, making sure you eat well, drink enough water.

"Sylus, I might need you to hold a gun to my head to get this thing done."

That was one he could not and would not do.

"That's... a little extreme, sweetie. I have another idea."

And thus, the 'cleaning a gun in broad daylight' thing was born. It initially came out of a mutual inside joke, primarily in the seclusion of his own private library or your home. But it did become a surprising amount of motivation, so you just keep doing it.

Sylus hunts down every book and study you need for your project. Five hundred dollar book only available to student of a university multiple countries away? It's already on the way. Book that only is in one language you can't read? He's already got it and is helping you translate.

You wonder if you should include a footnote for him as your translator, but he waves the idea off. You sneakily change your dedication instead.

He makes sure you eat your meals, drink enough water. He's dragging you off to bed. You've adapted to his schedule, more or less becoming nocturnal. So that just means as the sun is rising he is dragging you to bed regardless of how energetic you may or may not feel.

Want to unwind with a glass of wine? Do a face mask with him? Gladly.

The work is long, hard, and arduous. But you make it.

The day you present everyone is warily eyeing the massive man with an even bigger bouquet of flowers. He did his research, each flower representing success, overcoming obstacles, intelligence, and wit.

He put so much thought into it. He had taken such good care of you. So you unveil your work, and click the powerpoint to the first slide. The dedication.

"Dedicated to my beloved crow; thank you for supporting me in everything"

You don't drop his name, for safety reasons. But as you present your project to the board, your mentor, your peers... your eyes always fall to him. Those ruby red eyes a little wider than normal. Instead of his cocky, self assured look, he seemed truly touched.

You had dedicated the culmination of your academics to him.

Caleb

Being away at the DAA was the worst. He couldn't come and support you in everything.

But he did everything he could. When he was in town you weren't touching the kitchen at all. He'd be making you balanced meals, checking your water intake, and making your coffee machine outright vanish if you've had too much caffeine. If he wasn't in town, he asked old friend to check in on you.

Sleepless night? He'd sit on the phone with you until you dozed off. Frustrated with a chapter not going your way? He'll let you rant until you run out of breath.

He's so proud of you, but he's so worried about you. He knows what it's like to be an academic overachiever, he remembers how close to burnout he was. And he's not going to let that happen to you. He swears it.

He treasures each phone call. Each rant, or when he needed to be your duck to just sit and listen while you figured it out on your own. He could hear the clarity come into your voice when you finally managed to figure it out on your own. He swells with pride. He knew you'd grow up to be confident and strong, but there's a part of him that's relieved that you still need your gege after all these years.

He gets time off for the presentation. He has it entirely blocked off on his schedule, the whole week. He comes in and gives you a back breaking hug, thrilled and relieved you're in his arms once again. He's your practice audience as you prepare to present. He cooks your meals as you remind yourself of a citation for the twentieth time.

He just ruffles your hair while putting a plate in front of you. "That's enough for tonight, pip-squeak, you'll remember."

The day finally arrives. He drops you off to speak with your mentor one last time before sneaking away. He manages to get that special limited edition plushie holding a diploma you'd been eyeing, along with flowers. And your favorite sweets, for good measure.

He has a front row seat, your gifts hidden in a bag. And he damn near tears up as you present.

You're all grown up. No longer the scared little kid he'd defended all those years, you're able to defend yourself now. But every time you'd start exhibiting a nervous habit, you'd just have to look at him. His steady presence allowed you swallow, hold your head higher, and resume.

Gege will always be there for you. You know that. No matter what.

[rhaeverie]

⋆.˚ Twinkle, Twinkle ˚.⋆ — lmk (Teaser)

‣ pairing: mark lee x reader

‣  genre: fluff, friends-to-lovers

‣ current wc: 5.6k (so far), about 65% done, predicted 10k

‣ summary: The world is sick and tired of your and Mark’s inability to understand feelings. With a friendship that has lasted longer than you can count on your fingers and friends who can tell you’re both utterly in love with each other, the universe decides to make use of its different light forms to tip you both over the edge of friendship.

‣ warnings (so far): some cliches?, like one kms joke, mentions of alcohol, mentions of vomiting (cause of alcohol)

‣ an: this idea has been rotting in my drafts since like February and i finally got the motivation to write it yippeeee,,, tag list maybe? just ask!

Without light, it’d be awfully difficult to see (duh)

Mark’s bed was the 2nd most comfiest bed in the world, a close runner-up to your parents’.

His mother truly chose the perfect pillow for you to use, paired with a blanket that complimented it well. They both smelled like fresh laundry, an aroma you were familiar with because your best friend smelled exactly like this.

The clock on Mark’s nightstand reads 12:23 AM, moonlight pushing past his closed shutters to emit a bit of its light into his room. Its light does poorly, giving the glow-in-the-dark stars on Mark’s ceiling a chance to emerge through the darkness.

Your mind’s filled with thoughts of the conclusion of the movie you both had just watched—Tangled—and your younger self could not help but think…

“Mark?” you called out into the darkness, “Mark, are you awake?”

There’s shuffling in the space next to you and then you hear Mark hum, “I’m awake. Why?”

You hesitate to ask the question that’s been keeping your brain occupied ever since the credits started rolling. But knowing Mark, he wouldn’t take it the wrong way.

“Do you…”

You can barely see Mark’s head lift up to look at you in the darkness, bedhead creating a jagged outline.

“Do you think I’ll ever fall in love and get married like Rapunzel did in the movie?”

Your mind replays the clips of Rapunzel and Eugene underneath the lanterns, lights creating a scene you’ll never forget for the rest of your life.

Mark hums again, something that he did when he was deep in thought. Your question wasn’t too far-fetched. He’s overheard a lot of the other girls in his class talking about crushes they’ve had on other classmates or squealing over that one idol he couldn’t remember the name of. The only difference now was that these thoughts were coming out of you.

“Do you think you won’t?” Was Mark’s reply.

At the time, you really didn’t know what you were saying, barely having the knowledge to understand the deeper meaning of it all.

Love and marriage? You weren’t aware that you had skipped practically everything before that.

“I think so.”

Mark doesn’t reply for a long while, long enough to convince you that he had fallen asleep the second you answered his question. But when you feel the bed dip, you can make out that he is now sitting up and reaching for his lamp.

Click!

You let out a quiet hiss, squeezing your eyes shut because you’re suddenly blinded.

Mark snorts, “Sorry, I should’ve warned you.”

There’s movement on his end again, the blankets softly rustling. You’re not sure what Mark was trying to do, but once you finally open your eyes, the first thing you see in the lowly-lit room are his eyes shining back at you, mouth opened slightly because he was going to say something. He’s propped up on his elbows, crushing the barrier pillow between you both.

“Why’d you have to turn the light on?” You scoot yourself up to face your best friend.

Mark shrugs as chews on his bottom lip in search of words, “I just feel like it’ll mean more if you could see me saying it.”

“Saying what?”

“You’ll find your happily ever after,” Mark says seriously. You can tell just by the way he looked at you that he was serious. Not even a hint of kidding looming behind his pupils. You forget that Mark was such an optimist.

Your brows furrow, unsure whether or not you should take this boy seriously. “And how are you so sure about that?”

Mark’s eyes reflect the light coming from his lamp and he grins. It’s almost creepy the way he does, like he has something hidden up his sleeve.

“I just am.”

[berryispunk]

Counting Sheep

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: friends to ???, soft! Frankie, insomnia mention, anxiety mention, mental health talk, bad inside jokes, slow burn, comfort, unresolved tension

summary: Two insomniacs who met by chance share a late-night coffee, an almost kiss, and the quiet kind of connection that lingers long after the sun comes up.

word count: ~ 3k

Happy Frankie Friday, my loves <3

It was one of those nights where everything felt a little too loud inside your head. You were bone-deep exhausted, but your mind refused to quiet down. It kept looping through every worst-case scenario on repeat, like a broken record you couldn’t turn off.

You blew a few wild strands of hair out of your face and stared at the ceiling, hoping if you just looked long enough, something might change. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.

You tossed and turned, from your back to your stomach, desperate for sleep that wouldn’t come. The digital clock on your nightstand glared back at you — 1:45 a.m., stuck somewhere between too early to be morning and too late to be midnight.

Your eyes were shut, but restlessness clung to you like a shadow.

Then your phone buzzed, the screen flooding the room with light.

Frankie: Tell me how many more sheep do I have to count before I can fall asleep? Because I’m at 633 and still wide awake 🥱

Your lips twitched into an involuntary smile. Typical him.

You: At 633, you’re probably part of the flock by now. Maybe you should stop counting and start naming them? 🤭

A moment later, his reply came, quick and cheeky:

Frankie: Naming sheep sounds like a full-time job. I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of commitment. But I could try naming one like you. Maybe it’ll help me drift off 😙

You rolled your eyes, but your heart did that little skip you weren’t entirely ready to admit.

You: Smooth. But don’t flatter yourself if you want to sleep, try imagining me kicking you off the couch at 6 a.m

Frankie: Ouch. Harsh, but fair. I’ll take my chances if it means one less sheep to count 🐑

You: Hey, if you fall asleep, you owe me a coffee tomorrow ☕️

Frankie: Deal. But only if you promise to be my personal barista 😉

You laughed, despite the heaviness in your chest.

You: Fine. But don’t expect any gourmet lattes. I’m more of a ‘stir and hope for the best’ kind of barista 😅

Frankie: Perfect. Imperfect coffee for two insomniacs 😴

You smiled again, feeling that little weight inside you ease just a bit, grateful for the quiet company in the middle of the night.

You: You’re good at distracting me, but the noise in my head doesn’t quit so easy. Feels like it’s always just one step ahead, no matter what I do 

Frankie: I get that. Some nights it feels like your own brain is a wild animal you can’t calm down. But you’re not alone in it. I’m right here, in the middle of my own chaos 

You: It’s crazy how much easier it feels just knowing someone else gets it. Like, you don’t have to pretend to be okay…

Frankie: Yeah, no pretending. No masks. Just… two wrecks trying to hold it together. I trust you with the messy parts. You ever feel like you can say that about anyone? 

You: Not really. You’re the first person I haven’t felt like I had to hide behind words with. It’s weird, like we’ve only known each other a little while, but I already trust you more than some people I’ve known for years 🫣

Frankie: Same here. It’s like we found each other in the middle of the chaos. That kind of connection doesn’t come easy 

You paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You: Maybe… maybe we should stop texting in the middle of the night and actually meet up? I mean, I know it’s late, but there’s that shitty 24-hour coffee place downtown. Could be nice to sit in a real chair instead of my bed 

Frankie: You serious? I was thinking the same thing. Could use real caffeine and a break from my couch jail 🛋️

You: Only catch is you gotta pick me up. I’m not about to haul my exhausted self through the subway at 3 a.m, also I am pretty sure I’d get murdered 🔪

Frankie: Deal. I’ll be your designated driver for the night. No subway for you — I got you covered. Need you alive 😉

You: Okay, don’t expect much tho. Might look like a racoon on drugs. 🦝 But maybe some terrible coffee and even worse pastries can fix our insomnia ? 

Frankie: Good thing I love racoons. Shitty coffee, questionable pastries, and zero judgment. Just two insomniacs trying to catch a break, got it 

—

The city was hushed in that strange 3 a.m. way—dim street lights casting golden pools on the concrete, everything muted except the occasional car sweeping by. You heard the low hum of Frankie’s engine before you saw his headlights.

He pulled up to the curb like it wasn’t the middle of the night, like this wasn’t something a little ridiculous and a little intimate. You tugged the sleeves of your oversized pullover down over your hands and climbed into the passenger seat, the soft interior light flicking on the second you shut the door.

Frankie glanced at you, and you caught it—his expression soft as melted sugar, eyes lingering a moment longer than usual. You knew you looked a mess, hair up in a lazy bun, your favorite pajama pants covered in tiny constellations. But there was no judgment in his gaze. Just that quiet calm he always gave off when you needed it most.

“Nice look,” he murmured, lips twitching up in that boyish grin of his. “Didn’t know I was picking up a raccoon princess.”

You laughed, heat rising to your cheeks. “Royalty and insomnia. We’re full service over here.”

The light above dimmed out, plunging the car into a soft twilight glow from the dash. You realized you were still looking at him—eyes dragging over the slope of his jaw, the worn hoodie stretched across his chest, the way his hands looked so steady on the wheel. Too long. Definitely too long.

He arched his brow without turning his head. “See something you like, or just making sure I’m real?”

Your stomach flipped, but you played it off with a smirk. “Just wondering how you manage to look so annoyingly composed at this hour. Unfair, really.”

Frankie shrugged lightly. “Veteran of the night shift. Plus…” —his tone dropped slightly, just enough to make your breath catch— “kinda different when you’ve got good company.”

You tried to say something, maybe joke back, but it caught in your throat.

So instead, you buckled in.

“Where to, Captain?”

“24-hour coffee stop, as promised,” he said, pulling away from the curb with one hand on the wheel and the other tapping softly to whatever lo-fi track was playing low through the speakers.

You looked out the window, trying not to notice how your whole body had started to relax the moment you got in his car. And trying even harder not to notice how much you didn’t want this night—this feeling—to end.

—

The silence in the car wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly easy either. It was that in-between kind, like both of you were waiting to see who’d crack first.

Outside, the city rolled by—streetlights, shuttered stores, a few late-night wanderers bundled against the cold. Inside, the soft hum of the engine and lo-fi beats filled the space between you, and still neither of you spoke for the first few minutes.

Then Frankie cleared his throat.

“Okay,” he said, glancing at you with that sideways grin, “I gotta ask. Those pajama pants—are we talkin’ a celestial theme because you’re deep and mysterious, or because you were too tired to find the other pair?”

You snorted, grateful for the break in tension. “Excuse you. These pants are a lifestyle choice. I contain multitudes.”

He laughed, that warm, real laugh that made your chest flutter in ways you tried not to examine too closely. “My bad. I should’ve known I was in the presence of intergalactic fashion royalty.”

You smiled at your hands resting in your lap, then glanced at him. “Honestly? I just didn’t want to wear jeans.”

“Strong choice,” he said solemnly. “Jeans at 3 a.m. are a crime.”

Silence settled again after that, but something about it felt softer this time. You watched the glow from passing headlights move across his face. He looked different at night. Or maybe just more himself. Less guarded. Like the world was finally quiet enough for him to breathe.

He glanced over at you again, more tentative this time.

“Hey,” he said, voice quieter now, “can I ask you something kinda weird?”

You turned to him. “We’re on our way to drink bad coffee in our pajamas. I think weird’s fair game.”

He huffed out a laugh, rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Yeah, okay, true.” A beat. “Did you really mean it earlier? About trusting me?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. But then you nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

He nodded too, eyes on the road. “Good. Just… wanted to say same. You’re like. I don’t know. One of the only people I don’t feel like I have to wear the ‘everything’s fine’ face with.”

That pulled something in you—gentle and aching at the same time.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” you said quietly.

“I know,” he murmured. “That’s what scares me.”

You turned your head toward the window again, pretending you didn’t hear the weight behind his words.

And then—

“So…” he added, playful again but softer, “if I ever spiral so hard I show up to your place in my own galaxy pajama pants, you won’t judge?”

You cracked a smile. “Only if you promise to wear matching socks. Raccoon royalty standards.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said. “But no promises. You know I live on the edge.”

—

A little while later, you pulled into the parking lot of the shitty 24-hour coffee shop. The flickering neon “OPEN” sign buzzed above the door like it was fighting for its last breath, and inside, the place was lit with the kind of cheap fluorescence that made everything look a little too honest.

The guy behind the counter didn’t even blink when you walked in. He looked like he’d seen every version of rock bottom come through that door. Just gave the two of you a lazy once-over and gruffed out, “What can I get for you?”

You glanced at Frankie, suddenly realizing—you didn’t actually know how he took his coffee. But you knew him well enough to make an educated guess. No fluff. No syrupy distractions. Just real.

You ordered a black coffee for him, a cappuccino for yourself.

While you waited, Frankie wandered into the sad little store section in the back—magazines, old candy, cheap trinkets. You watched him drift through the narrow aisles, squinting under the flickering lights, his brows knit like he was hunting for something important in a place that didn’t sell much worth finding. He looked entirely out of place, and at the same time, exactly where he needed to be.

You walked over, careful not to crowd him. “Hey,” you said softly, offering the cup. “Got you some coffee.”

He startled slightly, eyes flicking to the cup and then up to yours.

“How’d you know how I like it?” he asked, a smile curling the corner of his mouth.

“Took a wild guess,” you said, smirking. “Tell me if I got it right.”

He took a sip, paused—then raised his eyebrows like you’d just performed a magic trick.

“Are you a witch or something?”

You shook your head. “I wish. Just good at reading people.”

He gave you a look, one that lingered. “Well, guess I’m readable.”

You smiled and tilted your head toward the booth tucked in the corner, cracked plastic seats and all. “Come on, let’s sit.”

You slid into opposite sides, the table wobbling a little when Frankie leaned his elbows on it. Outside, the streetlights painted the windows in tired gold. Inside, the world felt paused—just the two of you, awake in the hour where everything quiets down and nothing pretends anymore.

—

At first, the conversation was all nonsense. You pointed out the absurd headlines in the magazines (“Apparently celery juice now cures loneliness?”), and Frankie lamented the loss of pretzels in the vending machine like it was a national tragedy.

It didn’t take long before you were laughing—real laughter, the kind that shook your shoulders and made you momentarily forget every shadow trailing your thoughts. And every time you laughed, you noticed how Frankie’s eyes softened. How the weight he carried seemed to lift, just a little, like your laughter helped him breathe.

He leaned back, stretching out in the booth, his coffee cup between his hands.

“You know,” he said eventually, glancing at you with a crooked grin, “this is still the weirdest way I’ve ever met someone.”

You mirrored the grin. “What, you don’t usually bond with strangers over mutual insomnia and spiraling anxiety at 3 a.m.?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, yeah, not usually. But it worked out. I mean… what were the odds? Both of us just lurking in the comments of that anonymous thread about sleep deprivation and somehow ending up here.”

You smiled at the memory. That thread. Some stranger had posted something like "Why does 2:41 a.m. always feel like the loneliest minute in the world?" and the replies were flooded with people sharing half-awake confessions. Your comment had been dry and half-joking—“because 2:42 is booked solid with existential dread”—and his had come right after.

“Alright, you win. Let’s co-host a late-night radio show for the mentally unwell.”

And something about that had made you reply.

“I almost didn’t answer you, you know,” you said, nudging your cup between your hands.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I thought you were either a serial killer or some guy who’d try to impress me with unsolicited guitar covers of ‘Wonderwall.’”

He let out a laugh that startled even him, warm and genuine. “Wow. You really had low expectations.”

“I was being realistic,” you said with a shrug, then added, “but I’m glad I answered.”

Frankie looked at you over the rim of his coffee, his expression softening like you’d just said something important.

“I was real close to deleting everything that night,” you admitted, your voice quieter now, maybe a bit guarded. “Like... just done with people. But your dumb little radio comment? It made me laugh. And that was enough to keep me talking.”

His smile turned gentle, almost boyish. “Guess I’m glad I said something stupid, then.”

You raised your cup to him in a mock-toast. “To dumb jokes in the comments section.”

He clinked his coffee cup lightly against yours. “And to insomnia bringing weirdos together.”

You both smiled, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside that booth had fallen away.

—

The hours slipped by without either of you noticing.

At some point, the coffee went cold, the vending machine buzzed like it was haunted, and the sky outside started to shift—inky black softening into gray, then blue. A quiet kind of light began to creep across the city, brushing over the buildings like a secret. The world was waking up, but inside that booth, it still felt like night. 

You didn’t talk much after that—not because there wasn’t more to say, but because everything that needed to be said was sitting in the air between you. Easy silence, soft glances, a shared kind of tired that wasn’t just from the hour.

Eventually, Frankie stood and stretched with a groan. “Alright, raccoon royalty,” he said, voice low and sleep-rough. “Let’s get you home before the sun fully exposes us to the judging public.”

You smiled, grabbed your empty cup, and followed him out to the car. The seats were cold when you slid in, but his presence warmed the small space fast.

The drive back was quiet again—comfortable, half-drowsy silence. The city looked different now in the early light. Less lonely, less haunted.

When he pulled up outside your place, he didn’t kill the engine right away. Neither of you moved at first.

You turned toward him. “Thanks for the coffee. And the kidnapping.”

He chuckled softly. “Anytime.”

You hesitated, then leaned over the center console, arms wrapping around him in a sleepy, lingering hug. His arms came around you just as gently—no tension, just warmth. Safe.

But when you pulled back, you didn’t go all the way.

You were close, too close. So close in fact that you could smell him, the faint trace of smoke, some cologne from a different day and slight sweat.

The shift in the air was instant, inevitable.

His eyes were on yours, wide and unsure but somehow hopeful. His breath was shallow, yours caught.

You could kiss him. Right now. You could close the space and see what this strange little thing between you really was.

But then your heart stuttered—too fast, too loud—and you panicked.

You blinked, mumbled something that wasn’t even words, and practically scrambled out of the car like it was on fire.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

—

A few days passed. Not a word from either of you about what almost happened.

It was a normal afternoon when your phone buzzed with his name—no late night, no shadows to hide in this time, which somehow made it all the more terrifying. Because in the bright light of day, the almost-kiss felt even more like a mistake. Like you’d nearly ruined the one steady, grounding thing you had right now. The thing that kept you tethered when the floor felt like it might open up and swallow you whole.

Frankie: Can I ask you something?

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering for a moment before you started typing.

You: Sure

There was a pause before he replied.

Frankie: Did I imagine it? The other night in my car. I thought… I don’t know. I thought maybe you wanted to kiss me

Your stomach dropped.

You: I did. I wanted to. I just got scared…

And then, almost immediately, his reply came.

Frankie: I would've loved to kiss you, just so you know.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you let it out.

The message sat there, glowing quietly on your screen, and your cheeks burned, pulse picking up.

You didn’t know what to say—not yet. But something in your chest ached in the sweetest way, like a door had been cracked open, just enough to let the light in.

thanks for reading 💌

main masterlist

tags: @speaktothehandpeasants @jolapeno @sxnnimoon @kungfucapslock @felix-enthusiast @bergamote-catsandbooks @kakiki3 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @capuccinodoll @whirlwindrider29 @jolapeno @cuteanimalmama @christinamadsen @sheepdogchick3 @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @brittmb115 @greenwitchfromthewoods @diabaroxa @glycerinrivers @biapascal @copperhalfcent @beaniebailey @thepilatesprincess @axshadows @kirsteng42 @joelsgoodgirl @ellenmunn @matchalov3 @canadianfangirl-95 @picketniffler @hotforpedro @tuquoquebrute @noovaarq @warmdragonfly @theanothersherlockian @littleluc @76bookworm76 @inept-the-magnificent @confusedpuffin @wheatmaze @rav3n-pascal22 @picketniffler @lostinmyownmaze @misstokyo7love @pascalispunkczechia @pasc4lfuzz @cheekychaos28

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Zombie Apocalypse: Yandere Jujutsu Kaisen (2)

Part 1

In an alarming blur of white and black, Gojo introduces himself by jumping in front of you from above

“Hi there (Y/n)! It’s a pleasure to meet you! Chu! You’re as gorgeous as your blood tests suggest.”

“Oh, my Plasma. Please stop embarrassing yourself.”

“Yeah, even I thought that sounded freaky.”

“Well (Y/n) something you’ll find about me is that I’m a freaky guy~”

“Please stop.”

Meeting the eccentric head of the fortress puts you in a spin

Dragging you to dinner and then to some of the activities the fortress has

With a blindfold that occasionally lifts to show striking blue eyes 

You nearly forget to ask the question that introduced him in the first place

“Hey Gojo?”

“Yes, Cutie-pie?”

“Uh…can I get clearance to see the other survivors.”

He gets real quiet 

his smile fades a little but not enough to mean anything

“Why Star-face? I thought you liked all of us over here?”

“I do. I just want to see my group. It’s only been a day but–”

He puts a finger on your mouth not exactly in a shushing motion

But he ushers you away from Yuuji and Megumi who were fighting over a painting

Taking you farther away from all the other members of the fortress he leads you up some stairs

Finally reaching the roof of one of the buildings you can see the other half 

A less developed place

The homes are close, filled with people, and it’s a lot less lit than the areas you’ve been

“That’s where the other survivors go…you want to go down there?”

You hesitate but not for long

“Yeah if my group is there I think we should be together.”

He sighs running a hand through his white hair before taking off his blindfold

Now you can see the way his light eyes dart over the people below 

He laughs 

“That man…with the purple vest pushed a pregnant woman into the horde when they were cornered.”

He doesn’t look at your horrified expression 

Only pointing out a few others who’ve committed something awful

“Why do you let them stay here then? If they did these horrible things?”

“Because they came with those who need us. But too many of them practically kill themselves if they get too far away. It’s like the way parasites shape the brains of their hosts.”

You didn’t like the implication

“Gojo…why do I have the yellow wristband? And why was I separated from my group?”

He pulled you into his chest rubbing his fingers into your side

“Bug, think of it as us intervening before the Parasite gets their final claws in you. Your special and perfect for saving.”

“Wait but my group isn’t–”

“Hush, love. I’m sure you're tired. Today has been a long day for you.”

He ignores any protests from you and only gushes about what you’ll do tomorrow

You stop trying because you are tired 

Letting him lead you back to your room in the tower above the fortress

“Have a fun time, you two?”

“We had a great time!”

He kisses the black-haired scientist before helping himself into your room

He goes through your closets, the bathroom, and your bag still ranting about nonsense you don’t understand

Suguru gives a comforting pat on the back

he gives you a clean version of your pajamas before bidding you goodnight

“C’mon Satoru you’ll get to bother (Y/n) tomorrow.”

“That’s right and I don’t even have work tomorrow so I’ll be with you allll day!”

“Alright, out mister. Goodnight (Y/n) we’ll tell the kids you said so too.”

“Uh, goodnight.”

When the door finally closes you’re able to think about what he said

And then you fall asleep 

Maybe he’s got a point

“So how’d it go?”

“They were asking about the wristband.”

“The whole time?”

“Only at the end, made up somethin’ about parasites.”

“Oh, their friends? I hope you didn’t suggest they were in that town.”

“Eh-I dunno! Can’t you make up something about them being immune?”

“Maybe but it’s going to be hard convincing them.”

“Who cares? We got ‘em now, right? I’d say we try whatever we want.”

“You’re right we do got ‘em.”

They’ll just have to accept whatever we say

[mxrcusflint]

secret quiet relationship hangster our beloved

The Pacific never got old. Never could. The first time Jake saw the ocean was at the mouth of San Diego on a kayak behind his older sister. He was ten and hypnotized by the way light reflected off the surface of the water, how everything looked like molten metal. 

The front door was still sticky at the hinges, opening with a creak as Jake crept in. He avoided tripping on the skewed doormat. He should place the haphazardly thrown boots into a neater line below the bench, but it was late, and the shot of whiskey to round off the night had seeped into his bloodstream. 

He took great care to close the bathroom door quietly when he was done brushing his teeth, throwing his uniform into the hamper, but Bradley had always been a light sleeper.

“Took you long enough.”

Rooster earned his reputation by getting up at the ass-crack of dawn and making it everyone’s problem. Why he never bothered with ear plugs was a mystery, but Jake liked how Bradley usually awakened when he slid into bed.

Jake approached the edge of the bed. “When’d you leave?”

“‘Round ten,” Bradley grunted, as he brought himself closer. 

That was how Bradley worked at a party: a flash-bang firework which left everyone on a high. He would tug in a crowd with a loping smirk and perform an Irish-exit once he grew satisfied with the attention and the fun. 

“Should I be concerned about your welcome?” Jake chuckled. “Did I make you mad somewhere, sweetheart?”

Bradley didn’t protest. He held a grudge when it befit him, and Jake had dangled a challenge in front of his nose, fully expecting the worst. Whatever it was stewing in Bradley’s brain would come out in bits and pieces, but Rooster seemed more than happy to place his forehead against the rise and fall of Jake’s stomach.

“Slow Ride was not appreciated.” Bradley’s voice was muffled. The movement of his mouth tickled. 

“Not my fault you’re a pillow princess.”

Bradley smacked his ass. 

“Gonna throw my back out because of you one day,” Jake continued, though he betrayed himself by combing his fingers through Bradley’s mess of hair. He’d showered before flopping into bed, it seemed; Jake felt the damp cling to his fingers. 

He placed his chin into Jake’s open palm and peered up with heavy-lidded eyes. Bradshaw and his Pacific sunshine – easier on the eyes than Texas sun overhead at noon, and hot where his arms wrapped around Jake's hips. He liked to sulk until Jake gave him what he wanted: a warm body to curl around, something solid between the sheets. 

“You knock out now, you’ll be up at three.”

“I’ll wake you up, too,” Bradley finally leaned back against the faded blue and white bedspread. He was already half-asleep. “You can amuse me.”

The fine faded lines of Bradley’s scars webbed over his cheek and down the strong line of his neck. The raised skin was easy to trace. Jake thought about what lay underneath often: sinew, blood vessels, and a mandible which worked itself tired whenever Jake forgot to return his calls. 

“Don’t you dare,” Jake dropped heavily onto Bradley’s stomach, earning a quiet huff from the man below. “I need my beauty sleep.”

“Plenty pretty enough.” Bradley’s stupid smooth charm caused Jake’s stomach to swoop in familiar thrill. He wished, sometimes, that he could hold onto the feeling. It was akin to doing loop-de-loops in the sky, of pointing the nose of the jet low and diving down. 

It always felt like a thing that could slip out of his fingers.

“Brought a change of clothes over for you,” Bradley mumbled; he placed a possessive palm over Jake’s hip, with a grip in the slippery material of his shorts. “So you don’t have to go home before we gotta be there.” 

Bradley had probably grabbed mismatched socks, but it was the thought that counted. He would gladly take the gesture if it awarded Jake a few more minutes of sleep.

Rooster ran hot even under the full blast of the air-conditioning. Jake unwrapped a greedy arm from his waist. “You ready for it?”

“Mhm,” Bradley fumbled for his pillow; his words were slow and slurred. “‘specially with you around.”

There would be no peace found in the next few weeks. He’d done this long enough: to be summoned back with the best of the best meant consequences. A success for him to chase with trade-offs. Jake sucked in a breath and watched the smooth blanket of sleep spread over Bradley’s face.

[sillyhanako]

✦　　﹐　　I just wanna get high with my lover..　　⌒⌒

﹒꒦꒷ WINDBREAKER BOYS cuddling scenarios ♡♡ ft. togame jo, sakura haruka, suo hayato and kaji ren.

୧﹒sfw // wc : 272 - 400 each

꒱﹒a/n﹒୨୧ sorry for being inactive chat im cooking up way too many drafts and the ideas are flooding my brain 🎀 twst is peak

ー﹕m.list﹐

﹫﹒TOGAME JO

It was one of those cozy nights where the world felt like it was wrapped in a soft, warm blanket. The moonlight peeked through the curtains, casting gentle shadows across the room, as you and Togame found your perfect snuggling position on the couch. The warmth of one another's bodies created a bubble of serene comfort, and the only sounds that filled the space were the peaceful inhalations and exhalations as you both drifted into a blissful half-sleep.

You, nestled comfortably into Togame’s side, sighed contentedly, feeling like you could stay in this moment forever. However, as you succumbed to the gentle pull of sleep, a familiar tingling sensation crept through your arm. It was a well-known sign that your beloved cuddle partner was squishing your arm just a bit too tightly. With a playful huff, you cracked open an eye, gazing up at Togame.

“Hey my sweet angel princess” you teased, suppressing a giggle. “Could you move a little? My arm is falling asleep.”

slowly unfurled from the comfortable bundle you both had created. “c'moooon” he replied with a grunt, “But I was so comfortableee can’t you just power through it?”

“Power through?” you laughed, your voice light and teasing. “What do you think I am, some sort of arm contortionist?” 

With a jolt, he shifted, still pouting, but instantly feeling the warmth of your arm invigorate again. “Alright, alright i’ll grant your wish,” he said, lifting his arm.

Sitting up slightly, you two shared a moment, your faces just inches apart, the teasing still lingering in the air. “But only if you promise to return to this cozy position in just a moment,” he added with his signature mischievous grin. Oh if only he knew how handsome he looked right now.

“whateverrr" you mumbled back, settling in again as you found your way back into that cozy bubble. In the quiet of the night, you snuggled again, warm and content, drifting off into a peaceful slumber.

﹫﹒SAKURA HARUKA

Cuddling with sakura who's as stiff as a board can feel like snuggling a popsicle—chilly and a bit rigid. It’s kind of like trying to get a cat out from under the bed; you need to be gentle, patient, and maybe a little playful.

you came back to your shared apartment from a long day at school and needed to recharge, what better way than cuddling your cute boyfriend?

So now you're all cozied up on the couch, and he’s sitting there, arms awkwardly at his sides. You could swear he’s a statue, frozen in time, unsure whether to embrace or retreat. His heart might be racing—after all, cuddling isn’t exactly in the job description of a guy who’s never been in a relationship.

So how do you break the ice? Start with a playful nudge or a light tease. Gradually, you can inch closer, laying your head on his shoulder as if it's no big deal, inviting him into the cozy cuddle puddle you’ve created.

As his rigidity slowly melts, you can feel his heartbeat sync with yours. It’s like discovering the secret to a puzzle that everyone thought was impossible. You catch him stealing glances at you, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. Those moments give life to the cuddles, turning the chilly embrace into something warm and comforting.

If he still seems a bit hesitant, don’t worry! It’s all part of the fun. Compliment him or tell him how good he's being doing lately and how enough he really is. You might just find that his flustered face is the softest pillow to rest on. With each tease and awkward shuffle of limbs, he might just start to feel safe enough to let go of that stiff facade.

In this playful dance between fluff and awkwardness, he'll discover that cuddling isn’t only about physical closeness. It’s about creating an atmosphere where he feels free to express the whirlpool of feelings he’s been keeping bottled up. And hey, sometimes, when you least expect it, he might just surprise you with an unexpected cuddle back, and in that moment, you’ll know you’ve unlocked a piece of his heart.

﹫﹒SUO HAYATO

Cuddling on a lazy Sunday morning is one of those simple, sweet pleasures of life. The warmth of your handsome boyfriend wrapping his arms around you feels like being enveloped in your favorite blanket—cozy and secure. As the morning sunlight streams through the window, the world outside fades away, and it’s just the two of you, lost in your own little space.

Every touch feels like a tiny spark of magic, igniting sweet little giggles as you playfully nudge against each other. His calm demeanor means that you don’t have to hustle or worry about maximizing every moment; you can simply be. There’s a tranquility in those still moments that grants you permission to drift into laughter about the silly things you two did last week or to share fond memories that make your heart flutter.

Amidst the sweet serenity, a sudden, unexpected sound breaks the tranquility. You, snuggled comfortably against hayato, can’t help but let out a little fart. It happens!! We’re all human, right?

“Did you just fart?” he asks, a teasing glint in his eye, mixed with amusement and a hint of disbelief.

“Yes,” you admit sheepishly , a blush creeping across your cheeks.

“It’s okay,” suo responds with that signature calmness that makes everything feel better. “release your demons babe.”

With a mix of laughter and mock desperation, you lets out an exaggerated groan, “aaaauuurghh..”

The room bursts into laughter, and suddenly, the atmosphere is lighter.

amid gentle laughter and soft whispers, the world outside ceases to exist. You embrace the imperfections, the giggles, and, yes, even the farts, as the true essence of your relationship shines through.

﹫﹒KAJI REN

The soft glow of fairy lights dances in the corners of the room as the scent of popcorn fills the air — the perfect scene for a movie night. You settle into the couch, and your boyfriend, kaji, saunters in with his classic laid-back vibe.

he doesn’t fuss or fret about plans or expectations. Instead, he just kind of... floats in and out of moments, like a gentle breeze.

As you cuddle, a delightful mix of warmth and quiet envelops you. His breathing is steady and calm, creating a soothing backdrop to your little pocket of the world. While he might not shout his feelings from the rooftops or engage in wild conversations, there’s a comforting strength in his silence. He’s the type of guy who listens more than he talks, which sometimes leaves you wondering what’s going on in that brilliantly quiet mind of his.

But every now and then, a subtle chuckle escapes him — when you least expect it. — you find yourself savoring those moments.

But today your stomach had a different idea.

You, with a playful pout, broke the comfortable silence, “I’m hungry." You shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable while you stomach let out a small grumble, as if joining the conversation.

Kaji, blissfully snug and unwilling to leave the warmth of the blanket, replied with a monotone voice, “no way am i moving,” one was craving food, while the other was perfectly content to remain cocooned in his warm sanctuary. plus he was reallly into the movie.

You both knew that the only solution to your hunger would involve a quest to the kitchen, but the task seemed monumentally heroic when faced with the allure of the warmth of the cuddles and the movie. With a mock sigh, youleaned closer, whispering dramatically, “But what if I starve?”

after an exaggerated pause, he replied, “find a way but im not moving, 'm way too lazy."

cuddling with kaji is like a delightful balance. Sure, youre often the one chattering away about everything from your day to the latest trending topics. Yet, there’s something grounding about having a partner who doesn’t feel the need to fill every silence with words. It’s as if you've developed your own language — a subtle squeeze of the hand here, a soft smile there.

there’s a sweetness in the simplicity of being wrapped up together, lost in your thoughts but connected in the profound hush of your recharge sesh.

© 2025 sillyhanako ━ do not copy, steal, or reupload my works. Thanks!