#sleep disturbances and fatigue

[surinderbhalla]

Fibromyalgia: Latest Findings and prevention tips!

Fibromyalgia is a chronic disorder characterized by widespread musculoskeletal pain, tenderness, and other symptoms. Despite its prevalence, fibromyalgia has long been shrouded in mystery due to its complex and often elusive nature. However, recent research has shed new light on the condition. In this blog, we will be discussing fibromyalgia, Its latest findings, and prevention tips. We will also…

[nowbestdeals]

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

Stepping through the door of his apartment, Xavier freezes at the sight of you curled up on his couch. The dim light of the entryway casts long shadows across your sleeping form. His eyes soften as he approaches on silent feet. For a moment, he simply stands there, studying your peaceful face. He carefully removes his jacket and places it over your shoulders.

“You’re here,” he murmurs. A half-empty cup of tea sits on the table—long gone cold. His fingers hover over it briefly, a subtle furrow appearing between his brows. He hadn’t expected you to be here since you didn't text him anything besides ‘take care!’ a few hours ago.

“See you in the morning,” he whispers, brushing hair from your face. The exhaustion starts to catch up with him from the mission. Xavier settles on the carpeted floor, content to watch over you until morning—with his hand holding yours, and his head resting beside you.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

The apartment is quiet when Zayne unlocks the door, shoulders heavy with fatigue after the unexpected emergency surgery. His steps falter when he spots you asleep on the couch, the book still open on your lap. Quietly removing his coat, he approaches with quiet steps, taking in the scene with a mixture of slight exasperation and fondness.

“I told you not to wait,” he mutters, though there’s no real reproach in his tone. He marks your place in the book before setting it aside. Then, he lifts you with careful hands—the same hands that saved a life hours earlier—and carries you to bed. As he tucks you in, he smiles before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“You never listen,” he whispers, affection evident in his voice despite his words. Before joining you, he retrieves a small candy from his pocket, and places it on your side of the pillow as a silent gesture of appreciation.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

Rafayel bursts through the door, ready to regale you with how annoying the people were or how stuffy the place was or how the traffic wasted his time on the way. His entrance halts abruptly when he spots you asleep on the couch, clearly having dozed off while waiting for his return.

“Oh? What’s this?” he teases softly, though you can’t hear him. He studies you like he’s admiring his art on the canvases, memorizing the way moonlight plays across your features.

“You were waiting for me. How sweet,” he murmurs, gently brushing your cheek, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your skin. He settles beside you, pulling you against his chest without waking you.

“We’ll greet each other properly tomorrow,” he whispers into your hair, joining you to sleep.

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

The door to Sylus’s private residence opens with barely a sound, his commanding presence entering the space with calculated steps. He looks amused when he discovers you asleep on his bed, clearly having attempted to wait for his return.

“What a pleasant surprise,” he remarks quietly. Approaching with silent footsteps, he observes how peaceful you look—a stark contrast to the ruthlessness he demonstrated hours earlier when dealing with a betrayal of his ‘employee’.

“You could have demanded I return sooner,” he settles onto the bed beside you, careful not to disturb your slumber, “I would have obliged.”

His admission comes easily even in your sleep. He props himself up on one elbow, content to simply watch the rise and fall of your chest, the slight flutter of your eyelids as you dream. His fingers hover above your cheek but don't make contact—reluctant to wake you.

It’s not his time to sleep yet, but his other work can wait.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

The gathering continues in full swing, but Caleb’s attention has shifted entirely to you, noticing your struggle to keep your eyes open despite your polite attempts to hide your exhaustion.

He calls his adjutant to escort you home safely. You protest immediately, reminding him of your plans to watch a movie together later—the one you've been talking about all week. Your resistance only softens his expression momentarily.

“The movie will still be there when I return,” he whispers. “I won’t be long.”

An hour later, he enters his place quietly. He pauses at the doorway, taking in the sight before him—you’ve fallen asleep on the couch, the television still playing the opening menu of the movie you had insisted on watching while waiting. A spread of snacks remains largely untouched on the coffee table.

He chuckles quietly before lifting you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as he carries you to bed, whispering, “I have a day off tomorrow. I promise we’ll do anything you want.”

[keplercryptids]

common myths about migraines (AKA if you get headaches regularly, please seek treatment for migraines)

"i don't have migraines because while i get them several times a week, it's only when i am hungry or dehydrated."

those are probably migraines. thirst, hunger, sleep disturbances, or any disruption to routine are common migraine triggers.

"my headaches are specifically barometric related, i get them when the weather/altitude changes."

those are probably migraines. barometric pressure is a common migraine trigger.

"i get headaches all the time but ibuprofen gets rid of them so they can't be migraines."

that's not true. ibuprofen works great at relieving migraine pain for many people.

"my consistent headaches are tension headaches. i feel them originate in my neck/shoulders."

those are probably migraines. muscle tension is a common migraine trigger.

if you are regularly getting headaches (once a week or more), you are likely getting migraines. in fact, a good rule of thumb if you're consistently getting headaches is to treat them as migraines until you can rule out migraines. that's how common "chronic headache = migraine" actually is.

migraines are a neurological disorder wherein pain is one symptom. pain is often the MAIN symptom, and the most noticeable symptom, which can make diagnosis tricky. other symptoms of migraine include:

fatigue

nausea/vomiting

digestive issues

visual disturbances (auras)

sensitivity to light and/or sound

mood changes

brain fog/cognitive changes

ringing in the ears

dizziness/vertigo

numbness/weakness on one side of the body

this list is NOT complete, but is a starting point. i really like the comparison to a hangover. if you generally feel hungover when you get a headache (without having consumed alcohol), that's a classic migraine presentation.

so many people suffer from migraine and don't even know it, so they aren't able to advocate for themselves to get treatment. there are great new migraine treatments on the market! if you're able, please seek treatment for your migraines. a better quality of life is possible.

[luveline]

Ok I love your post about sleep talking to Aaron, but can you imagine if reader is pregnant but hasn’t told Aaron yet and completely spills the beans in her sleepy ramblings 💙💙

thanks for requesting! <3 fem, 1.4k

“Can you take my socks off for me?”  

Aaron decides against asking why. Finds he doesn’t really care why you don’t want to do it yourself, happy to do it for you and spend a little time touching you. He sits on the end of the bed, pulling the comforter off of your feet. He slides a finger under the band of a sock and pulls it off, then the other. Pleased to hear your content sigh, he tucks you back under the blankets. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

He hears it then, the tiredness creeping into your voice. 

“Not gonna last long tonight?” 

“Don’t think so.” 

Aaron doesn’t mind. With Jack in bed already and everything that needed to be done put away, there’s nothing to do tonight but sleep. He would’ve liked to have had a few more hours with you, but you’re often tired lately. He keeps meaning to pay closer attention to your diet. Perhaps you’re eating too little or missing a necessary vitamin. 

He strips out of his sweatpants and climbs into bed. 

“Ooh, how forward, Mr. Hotchner,” you tease, your cheek to your pillow, curled and waiting for him to lay down. 

He turns out the light. “Can’t a man take off his pyjamas without such accusations?” he asks back, soft so as not to disturb his sleeping son nor his failing partner. 

Aaron shakes the sheets out over his legs, slipping onto his side in your direction. You hike your leg over his thigh. He pulls you in. 

“Why are you so tired?” he asks. 

You don’t pretend you’re not, eyes closing and forehead drifting forward. He’s content to talk to you like this. He might not be able to sleep for a while, but he won’t mind it. It’s an opportunity to see you as you are without inhibitions or distractions.

“I think it’s something in the air.” You slink your arm behind him where he’s hugged you, hand bent at an awkward angle to press into his hair. “So soft.” 

He leans down for a kiss. “If you need to sleep,” he says, pulling away only to stroke under your eye, “you can sleep, honey.” 

“No… miss you too much…” 

“I’ll still be here in the morning.”

“Don’t promise if you can’t.” 

He kisses your frown. “I promise I’ll be here in the morning. Just like we talked about. Regularly scheduled days off, definite weekends, consult only if necessary. I promise, honey.” 

“I love you.” 

“I know. I love you more.” 

You’re delighted to hear it. Even with your eyes closed, he can sense the pleasure you’re feeling. You squeeze closer to his chest and begin pulling your fingers through his hair, a sensation that sends shivers down his spine with each pass. Your face falls on your pillow just under his chin and for a while you struggle, your hand trembling with the effort of stroking his hair. Soon, you’re scratching light circles into the same spot, and not long after that you’ve given in to simply having your hand there, buried without hurting. 

He turns onto his back to relieve a hip ache. He doesn’t bother pretending it isn’t a plus when you end up half atop him. 

“Aaron?” 

“Yeah?” he asks, surprised you're capable of opening your mouth. 

“Are you happy?” 

“Never so much in my life.” 

“You love me?” 

He curls an arm behind the back of your head. “You know that I do, sweetheart.” Aaron is at a crossroads of disposition; he’s always been and always will be a sensitive man, but he’s more of a shower than a teller when he can help it. He’d hope you know every inch of love he has for you, in everything he tries to do, but if you’re asking him about it he should’ve said it more. “I love you. I’m so grateful for you.” 

“I love you and Jack, and… I love our life.” 

“Me too,” he says. “Is this a precursor for something?” 

“No,” you say decidedly. Last bit of inflection, and then your tone’s lost to fatigue. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight,” he says, pressing his lips to your head, kissing you once, then twice. “Goodnight.” 

You curl up into him. He can feel the moment you fall into sleep, the laxness of unconsciousness and your deepening breath. You don’t usually snore for the first hour or so. He should try to fall asleep with you, but he gets distracted by the line of your upper lip. 

He really does love you. It isn’t an underestimation to say this is the happiest he’s ever been. He’ll always wonder if he deserves it, but he wants to believe now that he can earn it. You love him, so he’ll spend the rest of your lives together making sure you’re happy. He’s had some cruel wake up calls, made agonising mistakes, and maybe there are some things that can’t be forgiven. But you deserve to be loved to the fullest extent. Jack deserves to grow up feeling the same way, in a home where his dad, while staying true to who he is, actually lives there too.

You and Jack both gave him a second chance at a good life. 

“I love you,” he says again. 

Stirring, you mumble nothing. 

He shouldn’t have done that. “Shh,” he says, rubbing your back. “Shh, shh.” 

“Aaron?” 

You turn his name into a shapeless doting. 

“What, my girl?” he asks under his breath. “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m sleeping.” 

“You were.” He whispers to you in the dark, struggling to resist temptation. “I was just telling you I love you, that’s all.” 

“I’m so tired.” 

“You’re more than tired lately. It’s a little concerning.”

Your sigh kisses his neck. “Well, it’s probably ‘cos of the baby, you know, they’re so… complicated to make…” 

He opens his eyes. Frowns at you, forcing some space between your two bodies. “The baby.” 

“‘Pparently the first twelve weeks are the tiredest.” You whine softly and curl into him. “Don’t move away, please...” 

He feels like he’s been shocked. The conversation about babies as a long term couple went as follows: we’ll use protection, and if the protection fails we’ll do as you like. 

Aaron, you’d said, shaking your head, We can’t just do what I want.

Genuinely and wholeheartedly, Aaron would be happy with just his Jack, and, at the same time, would adore a baby with you. So it really was up to you, knowing protection isn’t ever one hundred percent. He’d hoped he’d be more looped into that conversation when it happened, though, especially with how much has to be done, the preparations to be made, and the extra support you’re going to need. 

He takes a deep breath, thinking about everything carefully. He loves you. He wants you to have a baby if you want one, and it sounds like you do. You’re tired beyond belief trying to carry one, so this conversation can wait until tomorrow. 

“I’ve heard that too,” he says finally, kissing your forehead more forcefully than he means to. “You should rest as much as you can, honey.”

“You sound like you’re smiling,” you tease, tired, somehow missing the entire point. 

“I love you very much, that’s all. You and Jack and… and whatever else that comes.” 

—

In the morning, you wake slowly and then suddenly, your hand against his arm. He’s exhausted from a night too excited to sleep and doesn’t budge.

“Aaron…?” you ask. 

“What, honey?” he asked. 

“I… did I…” 

He deigns to remove his face from his pillow. He finds you looking down at him nervously, so beautiful then that looking at you makes him excited all over again. 

He rubs your arm. Takes your hand, pulling it to his lips to kiss your wrist. “Congratulations, honey.” 

It’s your turn to be shocked, it seems. “Oh, thank you. So I did tell you?” 

“You might’ve mentioned it.” 

“And you’re… okay with it?” 

He puts your hand to his heart, holding it gently. “I couldn’t be more in love,” he confesses. 

That helps your hesitant smile on leaps and bounds. You go smiley like you’ve eaten something sugary and laughed, summoning the sweet, inescapable ache in your jaw. “You’re sure?” you ask. 

He pulls you down by the cheek for a kiss. 

[dearieshima]

blue

feat. lovely banter with zayne in the morning

c.w. should I label this as improper use of medicine? 💀, very suggestive, fluffy, MDNI, 1k+ words, fem reader

In the softest hour before dawn, when the town of Linkon lay wrapped in the hush of a blue so tender it felt almost sacred, Zayne sat at the edge of your bed, the early light casting his form in gentle shades of indigo and sapphire. Shadows stretched long as as he carefully buttoned his shirt, his fingers moving with a deliberate rhythm, hoping not to disturb you.

In that quiet intimacy, your arms, weighted with sleep, reached for him. He startled, the tension in his shoulders easing when he turned to find you awake, your eyes carrying the gentleness of lingering dreams. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered, his voice a lullaby. His hand slid softly over your hair, and then he gently adjusted the blanket around your frame.

"Mmm, so you're the type of guy to see yourself out after spending the night with a woman?" you murmured, a playful edge laced with drowsiness.

Zayne let out a soft hmph, the sound warm and tinged with a hint of amusement. "I'm the type of man who has a very busy day ahead of him," he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile.

His hands moved to work on his tie, his fingers maneuvering the silk with skilled efficiency. "You," he added, pausing for a moment to look down at his work, "have the luxury of staying in bed, asleep, for another couple of hours."

You raised, the blanket slipping and pooling at your waist and exposing the erotic canvas of your skin in the hues of healing.

Mauve hickies adorned the column of your neck like a necklace. Plum love bites, puffy and tender, marred the smooth swells of your breasts, peeking out from your white lace bra. On your waist, a ghostly imprint of a possessive hand lingered.

Zayne froze, his hands clutching his loosened tie as his jaw tensed almost unseen. His eyes, however, remained thawed and warm to shift with such frequentness to drink you in.

He blinked rapidly before resuming his motion, loosening the tie around his throat as if it was the reason behind his loss of breath. He inhaled before he gently beckoned you to lay back down and attempted to tuck the covers back over you.

"Don't sit up. You need your sleep," he said softly, his voice slightly deeper than usual. Despite his words, there was a hint of guilt and tenderness in his tone, betraying his concern.

You pushed aside the covers and leaned into his shoulder, your fingers curling into the hem of his shirt. “Lemme... Lemme iron your shirt.”

Zayne’s resolve faltered as you pressed closer, your warmth seeping through the fabric of his sleeve. The scent of your love making still lingered on you.

“You expect me to think you can hold an iron when you can barely hold your eyes open," he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His hand found your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “You'll have me hurrying up the process so I could rush you to the ER.”

You blinked up at him, your eyes heavy but earnest. “Can I have some water?”

He sighed but rose without complaint, returning moments later with a glass of cold water in one hand and a couple of pills in the other. Setting the water on the nightstand, he sank back onto the edge of the bed. His gaze swept over you, taking in the exhaustion etched across your features—the faint lines of fatigue, the dark shadows under your eyes. He knew how much your work as a hunter drained you, though he also knew now wasn’t the time for a lecture.

Which, of course, didn’t stop him.

"The first one is ibuprofen for pain relief," his eyes flickering to the bruise blooming on your throat, "and the other one is a multivitamin, which, by the looks of the full capsule in your medicine cabinet, is one you should've been taking daily, prescribed by your doctor."

You pouted, your voice soft. “I just forgot. And they taste weird.”

"You forget a lot of things," he said, his tone half-chiding, half-concerned. His fingers deftly cracked open the vitamin capsule, holding the pill up between you. "They're medicine, not candy. They're not supposed to taste delicious."

“What are you—?”

“Making sure you actually take it.” His hand tipped your chin upward, thumb and forefinger firm but careful. His voice dipped into something commanding. “Open.”

Your lips parted, your eyes meeting his as he leaned closer. He placed the pill on your tongue, but the flick of your it against his fingertip drew an audible hitch from him.

Zayne froze for a heartbeat, his eyes darkening with something unreadable, something heated. His thumb lingered on your lower lip, tracing its curve as his gaze held yours.

“Swallow,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, his breath brushing against your skin.

You obeyed, your throat working as the pill went down. His eyes tracked the movement, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his face. His thumb stayed at your lip a moment longer before he pulled back and handed you the water.

“Good girl,” he said softly, the words laced with a low, almost teasing warmth.

You drained the glass in one go, setting it back on the nightstand with a faint clink. Your eyes met his again, the weariness in them replaced with a spark of something else entirely.

“Now I’m really not tired,” you said, your voice breaking the quiet tension in the room.

Zayne leaned back, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. He was aware of the drowsiness that was about to settle in soon, thanks to the ingredient in the pills named Diphenhydramine.

Zayne pulled the covers up to your chin, his fingers gently tucking the fabric around you. He took a moment to admire the sight of you, wrapped up in your nest of warmth, the faint warm light of the early morning seeping through the windows, clearing the chillness of the blue. He should have left a while ago.

"It'll hit you soon," he said. "You'll be dozing off before you know it."

"Rest," he murmured. His hand lingered, squeezing your shoulder gently before pulling away. "I have to go."

"Wait," you said, tugging lightly on his sleeve. "Have a nice day at work."

"I will."

"And don’t eat too many sweets. Remember, your dentist said sugar-free," you added, smiling softly.

"I’m sure one pastry won’t hurt," he teased.

"Your lunch is in the fridge... don’t forget it," you murmured through a yawn. Zayne has been deliberately leaving his lunch behind for weeks now, a thin excuse for you to stop by later and see you again.

"I won’t," he lied smoothly.

Your breathing slowed, the weight of sleep pulling you under.

Zayne feigned a glance at his watch --and God, he really should've left by now-- pretending he had important duties that needed tending to, but secretly reveled in the extra few minutes of banter and banter with you.

Then it happened.

"I love you," you whispered, the words tumbling out mid-yawn, the 'you' stretching softly as your eyelids drifted shut. It was the first time you’d said it, the confession slipping free without a second thought.

Zayne froze, his heart stuttering in his chest. For a moment, he just stood there, watching you as you surrendered to sleep. It's the medication talking, he silently told himself, even as the words echoed in his mind, sending a warmth spreading through his veins.

He gently placed his hand on your head, his fingers carding through your hair in a soothing manner as he watched your eyes flutter closed.

Zayne watched as your breathing slowed into the soft, even rhythm of sleep, your face relaxed and peaceful. He lingered for a few more seconds, his gaze tracing the lines of your face, committing them to memory. He bent down to kiss your forehead. "I love you, too. I'll see you in the afternoon."

As gently as possible, Zayne removed his hand from your head, the touch light as he slowly made his way to the door.

[emmyrosee]

your phone has been buzzing non stop for the past fourteen minutes. you know it’s been fourteen minutes, because the blinding light that emanates from the device blings every few seconds. when you grumble and turn to glance at it, the bright lights read 00:14.

your body is fatigued, tired from being pulled out of your sleep, and to be at the mercy of whoever is texting you so early- late?- has you feeling more and more agitated than the last. the room is dark, vision adjusting to the lack of light, save for the brightness coming from your phone. you furrow your brows, grimace, and it isn't until your phone starts to ring that you whip it off the charger and hold it up to your ear. "someone better be dying-"

he chuckles softly, "i take it i woke you up?"

"of course you did, asshole," you hiss. "what, what, what could be so important that you couldn't wait until morning-"

"i wanted to be the first one to wish you a happy birthday."

your breath hitches and you feel your eyes soften, a warmth spreading across your cheeks as you process what he said. your lips curl into a small smile, and you scrub your face with your hand, "you could've been the first even if i only saw your message in the morning. you didn't have to stay up until midnight."

"yeah, but whats the fun in that?" he offers. "and this way, you know i was first. no room for debate."

you giggle and shake your head, letting a comfortable silence linger over the phone.

"happy birthday," he says softly.

"thank you, baby,” you whisper back.

"i'll let you get back to sleep," he hums. "know how much you need your beauty sleep."

"watch it. you disturbed me, remember?"

he snorts. you shake your head fondly, letting your smile not falter thanks to him not being able to see it.

"i love you."

"i love you too."

[writingunderneathawillow]

dozed off (bucky barnes x reader)

content warnings: none, just good old fluff, unless you count sweetest bucky as a warning (i do), gender neutral reader word count: 815

You quietly fumbled with the door of your and Bucky’s joint apartment, your purse and phone clutched in one hand and keys in your other.

When you slowly pushed the door open, excitement flooded your veins as you took in the soft glow of the lamp on the side table next to the couch.

Bucky wasn’t supposed to be home yet; he had texted you earlier that day that he was not going to be back before tomorrow morning. But there he was, his large frame spread out on the couch, chest rising and falling in steady motions.

His eyes were closed, lashes just brushing up against his cheeks as gentle sighs tumbled from his lips.

He looked heartbreakingly endearing, one arm slung out, hovering above the floor as if sleep had taken him while he was reaching for something. You took a few steps towards him, moving as silently as possible in order not to wake him.

Usually, his super soldier hearing would have picked up even the faintest sounds, but exhaustion had knocked him out completely, pulling him into his dreamlands without disturbances.

As you made your way towards him, you couldn’t help but break into a bright smile. Adoration that bordered on worship filled your system as you kneeled down in front of his sleeping figure and gazed at his face. Your eyes traced the contours of his jaw, the point of his nose and wandered to his soft pink lips, which parted slightly as he breathed in. Instinctively, you reached out but stopped yourself just before your fingers could brush up against his cheek. Reluctantly, you pulled back and extended your hand towards the blanket on the back of the couch, draping it over him to keep the cold away.

You wanted to join him on the sofa, burying yourself against his body that you knew like the back of your hand, every dip, every muscle and every scar. Sleeping alone in your shared bed was out of the question, not when he was so close. But the idea of interrupting his slumber, as much as you wanted to see the beautiful blue of his eyes – it would feel like a crime to rip him away from his rest.

So instead, you cozied up on the floor, right beneath him, pulling a blanket and pillow from the armchair to ease yourself onto the ground. The sound of his soft breath was stronger than any sleeping pills, seemingly cradling you and filling your ears like the sweetest melody. Your eyelids grew heavier with every second of his breathing and soon, your own dreams welcomed you.

When Bucky woke up the next morning, he groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he looked around. The couch had been unkind to his neck, which twinged a little with every movement. He was disoriented, surprised to say the least, to have woken up on the couch.

When he had sat down the evening prior, it had been his intention to stay awake, to wait up until your return home. But not ten minutes after his head had hit the pillow, fatigue had caused him to drift off hours before you had arrived.

As his gaze wandered, it stopped on you.

Crumbled next to the couch, blanket pulled up to your chin and fast asleep, you laid there, a content smile plastered across your face despite the fact that your position couldn’t possibly be comfortable.

His heart fluttered as he reached out to you, warmth spreading through his chest.

“Sweetheart?” He asked softly, dragging his knuckles across your cheek.

You stirred lightly, a tiny yawn breaching your lips as you looked at him through heavy lidded eyes.

“Hi,” you greeted him, smiling brighter as your eyes adjusted and you finally got to see his half amused, half concerned face.

“What are you doing on the floor?” His voice was gentle, love seemingly intertwining with his vocal cords.

You chuckled and sat up, scooting closer to him.

With your arms propped up on the cushions of the couch, you rested your chin on your hands and beamed up at him.

“I didn’t wanna sleep without you,” you explained, and his heart might have burst.

“You coulda woken me,” he said and extended his hand to brush a few loose strands of hair from your forehead.

“You looked so peaceful, I couldn’t have possibly done that.”

A sheepish grin snuck onto his face as he pulled you up to him, letting your body melt against his as he wrapped his arms around you.

“What could I have ever done to deserve you?” His question was a whisper, a soft inquiry that tugged at your heartstrings.

You kissed his cheek tenderly, feeling the scruff of his beard beneath your lips.

“I wanted to wait up for you,” he continued and looked at you, “But I must’ve dozed off.”

thank you for reading :) gentle reminder that likes are more than appreciated but comments and reblogs make the dream work

[xo2dee]

EROS

DMC MASTERLIST

PAIRING: Vergil/(Fem)Reader. WARNINGS: MDNI/18+ ONLY. Thigh Riding, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Light Asphyxiation, Dirty Talk, Biting, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Mention of Impregnation. WORD COUNT: 10,271. SUMMARY: You were his. You would always be his. And for that in return, he was yours.

A/N: clawed my face off writing this

For someone who didn’t have to survive off of bodily functions that was required for endurance, he had taken up sleeping once again, something he hadn’t necessarily done practically any of in the previous twenty years.

However, as easily as he could adapt to situations that called for it, sleeping didn’t come as smoothly as he knew it was, and more than often he spent more time glaring a hole into a random spot on the wall or ceiling for being plagued with the grips of insomnia that came from not actually having a full night’s rest in that long, weakened state he had been in.

(Even as weak as he had been, sleep never would come to him.)

Waking up along the strings of the night and into the early hours of the morning was something that wasn’t necessarily extraordinary for him, however each time the circumstances ended up differing whenever he did so. Whether it be the bouts of insomnia that tapered his eyelids more times than he ever would admit to anyone, or perhaps being that rare, fleeting night he’d have a nightmare that ended as quickly as it started – as opposed to the long ago memories he sometimes wish he didn’t dream of so casually – he had been the victim of waking in the time before dawn one too many times. Nevertheless, that night was different, and it was but a few moments of pushing through a sleep-addled brain to realize just why he had woke up.

You.

Though, it was quite a few moments of sluggish analysis he would’ve berated himself for until he was able to realize that you had been the cause of his awakening. Of course being abruptly ejected out of the deep sleep he had been in was enough for his eyes to flutter open, a sharp glint already finding way in his irises as the hairs on his neck rose and a furrow lined in his brow when he took in the situation around him.

It was late, the shine of the moonlight casting through the window into the room matching the hue of his pale eyes nearly as he absently stared at the spot on the wall across from him, his eyes already adjusting to the darkness of the room to let him to be able to see better. Albeit his fatigue crusted his eyes, he sat still for a long moment, ears starting to listen in for anything that would’ve alerted him out of his sleep, yet only coming up short when the only noises he could pick up that was deemed of any importance was his brother’s snores down the hallway, and the sound of your breathing and heartbeat. It was quiet, and not an ounce of threatening energy suffocated his throat and shot his nerves, so he was quick to blame his awakening on another round of insomnia.

Coming up short and no longer disturbed, he closed his eyes again and lowered his hackles, his nostrils flaring into your nape as the intoxicating scent of you invaded each one of his senses and pricked along his frontal lobe and he immediately grew back to his alert state for what he was able to pick up so close to him and so strong radiating off of you.

Your smell, and how warm you were.

Vergil’s eyes cracked back open quicker that time around and fully without an ounce of drowsiness, already setting them down in a glare down at the back of your head when he realized your positions. It was never odd to wake up and find your leg slung over his waist or your face buried into his collarbone, breathing heavy and light snores leaving your mouth as you were a restless sleeper at times and often gravitated to him for his body. Normally you were the clinger, and he found it incredibly shameful it seemed to be easier to sleep at night whenever you were close to him, and often times he would awake if he could no longer feel your skin so close to his own. Because of that, he was usually digging a shoulder into your back to feel any semblance of what it felt like when you slept so near to him and kept that dark subconscious at bay.

(He’d never tell you that, and perhaps you knew somehow, but it was an unspoken fact between you both that he’d rather keep in a silent exchange of actions rather than words. He had never been one good for his words anyway. Vergil, however, knew it was a cemented truth on your end, your want to wrap yourself within his sheets rather than staying in your own well enough for him to assume that he had quite the effect on you. Just like the one you had on him.)

Though that time around you faced away from him, your back lining up along his torso and hips pressed into his pelvis as he had ended up throwing one arm around your waist and the both of your legs entangled with one another. Not a strange position entirely, and it also wasn’t so odd given your lack of pants and one of the shirts you had stolen from him adorning your slumbering figure, though he wondered if you had pulled away from him at some point in the night and he had just moved unconsciously to keep you close from the brewing layer of deepening thoughts that rested in the recesses of his mind ready to crawl forward and plague the serene he’d been having. That alone was evidence enough of the devastating effect you had on him, something he would consider both a bruting strength for purpose, and a solidified weakness for his humanity.

Either way he dismissed those thoughts as quickly as they came up, his brief time awake showcasing his quick thinking as he truly realized why he had awoken altogether and why he had awoken curled up against you and with his nose pressed into the bone of your nape.

Your smell for one, and granted your smell was pleasing as was, but it was a particular scent that had him scowling when he realized it was the same smell you emitted whenever he’d watch your fingers twist into the sheets next your head with your calves sitting atop his shoulders as he tried not to rip the pillow apart in teetering control taking you as persistent as he could. Vergil could already feel his jaw clench at the bombardment of images for numerous past trysts in his mind and the slide of a hot tingle down into his loins. It seemed even in your sleep that he still was never truly able to escape your seductive clutches; even as you rested you continued to tease and prod at him until he fell victim to his ethereal lust for you.

Succubus.  

However he was more-so curious as to why you were like that, but the heat radiating from your inner thighs through the cloth of his pajama bottoms and the heavy sighs beginning to leave your mouth told him enough. He’d call you insatiable in your desire for him if he wasn’t of the same way, straightening his spine and kneeing your thighs apart to slide one of his own up until it was rooted up against you and he could feel the evidence of your increasing arousal along his muscle.

A low sigh left him as the skin underneath his clothing began to grow warm from the heat of your cunt and wet the fabric of his pants from how soaked you were through your panties, an intolerable urge to press himself into you when he felt the pulse from you pound into his thigh he had to fight off. You were dreaming, and not only that, but having a wet dream. He very nearly rolled his eyes, thoughts turning to hours beforehand when he had you pinned underneath him again and realizing you truly were greedy in want. Yet Vergil knew he wasn’t one to speak of that matter without sounding like a hypocrite, the feeling of you steadily soaking and warming his thigh, along with the tantalizing aroma of you still assaulting all sensible reasoning, sending a jolt of pleasure curling into his abdomen until it slid down towards his cock.

He sighed. If he wasn’t awake before, he was then.

Briefly he wondered if you could feel his glare on the back of your head in your sleep, your slight squirming making him bar his arm down and curl over your abdomen harder, until he jerked his thigh up for a reaction from you. He got the reaction he wanted when a soft keening noise left your mouth and you rolled your hips to grind along his thigh, the movement stimulating his hardening cock and making him suck air through his teeth in a hiss while tucking his face into the side of your neck, his pointed nose pressing into your earlobe.

Vergil called your name once to wake you, yet you didn’t stir.

He snuck his hand up your shirt and flattened his palm against your abdomen, his other arm’s hand twisting into the pillowcase where it laid under the pillow below your head as he realized there would be no going back to sleep for his – and yours – predicament. While you had vouched that you didn’t mind if he touched you in your sleep, he didn’t necessarily ever want to do it that way, he found it more pleasing when you were awake and knew what he was doing to you as much he liked the expressions that crossed your face. Shamefully, he all but had a one-track mind when it came down to carnal desires, and having you lay so pliant and so… wanting, responsive for him was almost making him throw reason out the window and use you as he wanted right there.

Vergil’s control seemed to still loosen when it came to you, much like a tightly wounded spring coming uncoiled either in slow circles or altogether too fast for him to comprehend, and regardless of how many times he found himself lost in the never-ending, treacherous paradise that was you, it never seemed to help in building back up the sense of self-control.

One way or another, he was utterly drenched in sinful and covetous desire for you, and against better wishes for himself (and your own safety and life), he kept coming back for more.

Much like he was then; him gritting his teeth and hissing into your skin when he found his hips rocking back against you while you sloppily grinded on his thigh, all the while your sighs and slight inhales stoking that fire burning in his loins as your cunt only pulsed harder to match the drum of your heartbeat that he could hear. It was to the point he couldn’t ignore it any longer, nostrils flaring in a heavy breath as the texture of his pants began to stick to his thigh from your juices, and the flexing of his quadricep only whisking you on as you stimulated yourself for whatever was in your dreams.

He had made up his mind then, his blood pumping down towards his cock too fast for his liking and the heaviness it brought within his balls too much for his self-control. Vergil didn’t feel the slightest bit of guilt for trying to wake you, thinking back to the many times you had awoken him wanting sex from him, and despite the iron will he tried to put around you, he always was one up for it. So what was it if he did wake you up for once?

Surely you wouldn’t mind.

He tried waking you again, lips skimming up along your neck in a circle until they were pressed against your earlobe, and he exhaled heavily into your ear, “Wake up.”

You still did not stir, your subconscious determined to keep the hold it had over you and continue on whatever was happening inside of that mind of yours (a feat he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to truly know). He felt his eyes narrow into another glare, lips down turning into another hard frown as he surmised it must have been one Hell of a dream for you to remain asleep after he whispered into your ear – something that normally made your pulse skyrocket and tickled your skin. You were far away from him then; attention plagued by whatever you conjured in that abyss and leaving him to watch as you fell into throes of pleasure without him.

He was annoyed about it.

However, it was no doubt you were dreaming of him given the nature of your relationship and knowing he had been the only one you had been active with (another thing that ballooned his ego, though he wasn’t about to admit that), yet if it was something you could do awake with him, then why dream? He nearly cursed himself for sounding so deprived, yet he couldn’t take the grinding against his cock any longer or how hot and heavy it felt without having any proper attention in the matter.

His lust won out in the end once more, and for that he slid his lips slowly down the slope of your neck, cool breath grazing over an area he had bitten hours previously, before he inhaled once more for your dizzying scent and did something he knew that would finally awake you.

Vergil bit into your neck.

It worked and you jerked as you awoke, stretching like a cat and a long breath leaving your chest as you slightly wiggled in his hold and lulled your head about away from his bite. He released your skin, tongue tasting of you running along his teeth feeling for every crack until he had to bite onto his cheek whenever your back arched and your ass rubbed along his dick again. Damn you.

Brat.

You must’ve not heard the barely concealed grunt he let out into your neck, a long sigh pushing past your lips as you tipped your head back to lay further into him. His nose scrunched as your scent hit him harder, the saliva in his mouth growing as his palm pressed down harder onto your stomach to keep you from moving any more that would’ve jeopardized his want to keep things in his hold. It was a few moments of silence, and he had wondered if you had just fallen back asleep until you spoke, voice groggy with sleep and barely intelligible if he hadn’t possessed the hearing that he did.

“Mms’fuckin’ early, Vergil,” you grumbled, seemingly unaware of the underlying issue that was in-between your legs and pressing into your back. You complained more than you realized he noted, and yet even with you complaining about him awaking you, you still didn’t move away from his ministrations or his hold. Instead you spoke again, remaining still in his hold as you continued to gripe at him, “Mm’arm’s asleep… What time issit?”

Vergil’s eyes slid towards the clock on the nightstand of your side, the glowing, red lettering a stark contrast to the cool darkness and pale shine of the moonbeams shining in through the window. It was 3:07 A.M., and a sliver of humor found its way into him as he realized the meaning behind the time he had awoken and in turn awoke you. Witching hour; Devil’s hour, and yet despite the circumstances regarding his species compared to your own, he had called you a Succubus seeking him out of lust, when in reality he was the one preying on your malleable form in your dreams true to his status as a demon.

However, despite that, the way your body looked stretched out against his own in the streams of the moonlight that came through into the bedroom at that moment indeed made you look like an otherworldly phenomenon sent from the depths of the unknown yet to be discovered by humanity.

Siren. He had many names for you, and yet none seemed to justly fit the criteria and effect you had on him.

He let the thought pass, a fleeting observation on his part, as he answered you and removed his eyes from the clock to flutter his eyelashes against your neck, “3:07.” He felt the inflow of your breath at his voice, a shakiness to it at his proximity that you tried to play off, yet the influx of chills rising along your skin and the skip of your heartbeat lying for you in the end. He didn’t comment on it, deciding to wait it out in his play for you to answer.

And you didn’t take long in spite of your grouchy state.

“Why are you biting me at three in the mornin’?”

A huff escaped him then, feeling your body twitching at the suddenness of his cool breath blowing across a sensitive part of your skin before he removed his hand from the spot on your stomach and curled two fingers under the collar of your shirt. He pulled your shirt away from you, exposing your shoulder to him and air as he ran his nose along the skin there – discreetly inhaling as he went – until he was settling his lips upon your shoulder. He kissed it once, before nipping at it and sighing whenever you jolted at the action and beginning to trace a path along your skin there as he noted the rate of your pulse picking up.

Vergil eventually answered you, arm sliding back around you and teeth snapping against the flesh of your trapezius as his breathing got heavier when you started to grow more aroused, “You were dreaming.”

You wriggled in his grasp again and he unflexed his thigh to keep you at bay for the teasing he wanted to bite at you for dreaming so carelessly for things you could have awake. “Yeah, people do that when they sleep, Vergil,” you mumbled, yet the tilt in your voice told him you were distracted.

“Brat,” he voiced aloud that time in a hiss, accompanying another bite onto your skin for your sass. He allowed you another moment of squirming against him before he realized he couldn’t wait any longer with all the movement against him, a hum vibrating deep in his throat and rumbling out of his chest against your back as he released your skin free from his teeth and glided his lips back up to your earlobe. The shudder was not lost on him, his nose against your temple and voice raspy wisping along your skin for his desire, “Hmm, obviously so… Mind telling me what you were dreaming of then?”

He knew he had you had caught when your breathing hitched, the pulse pounding through your panties matching your heart once more as he flexed and pressed his thigh up further into you again. A small grunt passed your mouth finally, and your one free hand gripped onto his wrist, nails prickling into his skin in a pathetic hold that held no pain over him, with your hips rocking forward to rub what you could of your clit against his protruding muscle and backwards to rub your ass against his pelvis once more. Vergil had to hold back his groan for the moment, the sensitivity in his cock growing the longer he played around with you.

You spoke, quiet and shaky, and the slight waver in your voice betraying the way you tried to keep up the act, “You’ve never asked before, what’s changed now?”

“Mm, curious…” Was all he offered you, yet he made his intentions known dragging his fingers down your naval in a slow draw before he ran a lone index finger along the lining of your panties.

The bones in your shoulder blades popped when you arched your back again, ass pressing further into him as you caught onto the obvious bulge in his pants. His nostrils flared against your cheek that time, your smell growing stronger for your growing desire and his own impatience growing the longer you stalled. You eventually answered though, a haze in your voice and lucidity lost on parts of your limbs as you continued to grind on his thigh.

“I… I don’t remember –”

“Lies,” he hissed, snapping the elastic of your panties against your skin and jerking his thigh harder up into your cunt, enjoying the louder, gasping pant that left you, “Don’t play coy with me… Tell me, what you were dreaming of that had you this wet and shamelessly using me for.”

The temperature of the room grew to boiling, his bloodstream feeling as if it was fueled by fire rushing through his veins regardless of his body temperature running a warmer degree due to his heritage. Your skin was warmer than usual too, yet the heat radiating from your inner thighs was the real source of it all and it was hard not to imagine – and remember – just how warm you felt inside and how you would still somehow heat his cock up when he got inside of you. It made him scowl, irritation for himself for growing greedier and greedier each time he got close to you in a licentious manner fast enough to furrow his brow and clench his jaw, but your voice breaking through the silence and giving into him was swift to diminish that.

“You… I was dreaming about you,” you confessed, lifting your hips up a fraction and circling them back onto his drenched thigh for a faster route to pleasure.

Vergil could feel his lips twitch upwards for a split second, his pride boosting that he was right as he rewarded you by slipping his finger down into your panties and placing the pad of his middle fingertip onto your clit. An audible hiss did escape him however that time, your clit swollen under his finger and you wetter than he had originally thought guiding him to ease onto you with slow circles to get you lax and submissive in his hold again. You sighed then, a high-pitched sound he had committed to memory, as your muscles relaxed and the tension in your shoulders released while your hips followed along with his movements.

He didn’t let you off the hook so easily though, his curiosity to know just what you were dreaming of that got you the way you were (and dreaming of it anyway since he had taken you mere hours before), and he slid his arm out from underneath the pillow where your head rested and curled it around your throat. He didn’t press down right away, only pleased with your immediate reaction to tilt your head further back into him so that he had a better look of your face and a better hold on your form to touch you in the way he so wanted.

Watching your eyelashes flutter over your hazy eyes, Vergil pressed down hard onto your clit, holding a dark chuckle back at your flinch and the way you tried to close your thighs around his hand if it wasn’t for the presence of his own in-between them. He hummed again, flexing his fingers on your throat and pressing his nose to your earlobe once more, “Tell me more. What was I doing?”

Your mouth parted, puffy lips coated in salvia with wet sighs falling free as you answered quicker that time in a show of your neediness for his touch, “Do you remember that time in that church? When you bent me over the altar and made me repent for letting a demon defile me?”

A sharp, electrifying shock prickled down his spine and Vergil paused in his ministrations, finger sliding off of your clit for a brief moment as he was glad his face was still slightly behind you and you could not see well in the dark because you would’ve seen the way his eyes widened a portion and saw the dilation he felt in his irises whenever he remembered the incident. Another pang of shock twitched his cock and tingled inside of his balls; how could he forget? It was… debauch in all its intentions for doing that to you, but it was also extremely pleasing to him whenever he you indulged him in that little fantasy and how much he realized he liked the idea when telling him.

He had blamed it on his devilish lineage of course, the repeating chanting you did that night of saying you were his and belonged to him in a church something he etched into his memory and thought more of than he would’ve ever admitted. The idea of corrupting a being much like yourself (and he realized he had truly corrupted you given your penchant for suggesting more of the sinful of ideas in the bedroom, and how you were particularly happy to please him for his own side) something that nearly made his eyes roll back – and they did when he had you pinned down on that altar and started rocking himself inside of you – and fueled a different type desire for you in the end that had to be put out before it grew too strong.

And yet, the burning sun of want and need for you in all your carnality and your emotionalism only surged as the days passed and the more time he spent with you, a notion he donned a fee of damning sin and a gift of blissful redemption on his behalf.

Vergil swallowed and narrowed his eyes; minx, he knew what you were doing. For that he dropped his thigh away from you, ignoring your little whine for the loss of friction, before sliding his fingers down your slick folds and deftly pushing his middle and ring finger inside of you until he was three knuckles deep of each finger into your soaked cunt again and curling them against your soft walls for your oncoming release. Your back arched again for the suddenness of his actions, a louder gasp bubbling up from your lungs while you clenched around his appendages and urged him to move by a slight rock of your hips.

“I remember,” he answered, voice thick with barely concealed control and teetering into delirium for you, “Though, were you truly dreaming of that, or are you toying with me?”

You lulled your head back again, though that time you pressed your nose into his hot cheek and sneakily slid your hand away from his wrist and down his bare abdomen, a nail dragging along each individual, flexing, abdominal muscle until you were rubbing the back of your hand along his cock through his pants. He felt himself twitch again at the long-awaited touch, fingers slightly squeezing down on your throat in warning when you teased him by curling your fingers around him through his pants.

In spite Vergil pressed up against your hot walls – the feeling of them akin to nothing of comparison but just plush comfort – right under your clit, and enjoying the squeal that left you and the way you clenched up around him and pulsed around his fingers. He began to truly move his fingers then, an agonizing curl and dip for your part as he listened to each squelch your body made and felt each gush of liquid coat his fingers when you rolled along with him. He nearly missed the way you slid your hand into his pants and you twisted your wrist around his cock if it wasn’t for a fingertip pressing down into his cockhead leaking of precum and gently stroking along his slit.

That time, he growled.

Your chest was heaving and your body was moving like tides in the ocean, following along each way he curled his fingers and pulled back to push against that spongy spot lying within you. Vergil’s mind was spinning by then, your smell and the feeling of you pleasuring him with your soft, cool hand so unlike his own making him sloppy in his movements and totter on his hold of control and his ability to hold out for what he wanted to do. His fingers felt as hot as the blood roaring through his veins did, and he all but had to strain to hear you speak again to keep himself from tipping out of self-control and flipping you over for his own gain.

“Why would I lie? It’s one my favorite memories,” you turned your head and sighed in his face, while he hissed from the tone your voice had taken and the increasing speed of your hand around his cock. You continued though, never one to take precautions for his slipping control, “You can’t say much… You’re already so hard, how long were you laying there awake debating what to do with me?”

He closed his eyes then, his skin beginning to prickle and hackles rising for an entirely different reason as he felt the familiar sticky, oozing of his precum soak into your hand and coat his cock each time you slid your hand to the base of him, and all the way back to his tip. It was scalding in combination to the coolness of your hand, the heat of his cock growing tenfold and pulsing along to his balls when he felt the distinct feeling of a release along the way.

The first pleasure-laden grunt left him that time, his fingers harshly pressing into you to stretch your plush walls as much as he could for a reaction, and you gave one in the form of another jab at him, taking up his silence for the time being as your own time to shine.

You sighed in a particular way that made his fingers press down harder onto your throat, a light wheeze leaving you as he dipped his face back into your neck and huffed against your skin when you began to match the speed of which he was fingering you to rub away at him. “You didn’t have to wake me up, I told you that you could fuck me in my sleep and use me how you want.”

Vergil felt a jolt inside of him, static prickling his nerves as he bared his teeth against your neck, “Stop.”

He didn’t mean it, and he knew that you knew that.

“But I wouldn’t get this chance, and I know you like it when I talk to you like this… Did you wake me up because you wanted me so bad?”

He exhaled heavily, “No.” He did.

Your head rolled and you swiped your thumb across his swollen cockhead, “Mmm, it’s okay if you did… Dreaming of you fucking me doesn’t compare.”

His expression scrunched up, fingers shoving up into you faster – harder, almost desperate to get you to cum so you would be quiet and he could relinquish all control for the session. You nearly moaned then, the obscene sound of your cunt drenched along his hand and fingers adding to the sound of both of your labored breathing and his growing growls and hisses. Every time you prodded at him, and every time he fell into it.

And every time he gave in for you.

Vergil hissed against your skin then, nerves haywire and bones tightening as you pulled him free of his pants and into the air of the bedroom before you ran a slow line of your finger along the protruding and pulsing vein on the underside of his cock. Though you had let him know what you had wanted, he was never one to not make you beg a little; a cruel part on him perhaps, but it was something your depraved-self liked just as much when he could feel your pulse pick up and pick up the staunching of your arousal each time he edged you along.

He never said he was a fair lover in the bedroom.

Vergil squeezed your throat again, relishing in your cunt closing in around his fingers – which had to have been completely furrowed with how wet you were and sopping into his skin with each push of them inside of you – and let his mouth kiss along your jaw and cheek before finding your ear once again. He blew air into your ear for a brief moment, feeling the shiver rock your body that he wondered if was from the sensation of, or for when he pressed his finger against the skin underneath where your clit laid again and purposefully rocked his hips into your hand for the last bit of foreplay between you two.

A brief thought of how easily you complied him into your hands crossed his mind, and he was close to really sitting there to ponder over who corrupted who for how you two danced around each other.

He didn’t settle on thinking on it too long, lips parting back open slowly and tongue searing as it slid along your earlobe before he whispered hotly into your ear one final time and he knew you sealed the deal for the both of you.

“Tell me, or I leave you to your own hands.”

It was an empty threat, and he knew that you knew that.

He was just trying to wrangle in the control he had beforehand over you (and the control he was steadily losing for his sensuous desires).

Your whine that time was louder, the grogginess in your voice all but vanishing as you pulsed and tightened up around his fingers whenever those words left his mouth. You could’ve came then and there, but you were holding yourself back he had acknowledged, and that revelation sent a hard throb throughout his body pulsing down through cock and balls in the end when he figured out what you wanted. His growled again; all you had to do was say it.

“Say it.”

Your pussy pulsed again and you were close, the rapid rising of your heartbeat warning him as it ended, but before you did so you finally spoke, a raspy moan from the hold he had on your throat egging him on and nearly making his eyes cross when he heard what he wanted.

“Vergil, please, I’m yours. I wanna cum with you inside of me – Wanna feel you fuck me again, please.”

He obliged you then with a snarl, too thoroughly fed up with your teasing words and his own edging over you and pulled free his fingers from inside of your soaked cunt to trade them in for curling in the fabric of your panties to pull them to the side. Thankfully he didn’t have to free himself, only pushing his hips back far enough to make you release the hold you had on his cock before you slightly turned onto your back and lifted your leg over his hip to give him better access to inside of you. Letting his eyes fall over your nipples peeking through the material of your – no, his (hishishis) shirt, he began to wonder how he ever could resist you.

Vergil didn’t dawdle any longer, head dizzy with lust and senses overridden with everything that pertained to you as he slid his cockhead along your slit for a moment and tried to ignore how engorged and raw his cock looked from the amount of time it took before he was able to give it any attention. He wouldn’t last…

There was always that initial sensation of when finding himself back inside of you, a certain type of unmatched warmth that tickled his nerves all down the nerves and veins of his cock, but his tip prickling with satisfaction when sliding against the soft, gripping walls of you outdid it all. It felt… unreal; unreal in the life he had lived, and the rush of adrenaline and excitement that sparked a deeper emotion in his brain he fervently had tried to fight away, but the satisfying feeling that came from the warmth you supplied him was too much to bear.

(If Vergil could akin it to anything, it nearly felt like going underwater; waterlogged and the satisfaction of your entire body cooling reminded him of slipping himself inside of you. The feeling of heat brushing along his cheeks on a cold day; lying himself along velvety sheets and wrapping himself in the comfort of them as solace found its way inside of his mind and body.

He’d never admit it to anyone, not even you, content with keeping his own findings in the matter of physical and emotional to himself. You had known well that he was more of a man of actions rather than words.)

He blinked a couple of times at the thought until he pushed the tip of himself in with a low sigh, testing your keening sigh for any signs of possible discomfort, only to completely shove his cock in to fill you to the brim with one single push, and it was hard then to not slip out of the fragile control he had on you to take you as relentless as he usually did when he watched you take in all of him with that high-pitched moan combined with your expression.

He knew he was a lot for you to take in, and when you still felt so tight after all the stimulation from before it was so hard for him to stay still for the moment. You were already squeezing him, his entire cock coated with you and how warm you were throbbing around him was sending him into a frenzy again. Yet he managed to pull through when your slight trembling came to a rest as he sat still inside of you, your hand skimming up along his chest again until you were twirling fingers into the messy locks of his hair, that for once laid over his forehead as opposed to his usual slicked back appearance.

You sighed as you drug a nail over his scalp, his spine tingling at the attention for a brief moment, until he knew it was the sign. It wasn’t as if you needed it, you were very accustomed to the feeling of him inside of you, and you knew what it felt like. Yet like how it was different that he woke up to an entirely different circumstance that night, there was something different in the wave his hips began to roll into you in a slow tempo that was just equal parts of pure torment and bliss.

It was languid the way he rocked you both; in and out. It nearly felt like you both could liquefy into the mattress from the smooth way he moved along with you. Generally Vergil tried to have you gasping for breath each time around he pushed himself inside of you in deep and fast strokes, his desire to always have you cum before him too strong to ignore until he had you all but shaking underneath him. Usually he was all but fucking you like it was the last time he ever would; always so hard, fast, rough, and just pure raw, near animalistic sex on his part, but there was something that made him give in to a slower form for the time being.

(Personally he wanted to just pin it on his fatigue and your own, or perhaps he was going so slow because he knew he wasn’t going to last long if he pulled you down on his cock like he normally did, but either way it had him feeling an odd mixture of affection along with a growing of fatigue for the lazy movements.)

You seemed to enjoy it as well, if the airy, “Vergil” escaping your lips was anything to go by. Vergil rumbled low in his throat, all control back inside of his mind as his pulse slowed down and the tingling of static rising in the room dissipated, craning his head back down to mouth at your neck in various forms of bites, sucks, and kisses that grew in harshness the longer you two moved. It was another form of leverage he used to keep himself in check, not one for triggering in his somnolence, and the erratic jolts of pleasure sent to his cock each time he pushed in as far as he could go and you clenched up was enough for him to bite down to hold himself together.

Of course, if he was feeling as exhausted, he could always fuck you back to sleep as well.

Vergil’s hand had taken to gripping your hip, the bones in his fingers tight and popping as he grasped onto you harder before leaving your hip bone altogether and sliding his hand back up into your shirt to clutch onto the breast closest to him. He squeezed it in tune with how he scraped his teeth along your shoulder, fingers twisting around your erect nipple the way he knew that you liked until he had you squeezing around him again and arching your back from the repeated pleasure slipping down your body.

“Vergil – fuck,” you cursed under your breath, craning your head back farther for his mouth when he squeezed your throat gently once more, your hips trying to desperately rock back into his own to meet him pace for pace. He bit down hard on your neck in return, a yelp escaping you as you rolled back down on him again for push him as far as he could go inside of you. The copper taste invading on his tongue and salivating his gums made him realize he had drawn blood, and he sent a swift swipe of his tongue along the wound, leaving a trail of his saliva after doing so before moving to suck back at your jaw.

The noises you made always spurned him on, especially when you moaned out variations of his name whenever he did something he knew you liked. It was reprehensible for how you had him but a strand around your finger; a slight tug from you having him pulled forward as much as it seemed the other way around. He had you, but you had him just as much, and he curled to you in a way far from the way you did for him, but all the same in the weakness.

Vergil’s eyes slid open and he growled into your skin, his hold on the slow pace he had faltering the longer he let his thoughts run rampant, and the longer he subjected himself to the warmth of you.

His ears tuned in to the sounds of your bodies, almost muted by the comforter lying over both of you if he didn’t have that heightened sense. The temperature in the room continued to rise as you both continued to stagger on down into pleasure with one another, the sweat on your bodies growing and slicking each of your bodies. The sounds resonated in his head and off the walls of the bedroom, coating you both in a blanket of something warm, and suddenly it didn’t feel like it was enough.

He moved then, perhaps quicker than was needed for you, pulling free from the plushness of your cunt and rolling atop of you in-between your spread thighs. Even in your previously awoken state you were quick to curl them around his waist, your soft thighs caging him in as he felt you lock your ankles at his lower back as he paused for a brief second to take in you beneath him. He was mystified; always would be despite it all, that someone like him had entangled you in his grasp.

You couldn’t see in the dark, but he could.

It was a hypnotizing sight every time you were below him, yet there was always that want to see more from you each time; the want to be the one to bring that out in you raging every time you were tangled in each other’s pleasure.

A longing sigh left you and he trailed hot, calloused hands up your abdomen to skim upwards past your breasts, gently pressing down on your erected nipples, tingling your collarbones, and swiftly wrapping around your neck before one hand was sitting at your nape and the other was grasping your cheeks in a squeeze and angling your head to meet his an opened-mouth in a kiss. A kiss full of redemption and desire that left your skin puckering into eager chills as your hands threaded into his hair for comfort, all the while his weight coming down atop of you once more as he interwove your bodies with a low grunt he bit into your lip and a keening gasp you sent into his mouth as his tongue delved deeper into your mouth and his hips rocked greater into your entire being.

With your mouth preoccupied with his own, Vergil moved his hand away from your face and grasped the breast above your heart, your heartbeat quickening as he tightened the grip on it before kneading it and making you cry out. It was louder that time and vibrated against his tongue, his self-control withering away as his pace left that slow roll and quickened to something more used to how you two usually had sex. He filled you with every thrust, your body bucking and arching with the sensation of being completely full of him, an overwhelming feeling on his end as well when he broke away from your lips and the hand behind your neck moved to slam onto the wall above your head.

He was ravenous, dizzyingly hungry for his yearning of you that it nearly made him sick and starved for that sweet satisfaction you brough mere hours beforehand yet again. He was glad you couldn’t see in the dark, his eyelashes fluttering with each blink as he tried to fight off the feeling of them rolling in back from how good you felt, and how soft – you were always so soft – and just how warm you were around him and so compliant and bending to his will…

It was maddening… You were maddening.

Vergil pressed weight into his hand harder onto the wall, the drywall caving underneath his strength as he heard the new noises of the bed and louder pleasure echoing off the wall and joining obscene sounds of you both. It was him; he that time was making the noises into the air that assaulted his ears more than anything else. He could still hear you below him however, a sigh of his name here and there in a combination of your soft moans, though his vision was swirling with the invasion of all his senses erratic by the onslaught of the physical pleasure being given to his body, and the rushing of the chemical imbalance that his emotions were taking.

He couldn’t necessarily begin to explain what it was doing to his mentality.

(Lust, there was lust, but something there as well clawing at the edges almost seeming taboo to him; something he felt like he couldn’t ever tell you.)

Your hands were on him, so soft and slender, smaller than his own, tracing along the contours on his chest until you were wrapping your fingers along his skin of his biceps. The ivory tone of his skin all but shined in the moonbeams continuing to pour in from the window, the scars he no longer possessed marking his skin something that you had absently traced over as they were a witness to himself of the life he had lived and the battles he had gone through to get him where he was then.

An itch began to grow at the base of his spine, his cock beginning pulse in tune to how you continued to grip him with every deep thrust he surged into you, your pelvises remaining more connected than he realized. He was so deep inside of you; he was losing himself once more to you as he brushed along something in you that was so sinful and so rewarding, he had you shuddering and your thighs beginning to shake as that stoking fire of pleasure inside began to brim towards its edge.

Vergil could feel it building up inside of you, your orgasm a forgone conclusion each time around he was fitted into the raw wetness of your cunt. It spurned him on harder, that relentless speed you were both used to showcasing again as the noises of you both grew perhaps too loud for the silent night, yet he was too far gone to even begin to care when he had you so sweetly laid out before him.

Your hands skimmed to his back, nails tapping along each shoulder blade as you pressed yourself closer to him and drew your mouth to his ear. He could feel the hairs on his neck stand up when you panted so hotly into his ear, your thighs tightening around him as your heels dug into his lower back with each roll of his hips into you. You were close; you were desperate for something, and your expression and the gleam in your eyes gave that away before you tried to hide yourself from him. Your pulse was picking up once more as he heard you inhale once before you moaned into his ear.

“I want it,” you slurred, a nail dragging down his spine as he pressed his face into the pillow next to your head. He didn’t speak at first, willing you to continue on speaking and let him hear what you were so desperate for. “Vergil, I want it – I want you to cum inside of me.”

His brow furrowed, the sinful words that poured free like honey off of your tongue too easy for you say. He had heard it countless times before in your sessions together, yet each time it sent a hard burning down towards his loins and churned a deeper, new feeling in his mind that he had only ventured towards so few times. He was going to do so anyway, it was the only place he ever did release in you, besides your mouth, and he supposed he spoiled you for it when he didn’t ever make you ask or beg for and gave it to you freely.  

Truth be told, he was just as desperate for it.

Though his silence of the matter apart from his grunting and hissing apparently wasn’t enough for you, your back arching as he planted the hand that had held your breast onto the bed next to your ribs and pressing your chest farther into his while squeezing your thighs around his waist. For a split moment he figured you were about to cum, ready to fall into relief just behind you if it wasn’t for your damn mouth moving again and whispering like Siren luring him from the rocks into his ear.

“I want it… I want you to cum and put a baby in me.”

Vergil faltered; his mind, his body, his words, his tempo, everything stuttered for a beat or two as those words traveled so wickedly into his ear until it stuck to his brain like adhesive. He had moved his face into your neck before you had whispered those damnable words, his teeth baring against your skin again in rebuttal for your little stunt. He wasn’t so pissed for the dirty talk that it completely ruined the moment, more-so he was agitated and how much it fueled him to jerk harder into you, his cock twitching inside of your trembling cunt in agreement for what you wanted.

His hissed into your skin, hand grasping onto your ribcage and flexing his fingers onto each bone, “What did you say?” he groaned out, raising his head away from you to watch your expression morph in desperation for your words. He watched you closely, your mouth parted, eyes glazed with desire and that fatigue still there, and skin so dewy layered with sweat. Damn you.

“Put a baby in me, Vergil,” you repeated, unabashed for how they sounded and the underlining meaning below them. He could feel your cunt gush around him again, the sensation blurring him for a moment as he felt all the blood from his brain rush down to his cockhead and felt his balls burn with the want of doing what you had said.

It wasn’t so much of the actually ‘putting a baby in you’ aspect of it, supposing that it was the risk. He knew that and you knew that. How many times had he cummed inside of you and you hadn’t gotten pregnant? Far too many for him to even count, and he wasn’t sure if that was perhaps something on his end or the contraceptive you used that prevented it, but it was the risk that got him going. The risk of cumming inside of you and making sure you were forever given something of his; the risk of the responsibility there by being irresponsible much like he had before; it was all in the risk.

He liked the risk of it all.

Vergil’s nostrils flared as he inhaled your scent once more, breath huffing against your face as he threw himself into deeper, feral pace again. That languid pace of sex he had been trying to chain himself into doing was gone at once, the overwhelming need to fill you full once more too strong to withstand as he snapped at your bottom lip for the words and grew closer to his release.

Once again, he was bending to your world and falling into the pool of his never-ending desire for you.

“Is that what you want? A claim on you to let be known that your mine?” he snarled out into your mouth, breath turning hot as that familiar static began to fill the air again. He needed to finish you off before it snapped out of his control. “Say it,” he hissed again, the overbearing weight of his orgasm ready to crush him the more he pushed in and out of your sinful body.

You blubbered, thighs shaking in their hold on his hips while your nails began to scratch down his back in a phantom sense of pain while you bounced back and forth on the mattress below him, “S’all I want… Make me yours, Vergil. Breed me and let no one else have me, please – Vergil!”

He very nearly slapped his hand over your mouth for the octave your voice had taken on that last cry of his name, but you cut off into a choked gasp when he had pressed his face back into your neck and bit into your skin hard for your plea. He could feel it, the scent of you altering and your pulse shattering as the last of your wobbling hold on a clear mind fell over the cliff and the rushing of your cunt busted forth and surrendered to that lurch in your gut.  

There, with the increasing speed of his hips slamming into yours and cock all but ruining the inside of your cunt, he felt your muscles lock around him, your pussy squeezing him hard as you were suddenly thrown into the throes of pleasure and helplessly arching and moaning incoherently through your orgasm. He took it all, greedily continuing to fuck you through it as the hand he had on the wall slammed back down onto the next your head, ready to tear the pillow to shreds, and your nails became violent in the way they scratched down his back, his skin mildly stinging from how hard you were dragging them through his flesh. It was to be expected, the way he was also repeatedly shoving himself back inside of you for the growing crescendo of his own release, something that too close for comfort and too close for him to comprehend as it slammed into him all once the moment your orgasm began to subside and he felt that throbbing of your cunt vibrate into his cock.

It was always nearly impossible to hold out so long after you, the way you would convulse and constrict around him, and the way you smelled, the way you sounded, and just the way you felt – so warm and so tight – Shit.

Vergil clenched his eyes tightly shut to keep them from rolling back, the loud groan he gave muffled by the skin of your throat as a harsh snap pulled at his abdomen and the pressure in his balls rapidly unraveled while the harsh-like rapture of his orgasm hit him by the force of wave crushing him underneath its raging waves. He didn’t fight it, but it was still rough to pull through while shoving himself into you as hard and as much as he could to completely coat your insides with his cum and fill you to point you couldn’t hold it in you. His hips jerked with each spurt he let out, the muscles in his abdomen twitching while listening to your huffs whenever he sharply rutted into you and felt your clit twitching against his lower abdomen. It was sweet relief once more, and there was that defining, underlining meaning to the moment, words, and the way he poured everything out into you and only you.

You were his. You always would be his.

And for that in return, he was yours, the implications not lost on him as a foreign word tasted bittersweet on his tongue and resounded in his brain fueled by the endorphins his body and mind were encased in.

It wasn’t long for his sensitivity to overrule him, his cock too vulnerable for the feeling of your pussy any longer as he let out a long huff and pulled himself free of you. Nearly like a cork in a wine bottle, he seemed to pop out of you, a shuddering exhale leaving you from the thick loss of him and a low sigh he let his out before he turned and landed on the bed face-up next to you heavily with a bounce. Vergil blinked for a few moments until his mind stopped spinning, until he was no longer dizzy with all his senses invaded by you, and he was blinking through that foggy, euphoric-like state his brain had been subjected to. It didn’t take long for him to find clarity as his blood cooled and his nerves settled, the scratches on his back beginning to heal as the pleasurable tension left his body and he relaxed his shoulders back onto the mattress, all the while listening to your breathing level out and heartbeat once more calm down as you both laid there basking in post-coital bliss.

Neither of you spoke, content for time being with the comfortable silence the orgasmic bliss brought to you both. There were no words needed, something he found increasingly grateful in you for since he wasn’t sure how to handle words so easily (as well as never knowing what to actually even say).

He gave a slow blink, the ceiling becoming less clear as he realized his predicament.

He was tired; sleepy.

And he very nearly could’ve fallen asleep like that so quickly if you hadn’t shifted next him, your lips finding way towards his jaw in a lazy kiss before you pressed your face into his collarbone and threw your thigh over his waist, a position reminiscent of the mornings where he’d awake and you’d be clinging to him. It wasn’t like he wasn’t accepting it either, but the way his eyelids continued to grow heavy over his eyes and how he had to remind himself to blink them back open was putting off like he was ignoring your affection. He wasn’t, more for letting you express it than himself and curling up and around as much as you wanted in private, he was just tired. And that was something you seemed to take notice of.

Though… he was for once surprised you didn’t tease him with, “Pussy put him to sleep” like you had done once before, instead pressing your cheek into his warm skin in a lazy manner that almost had his male pride skyrocketing when he realized he had tired you back out as well. He forced himself to remain awake as he listened for you to fall asleep, a sigh leaving him as his eyelashes tampered with his vision when he heard your heartbeat settle into that steady murmur. It was endearing, though he’d never admit it to you, your ability to sleep so soundly so close to him reminding him of the same way he slept easier so close to you.  

Vergil could feel himself blink slower, body completely pliant to keep you still and asleep on him that he didn’t want to move into a more comfortable position. He was supposed it was fine that way, mind already falling into the arms of sleep as he subconsciously turned his head towards you and buried his nose back into your hair.

He could deal with all the repercussions of the following day for seeming so careless that night, for pulling your chest beating so vividly with your heartbeat against his in a semblance of your existence and humanity felt entirely wrong on his half.

And for that he let drumming of it lull him back into a fraction of dreams, sleep coming smoother to him with your presence and never seeming a problem for as long he felt your heart beat against his own.

[moon-ttokki-x]

Hi ttokki!! I love the way you write the members being soft and caring for reader :) wanted to request 9th member where she is similar age to chan, so noona to most of the guys, being maybe like his second in command in caring for everyone, cooking, teaching choreo and stuff. Where they realise she's not been taking good care of herself for a while, like skipping meals or sleep bc she feels responsible like she doesnt deserve it. Just soft and gently, you are so skilled at that

hiyo~ thank you sm, love. i liked this request, i tend to do the same for people around me and it's easy to forget yourself sometimes >< hope this hits the spot . . .

rest easy - ot8!skz x exhausted!reader

pairing: ot8!skz x exhausted noona!reader

summary: taking care of skz can be a lot of work, but you tend to forget yourself in the process...

genre: lil bit angsty, idol!au, tired minho with a headache, overexcited skz (what's new), mentions of skipping meals, slight mention of blood (a small injury), mentions of overwork, fatigue, and exhaustion, mentions of food and eating, sulky maknaes, slight allude to reader x chan

a/n: reader pretty much replaces minho for the role of skz mom (sorry min), divider by @kodaswrld

skz masterlist

"Jisung, take that out of your mouth- Seungmin, no, don't give it back to him... You two, stop fighting-"

You smile and lean your head on your hand, watch Chan attempt to wrangle the members, most of which have had far too much sugar to be at a controllable level. You're sitting at the hotel table, and most of the other members are messing about in the lounge area. Everyone but for Minho, who went to lie down earlier, complaining of a headache.

Speaking of, you should probably go check on him.

Getting up and putting your empty glass in the sink, you make your way past the group and down the hallway of bedrooms, entering the second-left door. You're greeted with darkness and a faint groan from within the heap of rumpled sheets on the bed.

"Minho?" You call softly, pulling the door half-shut so as not to disturb him with the hallway light. You walk up to the bed, quiet as a mouse. "How are you feeling?"

He just groans in response as you gently pull back the sheets, checking his temperature just in case he's fallen ill. "Noona..."

"Shh," you quiet him gently, soothing. "Does it hurt much?"

He shakes his head, his hair splayed against the pillow. Likely he's just tired from the day's events. You sit on the end of the bed and stroke his hair for a while, lulling him to sleep. He's already had medicine, and you kiss his forehead gently before getting up to leave.

Shutting the door, you're met with Jeongin and Seungmin, who cling to either one of your arms, sulking. You chuckle and sit down on the lounge couch, both of them burying their faces in your neck.

"What's wrong, you two?" You ask, ruffling Seungmin's hair.

"Chan-hyung told us off," Jeongin whines.

You mock-frown at the leader, who is standing in baggy black clothes, a disapproving expression on his face. He face-palms and you stick your tongue out at him. He scoffs, though you can detect a hint of affection behind it, and claps his hands.

"Alright, you drama kings. Bed."

.

"Hyunjin, take it easy," you say, concerned as he runs through the choreo for a fifth time. "Take a break."

He seems to not have heard, because he keeps dancing with even greater fervour. Sighing, you take his ear and drag him to the side, ignoring his protests. Tossing him a towel and giving him a bottle of water, you place a hand on his leg. You know he's been pushing himself lately, to the point where you had to lock the hotel room door so he wouldn't sneak out at night to practice.

You're all outside at the concert venue, doing soundchecks a few hours before the event commences, and it's cloudy, the wind blowing a breeze through everyone's hair. Chan comes over, frazzled, papers flying behind him, his cap half-falling off, and his fingers covered in bandaids from several clumsy, hastened tasks he had to do.

"I forgot to do the song breaks," he gasps, his hair disheveled. Hyunjin side-eyes him through a sip of water.

You adjust his cap, smoothing down the little duck tail curls at his nape. "Don't worry. I did them already. What did you do to your hands- Mmhff-"

You're cut off as he squeezes you in a hug, a relieved exhale leaving his frame, taking some of the tension with it. "Thank you, Y/nnie. What would I do without you?"

The sentence reverberates through your head; would things be worse without you there?

This means I need to do more, you think. I can help out as much as possible.

You mull this over and wave a momentary goodbye to Hyunjin, walking backstage with Chan. Felix, Changbin, and Jisung are busy being fitted for outfits and they immediately pummel you for attention, calling out as soon as you enter the room.

"NOONA LOOK AT MY SPARKLY TOP-"

"NOONA DO YOU LIKE THE COLOUR OF THESE GLOVES-"

"NOONA DO I LOOK COOL-"

You wave your hands. "Very cool and sparkly, I do like the colour, you all look great!"

It seems to satisfy them for the time being, and you watch them dissipate to their respective stylists. Passing through the room, you sit down in a chair in the corner and keep an eye on all of the boys. Chan is stressed enough right now; the least you can do is keep an eye on the members while he finalises things for the concert.

Your stomach rumbles and you think about quickly leaving to get food from one of the cafes across the street from the stadium, but you can't risk leaving the members unsupervised. Guaranteed, one of them will come looking, and then everything will fall to pieces. Crossing your arms over your stomach, you sigh and unscrew a bottle of water instead. That should keep you full for a while.

At least you hope it does.

.

You laugh and hug a sweaty Jisung, cheering. The concert went off without a hitch, and you're all backstage, congratulating each other on the performances and enjoying the moment of togetherness. Except you can't enjoy it as much, because your head is beginning to hurt, and it's starting to get difficult to see. You probably should have eaten something earlier, but you can last until you all get back to the hotel.

You all file out of the venue and pile into cars. Your foot almost missed the car threshold and you bump your shin, hissing as you collapse into the seat next to Chan.

"You okay?" He asks. He has his headphones in, his makeup smudging a little at the corners of his eyes.

You nod, sighing. "Long day. Good work on the performance."

He smiles and you reach up to gently clean up the messy makeup with a thumb, his gaze fixed on you. Jeongin and Seungmin are looking over the back of the seats in disgust.

"Noona," Hyunjin groans from behind. "Stop hitting on leader-hyung."

You roll your eyes and look out the window as Chan turns to tell him off. Your thoughts wander and you rub a hand against your shin, trying to soothe the ache. Your fingers come away lightly stained in red.

Panicking, and then glancing at Chan to check he hasn't seen, you inspect your leg. There's a few spots of red where the blood has soaked through the fabric of your pants, and you cross your legs quickly so as to hide the stain.

You think for a moment; you could ask someone if they have a bandaid, maybe... after all, there are always first aid kits in the cars, but you can't be weak and ask for help. Your job is to be there when other people ask for help, not the other way round.

Sighing, you try your best to hide your pain as you filter out of the car after the others. Your stomach rumbles, more insistently this time, and you quickly uncap your water bottle, trying to quell the dull, growing ache in your stomach. Your head hurts too, but you don't have time to think about it as you enter the hotel room, mind already whirring with things that need to be done.

You go to your room and quickly slap a bandaid on the cut on your shin, washing your hands of the blood and then changing into comfier clothes. Rolling your sleeves up, you enter the kitchen and begin cutting up ingredients, throwing spices into a pan and seasoning meat. The guys have had a long, tiring day, not to mention a whole concert, so they deserve a good, home-cooked meal away from home.

.

"Noona, this is so good," Felix groans, heaping in another mouthful of cheesy tteokbokki. There's silence around the table; everyone is so invested in stuffing their faces. Hyunjin has even tied his hair back so he can eat without dipping his hair in the soup, and Changbin has stolen two of your hairclips to keep his bangs back for the same reason.

You sit next to Chan as per usual, holding a cup of a hot herbal drink; you didn't feel like eating is what you told the boys when they insisted you take your share of the massive spread you cooked for them.

In reality, you're starving, but it doesn't seem fair for you to be eating when they've been working so much harder. They deserve it more. After all, you're just the second-in-command, Chan's right hand person and a manager for the boys. You don't work nearly twice as hard as they do on a good day.

You set the mug down on the table, standing up. The pain in your head aches and throbs sharply with the movement and you fight not to fall over. "I'm going to bed."

Some of the guys nod with mouths full of meat and rice, and you retire to your room, shutting the door. You collapse on the bed and close your eyes, trying to will the headache away.

That doesn't work, unfortunately.

The door opens then, and it's Minho who comes in, peeking around the corner. "Noona?"

"Mmm."

"Do you have a headache like I did?"

You nod and sit up, rubbing your eyes, and give him a tired smile. "Nothing I can't handle. Did you need something?"

He shakes his head, and then shyly comes into the room, holding a bowl of soup. "I saw you weren't eating earlier... Chan-hyung wondered if we should bring you something to eat..."

You let him place the soup on the bedside. "Thank you, Minho. I might just sleep, but I'll eat after-"

"No," he says firmly, with the absolute ferocity of a tiny, fluffy kitten.

"What?"

Jisung pokes his head in at the doorway. "You have to eat now."

You swing your legs off the bed. "Why?"

"Because," Chan says, appearing behind the two, Jeongin holding his leader's sleeve, "You need to take care of yourself and not just us."

"But I am."

The four boys suddenly tumblr into the room as Changbin and Hyunjin stick their noses into the conversation too.

"Noona, you hurt your leg earlier and you didn't tell us," Hyunjin whines. "And you told me to take a break from dancing but you didn't take a break the whole day-"

"Yeah, and then you went to your room and pretended to sleep so you wouldn't have to eat," Changbin pouts.

Chan gestures to the still-cooling soup on the bedside that Minho had brought for you earlier. "Please, Y/n."

You sigh. "Okay, okay. It just felt wrong to be eating as well, since I don't work even half as hard as you guys do-"

You're interrupted by a crowd of indignant protests and it's so loud that you immediately raise the soup bowl to your mouth. All of the boys watch as you take a mouthful of the rich, meaty broth. It fills your stomach on the first go. Your headache slowly begins to fade.

The boys filter into the room and hang around you while you eat, bickering and play-fighting. None of them make you feel self-conscious or inferior, just bringing with them a sort of peace.

You eventually fall asleep curled between two of the boys, surrounded by serenity, warmth, and the still-lingering scent of soup hanging faintly in the air.

a/n: i was gonna name this one 'soup' but i already have a jisung fic about soup soooo

[captain-huggy-bear]

In Sickness and in Health

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Talks of sickness and the grossness of it

Summary: You've convinced yourself that you're not actually that ill, mostly because setting cover for your lessons is more trouble than its worth. Quinn is having none of it.

Notes: I have a chest infection and convinced myself that I was making it up and it wasn't that bad, apparently it is. So I figured Quinn is the voice of reason that I need in my life.

Thank you for the 400 followers as well! Very much appreciated :D

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

Quinn's watching you like a hawk from the doorway to the living area, you're bundled up on the couch with at least 3 blankets (far too many for how warm the apartment is), tissues piled high in a bin next to you as you wheeze into another. You've opted for your most comfortable clothes in an effort to make yourself feel better as you cough and cough and cough some more. Your cough is harsh and can only be described as hacking, for someone who has never smoked a day in her life you sound like you've smoked 20 packs a day for 50 years. Your chest crackling and rattling, wheezing in a way that sounds unnatural and decidedly unhealthy.

He hates it, hates that every single night for the past few weeks you've been awake in the night, coughing so hard you make yourself throw up violently, head hanging over the toilet bowel, his hands coming to hold your hair out of the way. He hates that you've taken to sleeping on the couch in an effort not to disturb him, worried about his sleep schedule even though he can hear you through the walls and would feel better if you were beside him in the night. He hates that you've been going into school, teaching while struggling to breathe simply because you feel guilty about taking a day off, about the extra work for others and because somehow you've convinced yourself that 'its not that bad'. He hates that he can't snap his fingers and make you better. He hates seeing you sick, worse still seeing you sick and not properly looking after yourself. Worse still feeling powerless to help.

His eyes narrow this time as you cough so hard you bend in two, whimpering as your body tries to expel phlegm from your chest and fails. Only succeeding in causing your chest to hurt even more and for you to taste blood in the back of your throat. You're practically shivering from discomfort and he decides he can't take it anymore. He's fed up of being the nice boyfriend that lets you hurt yourself further because you're feeling guilty and deluded. Because you're being a bit of a brat, a stubborn arse. A stubborn arse he loves, but a stubborn arse anyway.

"That's it. I'm taking you to the doctors." He's already reaching for your coat by the door, and bending down to pick up your shoes. Even as your head turns to him slowly, eyes half-open and fatigued, mouth opening in protest.

"I'm fin-" You're cut off by your own cough, wheezy and rattling, the sort that is definitely not 'fine', "I'm fine, it's just a cough. It's nothing, it'll go soon..." You've been saying this for 2 weeks and it's less reassuring and believable at the near 3 week mark.

"You've been up every night for 2 weeks. I'm taking you to the doctors." It's a Saturday morning and he knows the walk in clinic is open, he also knows he won't get you to agree to go on a school day. This is his best chance and Quinn's decided, as he looks at the pallor of your skin and the limpness of your body, that you're going even if he has to carry you out to his car. Even if he has to drag you kicking and scream like a naughty toddler. Even if he has pictures all over the internet and headlines exclaiming 'Canuck's Captain, Bully of a Boyfriend?'. If it means you'll get better he'll take all the press, all the stares, all the heat.

"I'm not even that sic-" Once again, your cough interrupts you and this time, Quinn cuts in before you can continue. He's crouching in front of you, your shoes placed beside your feet in their snoopy socks.

"Baby, you might have gas lit yourself into believing that, but I know better. I'm taking you to the doctors, we're going to get you some meds. That's final." Quinn treats you like a princess, always has, and sure he usually takes a more dominate and traditional role in the relationship. But, it's rare for him to lay down the law, for him to outright remove your choice. Mostly, because you usually make the wise one anyway...today, you seem determined to put your health at risk and if that means he has to force you to do something you'd rather not? Well, the captain in him will come out to play and nice boyfriend Quinn will go take the bench. Nice isn't going to keep you healthy. Letting you get your way isn't going to make you better.

"Quinn..." Even the way you say his name is wheezy and it hurts, it hurts your chest to breathe, to speak. A sort of dull ache, a discomfort that deep down you know isn't normal...even as you try to push through.

"Shoes on. Now." His voice is sharp, not unkind, but firm. It's an order, not a request. A voice he rarely uses with you. Quinn only uses it under 2 scenarios: 1) You're putting yourself at risk and he's sorting it out or 2) it's an agreed role choice for your bedroom. He'd rather not have to use it for the first reason, but you're not really leaving him any choice.

"Bu-"

"Shoes, baby." He softens the tone, pulling back a little on the captain voice even as he grabs your right foot and forces you to put your first shoe on. You seem to give in, letting him help you into your shoes, tying them so they're supportive and comfortable.

He stands, reaching for your hands to pull you to your feet, holding onto your arms as you sway, lightheaded and dizzy at the upward movement. It takes longer than he would like for you to recover and it settles Quinn's mind even firmer on the course of action he's taking, helping you into your coat before leading you out of the apartment.

It's slow going, you're dizzy and short of breath and each step seems to take you even longer than normal. But, he's just happy to get you to his car, knowing that the next step is the triage walk-in centre 15 minute away.

You practically slump in the passenger seat, curling towards the door, blinking as the streets pass by. You have to admit, even if not audibly, that Quinn's right. This isn't just a cough, you feel like death warmed over and you know there's something not quite right. Even if you're loath to admit it. Even your students had picked up on how ill you were this week, being extra nice for once and not forcing you to yell at them like they knew you physically couldn't raise your voice even if you wanted to (which you didn't). Even the two boys you'd asked to stay behind to talk to about their behaviour had been patient when you'd had a coughing fit, unable to address their poor behaviour for a good minute.

When you finally arrive at the medical centre, he's very tempted to carry you inside, but you just about accept his arm as he helps you to the door and to the front desk. He takes over, describing your symptoms to the receptionist as you wheeze beside him, pressing your face into his arm as you seek some sort of comfort and you don't stop when you sit in the tiny uncomfortable seats waiting for your turn to see a nurse. Seeking his body for comfort, Quinn runs his fingers through the ends of your hair, occasionally rubbing the nape of your neck. He hates the way you whine into him, like everything is wrong with the world. He hates that he can't immediately fix how you're feeling.

It takes longer than Quinn would like for your name to be called, in the time it takes you're so tired from the outing that you're almost falling asleep on him. Your breathing is shallow and laboured as you wheeze in and out. All he can do is offer comfort and support, even as he forces you to stand once again and make the walk to the nurse's examination room.

You struggle through describing your symptoms, Quinn jumping in when he feels you're underplaying them or have missed something out. The nurse takes your blood oxygen levels, tutting as she does, and gets up to listen to your chest.

"I know what I'm going to hear already, but let's have a listen." The stethoscope is cold as she lifts the back of your shirt and slips it against your skin. You try to breathe in and out as normal as she moves from each section of your back, the top down to the bottom, left to right.

"Just as I thought, very crackly in the bottom left of your lungs...you've got a pretty nasty chest infection, lovely." She gestures for you to take a seat and you ignore the look Quinn gives you from the corner of your eye, the sort that screams 'I told you so.'

"Right, I'm going to prescribe you a course steroids and a course of antibiotics. You need to take 8 of the steroids in the morning for 4 days, just take the first dose the moment you get home today. The antibiotics you need to take for 5 days, 2 today and then 1 a day for the remaining 4, okay?"

You nod at her instructions, not feeling much like talking. You know Quinn is mentally cataloguing each instruction so that he can make sure you take your medication right and fully. A relief because you're so tired you're not sure you'd remember right now.

She prints out your prescription and hands it to you, which you promptly hand to Quinn, who holds it tight like he's scared it'll blow away in the windless room.

You both thank her as you leave and Quinn insists on going straight to the pharmacy next door and putting your prescription in. It takes longer than he wants, 20 minutes before you have your meds in hand and he's ushering you back to the car and strapping you in because you look too tired to do it yourself. You hold the little paper bag of medicine on your lap and watch him as he drives, your blinks are slow and tired and he keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, clearly worried. Quinn's hands tighten on the steering wheel.

The moment you're in the apartment, he's helping you from your coat and shoes, ushering you to the coach and helping you sink down into it, your head drooping as your arms dangle between your knees.

"I'm going to get your meds ready, okay? Just sit right here, baby." His hands run over your hair, across your shoulders, comforting strokes as he watches you struggle. He's relieved you have medicine now, even if he's angry that it took so long to convince you to get checked out. The anger isn't directed at you, but at himself and at the schooling system, the guilt its put into your head. The feeling that you can't be sick, can't take a day off. Anger that he'd allowed you to put this off for so long when he should have pushed more.

"Okay...Thanks, Quinny..." Your voice is fragile, delicate and his chest aches at the way you look up at him with tired, red eyes. Tired, hardly sleeping, fatigued from an infection attacking your body and still so thankful for him.

"No trouble at all, baby." Quinn leans down pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering slightly as you sway into him, eyes closed and nearly fall forward when he pulls away. But, Quinn's hands are there to right you, gently leaning you back against the couch pillows.

In the kitchen area he pours you as big glass of water and counts out 2 antibiotics, dark green capsules, and 8 tiny uncoated steroid tablets.

When he reaches you he hands you the glass, watching as you take a big gulp, holding it in your mouth as you gesture for the first pill. One at a time he hands them to you, watching as you swallow each with a healthy mouthful of water to make them go down easier. You shiver at little after each, like your body doesn't want you to take them, but they go down easy enough.

"Baby, I think you should go lay down in bed..."

"Mmm..." You're starting to feel sick, nausea hitting as your body processes the unfamiliar but strong medication. Your head is pounding, you feel like you're going to be sick and it's with nothing short of gentleness that Quinn scoops you up into his arms, your head nuzzling into his neck.

"C'mere..." You're not a light person, adult humans generally aren't, but Quinn has spent years as a pro-athlete training his body and in more recent years making sure he can bench as much weight as possible so carrying you isn't ever an issue. For reasons like this. The need to support you when you're sick or hurt. The idea that you might need him like this and he be unable to provide was simply unacceptable.

He moves carefully, steady so as not to rock you too much or too harshly as he walks you the short distance to your shared bedroom. He's gentle as he deposits you on the bed, helping you pull the blankets up around you as he sits beside you, fingers tracing a path over your forehead and down your cheek.

"How you feeling, baby?"

"Dizzy...nauseous...feel horrible, Quinny..." You almost sound like you might cry a little, a shakiness to your voice that pulls at his heart strings.

"I'll go make you some ginger tea for the nausea..." Quinn goes to get up but you're gripping his hand as hard as you can, eyes blinking up at him blearily, a pout directed his way that you know he can't really say no to. "No. Stay, cuddles please."

"Okay, baby, cuddles."

Quinn wastes very little time getting into bed besides you, letting you curl into him, your leg slung over his hip and your face pressed into his sternum like you could bury yourself in his chest and hide away from how you feel. All he can do he does, wrapping you up tight in his arms, hand rubbing soothing circles across your back.

Your breathing is shallow and shaky, swallowing as the nausea hits in waves. You can feel Quinn pressing kisses to your hair, your temple and it makes you feel better even if it doesn't take the sick feeling from your stomach.

"Thank you for looking after me..." You mumble it against his jaw, pressing a light kiss there, energy to do anything more none existent. Quinn responds with a kiss of his own to your hair, fingers reaching up to run through the ends as you nuzzle closer to him, chest to chest.

"I'm always going to look after you, baby. That's my job..."

"No...you're job is...your job is to play hockey." You sound a little confused and dazed, not really a surprise with the brain fog you've had this entire sickness. You seem to struggle to realise that he's not being literal, but it's cute. It's cute now he knows you're being medicated and not letting yourself get progressively worse and more and more likely to end up with pneumonia.

"Mm, that's my paying job, sure...but you're my real job. I just want to make sure you're okay, baby...especially when you're stubborn." Quinn's fingers rest on the nape of your neck, massaging the tense muscles there as you press further into his neck, little kisses being left like it's the only thing you have the energy for. It's sweet, even as you wheeze and rattle like an old change machine.

"I'm sick, don't be mean to me." Your voice is pouty and playful, and there's a slight relief in it for Quinn. That if you're being playful you're probably feeling a little better, a little more like yourself. He readjusts your leg around his hip, a hand resting there to keep you close.

"Never, baby. I love you too much to be mean to you."

"Liar." There's no animosity in it, just playful back chat that has him leaning back slightly to look at you with raised eyebrows.

"Oh, I see you're already feeling better? Absolute brat." Quinn grins at you for the first time in days, the relief that you're feeling even slightly better, the feeling of accomplishment at having convinced you to go to the doctor's, all combining to make him feel lighter than he has in a while.

"I'm sick, a sweet baby actually." Even you smile slightly as you look up at him, eyes slightly delirious and hazy like you're not all there right now which is probably about right. Your voice is croaky, but no less sweet to listen to.

"Mmm, sure y'are, baby. My sick, sweet girl who's also such a brat."

"Fuck off." You pretend to shove him away but he barely moves, your push weak and completely not serious. Even your voice has absolute no bite, just humour in it, the sort he's missed from you. You've been so down, so tired, so sullen that he's missed the banter, the back and forth, the playfulness that you two have.

"Alright-" Quinn pulls away, starting as if he's going to get up, but you're leg locks over his hip, arms practically crushing him to you as you stop him leaving your cuddle pile, the nest you've made, "No, stay! 'm sorry, Quinny...stay, feeling so much better with you here." You mean it. Maybe you still feel sick, nauseous and achy. Maybe your chest still hurts, your cough still rattling through you. But, being close to him helps, it makes you feel comforted in a way that you need right now and the idea of him going makes you want to cry. Even though rationally you know he's joking and not serious.

"Okay, sweet girl. I'm not going anywhere, okay?" He settles back into space next to you, hand running from your knee to your hip in soothing strokes as his other hand rubs circles over your back.

"Love you so much." You mumble it against his neck, face pressed as tight as you can, inhaling his cologne, the smell of his skin, the distinctly Quinn scent that brings you a sense of safety and comfort.

"Love you too, sweet girl."

Maybe Quinn hates the way you refuse to get help when you're sick, maybe this whole episode had terrified him to his core, made him worried sick, but God, he loves you enough that he'd do this every single year of his life if he had to.

In sickness and in health, right?

[nonushu]

while you were sleeping - choe hansol

genre: fluff, est. relationship | wc: 300 | bf!vernon x overworked!reader a/n: does anyone get casually bias wrecked by vernon... *cries sobs screams*

he yawned, stretching his arm to grab the remote on the coffee table. his fingers fumbled with the buttons, fatigue slowly wearing off. the tv shut off, cutting in the middle of the scene's action—he wasn’t going to finish this one anyway.

with a sigh, vernon got off his back, making his way into your shared room. he’s sure you’re awake right now, despite the late hours. and he didn’t want to bother you earlier, knowing you had a deadline for this project. 

he cautiously twists the knob, not even a creek from his grip, worried it might disturb you. as quiet as he can be, he’s surprised to see you not doing work.

your slouched over your desk, face in the seas of scattered papers, documents, or whatever you were given by your professor. the laptop screen is black, which he figures you had probably passed out a while ago. 

the dim light from the hallway casts a soft glow on your face, making your desk seem less chaotic. he can see the faint crease in your brow, as if you were still worrying about your work, even in slumber. it makes vernon grin, his heart swelling. 

he stares at you as he picks up an extra blanket. before draping it over your shoulders, he leans down to check on your breathing, relieved to see the soft rise and fall of your back.

gently, he smooths the line with his thumb before carefully draping the blanket over your shoulders, tucking it in just enough so it won’t slip off. he brushes a few stray strands of hair from your face, his fingertips barely grazing your skin.

“you’re working too hard,” vernon mumbles to no one in particular, more a thought than a statement. but i’m proud of you.

[kabsey]

Lucanis could not fall asleep.

He had been avoiding it for so long that he was not sure he remembered how. Even before the Ossuary, sleep had not come to him easily. If there had ever been a time when it had, it was lost to the murky mists of his childhood, along with the sound of his father's laugh and the color of his mother's eyes.

As he lay on the chaise, Spite paced beside the windows like a caged animal. Rook had worried at first that the underwater view from her room would disturb them, but he'd told her that he and Spite rarely saw the parts of the Ossuary that she had, the bright colors of the passing sea life, the greenery that waved gently in the currents. They had only caught glimpses as they were dragged from their cell to the torture rooms and back again. Those brief moments of light had reminded Lucanis that, far above them, another world went on, a world where the baristas at Cafe Pietra brewed his favorite coffee, where the markets went on all night, where his grandmother chastised his cousin.

His memories of the surface had fascinated Spite, and he had always surged to take control and fought the guards tooth and nail for even just a few more fleeting seconds with the sea that extended all the way to the sky he'd never seen. Whenever they came into Rook's room, he plastered himself to the window and watched the fish for hours, less out of an interest in marine life than to luxuriate in gleeful satisfaction that the ones who used to pull him away from such a view were nothing but rotting corpses.

But not even the fish could calm Spite with Rook gone. When he noticed Lucanis watching him, he snarled.

"Sleep!" he demanded.

"I'm trying."

"Not! Enough!"

Rather than argue that a glowing demon growling at him was hardly restful, Lucanis dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and tried to empty his mind. He'd managed in the Ossuary, had managed it day after day until days turned to weeks and then months. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw Rook. He saw her fighting, laughing, talking, reading, drinking ciocolatta calda. He saw her in firelight and sunlight, moonlight and candlelight. A hundred moments, a hundred looks, a hundred smiles, all embedded as deeply within him as his ribcage, his lungs, his heart—every part of him that ached with her absence.

His eyes burned, and he dug his hands in harder, as if he could physically push back the tears. The slow, even rhythm of the deep breathing he'd been trained in as a child faltered. His next inhale caught in his throat and choked him. He tried to swallow it down, but it thrashed and flailed, transforming into a harsher version of itself. There was no deal he could make that would keep it inside, and it burst out from his lips as a broken sob.

A sharp rap came from the door, and the shock of the sound enabled him to smooth out his next shuddering breath. Spite stopped pacing. The irrational idea that Rook would walk through bounced between them for just a moment before they both forced it down. Lucanis sat up and called for whoever it was to enter, expecting Bellara with yet another cup of tea or Emmrich with a page of notes and a question for Spite.

Instead he felt another jolt of shock as Viago stepped inside.

If his fellow Talon had been expecting some kind of welcome, he didn't receive it. Lucanis was too rattled by the incongruity of Viago in the Lighthouse to greet him. He could only stare as Viago looked around the room, gaze lingering here and there as he took in the various trinkets and books and clothing scattered across the furniture. He came to stand at the foot of the chaise, posture and seams as straight as ever, every hair in place.

But his eyes were bloodshot and bruised with fatigue.

"Taash came to the Diamond," he said. "To update us on the search."

Lucanis swallowed. "I'm sorry," he replied, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat before continuing. "I should have—"

Viago cut him off with the raise of a gloved hand. "Let's not waste time. They said that your demon can find Rook?"

"Yes!" Spite shouted, his impatience and aggravation returned tenfold. He dismissed the novelty of Viago to return to his pacing and muttering.

"He believes he can," Lucanis said. "And Emmrich seems to believe it too. Something about how if I sleep while here in the Fade, the connection in my dreams will be strong enough for him to slip through."

Viago nodded. Then he glanced around again before his eyes caught on the table that held Rook's small wooden chest of elixirs and powders for brewing poisons and antidotes. His eyes briefly closed, and a deep furrow appeared in his brow. Lucanis had just a moment to see the muscles in his jaw clench and to notice that he carried a near-identical chest under one arm. Then Viago opened his eyes and stalked to the table. He shifted Rook's chest slightly and set his own beside it.

"Humans sleep in cycles," he said as he opened the lid. He glanced over his shoulder at Lucanis. "Are you aware of this?"

When Lucanis shook his head, he turned back to the chest and pulled out a vial that he gripped gently in his hand, as though its contents were valuable.

"Our minds can only touch the Face when we are in the deepest stage of the cycle. Though we may reach this stage three or four times a night, each instance only lasts for an hour at most."

Spite whipped around, wings flaring. "Not enough!" He rushed to Lucanis. "Not! Enough! I need! More! Time!"

"Let him finish," Lucanis said.

When he turned back to Viago, the man had stopped halfway to the chaise. His next steps were slower, more cautious, wary of a threat he could not see.

"I can induce the deepest stage in you and then keep you there for an extended time."

"Yes!" Spite exclaimed. "How long?"

"How long?" Lucanis asked out loud.

"An hour at first—" The rest was drowned out by Spite.

"NOT! ENOUGH!"

Lucanis winced and massaged his temple as Spite's shouting echoed in his skull. Viago paused, seeming to realize that Lucanis hadn't heard him.

"Are you—"

This time Lucanis raised a hand. "I'm fine. But an hour's not enough. He needs more time."

Viago raised an eyebrow. "As I was saying, I need to see how well you tolerate the first dose. If you tolerate it as I expect, we can double the next dose. If you tolerate that, we double it again. Up to eight hours."

Lucanis glanced at Spite, who seemed to be mentally calculating how much of the Fade he could search in eight hours.

"You can't do more?" Lucanis asked.

Viago frowned. "Not in a single stretch. Your body will need breaks for food and water."

"I've gone much longer than eight hours without both."

Viago's frown deepened. "This is not about how long you can go under duress. I will essentially be putting you into a coma. It will affect you mentally and physically. If I determine that the effects are too deleterious, I will stop the doses altogether."

The underlying threat was clear: they did this Viago's way or not at all.

Lucanis looked at Spite, who, after peering at Viago suspiciously for a moment, met his gaze and nodded.

Lucanis turned back to Viago. "We can start right now."

Viago waved at him to lay back on the chaise. From the corner of his eye, he could see Spite pacing again, but rather than trapped, he seemed coiled, ready to spring the instant the lock to his cage was released. At Viago's direction, Lucanis opened his mouth and let Viago place a single drop of the potion on his tongue. The taste was faint, slightly floral, and more pleasant than he was expecting.

He closed his eyes and resumed the deep breathing he had been attempting before. He heard footsteps, clearly trained to be quiet and only audible to him because he had been trained to hear them. It reminded him so strongly of Rook that he was half-convinced that if he opened his eyes, she would be standing there, hands on her hips, smirking at him and chastising him to go back to sleep.

The image was so strong that he tried to open his eyes, even though he knew he would see nothing but disappointment. But his eyelids were strangely heavy, and they managed no more than a weak flutter. A moment later, he could not remember why he had wanted to open them in the first place. A soft sound—clinking glass—seemed to ring in his ears twice; Spite was hovering close, so close that his impressions were leaking into Lucanis's.

They heard Viago clear his throat softly, then his voice, quiet and thick with emotion.

"I don't know if you can hear me, demon, but... please. Find her."

If he said anything beyond that, the words did not reach Lucanis. His consciousness dissolved into the Fade like a drop of ink in water, and Spite flowed away, free to navigate the currents of his native sea in search of the one who had brought them both to shore.

[dismalflo]

restless

Remus Lupin x reader who can't sleep ✩ 548 words

cw: fluff, Remus is very sweet, established relationship

an: definitely did not write this when I couldn't sleep last night

When you begin to rouse from sleep, you can tell it’s still the middle of the night. There’s no soft glow filtering through the curtains, no rustling of the covers beside you. The only proof of someone else in the bed is the faint sound of soft snoring and a warm leg draped over one of your own. 

It feels like you haven’t slept through the night in months. Remus has the same issue, but he always seems to drift back to sleep as soon as he wakes. You, however, are left staring at the ceiling, waiting for day to break

With tight muscles and slow movements, you start to slip out of bed, feeling a little like someone sneaking away from a one-night stand. But this isn’t a one-night stand. It’s your home, and you’ve been lying beside your boyfriend. Just as you sit on the edge of the bed, there’s movement behind you, making you turn.

“Where you going?”, his voice is scratchy and filled with sleep, eyes barely open, squinting at you through the darkness. You wince, not because he isn’t lovely but because you feel bad.

“M’sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” you whisper, hating the idea of disturbing him. He scrubs a hand over his face, trying to shake off the sleep, then stretches toward your side of the bed, reaching out to touch whatever part of you he can.

“That’s alright, lovely,” he murmurs, his words slurring with fatigue. “Can’t sleep?”

You hum an affirmative and watch as he reaches over to flick on the bedside lamp. Your heart squeezes at the sight of him—tired but still so attentive, the guilt building in your chest

“You can go back to sleep, Rem, I’m fine.”

He looks heartbroken at that, and his response is immediate. “No, not until you do, pretty”.

You suppress a giggle at how he loses his inhibitions when he’s tired, slipping into his flirty side.

You chuckle softly, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. “You’re sweet, but really, you don’t have to stay awake just for me,” you say, glancing over at him. His eyes are still heavy, though they are beginning to clear.

But he doesn’t back down. His arm stretches across the bed to rest on your waist, pulling you back toward him. "I’m awake now. And if you’re not sleeping, then I’m not sleeping," he insists, his voice a little more steady, though still laced with sleep.

 His warmth is comforting, his hand gently squeezing your waist as if to remind you he’s right here. "You really are something else," you murmur, resting your head against his chest.

He hums in response, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, his hand beginning to trace slow, soothing circles on your back.

You close your eyes, the motion of his hand settling you into something resembling peace. It’s not sleep, not yet, but it’s enough. His heartbeat under your ear is steady, grounding.

The minutes stretch on, and the tension in your body begins to melt away. The heat from his body seeps into yours, filling the space between you.

Finally, sleep begins to claim you once again, but not before you hear the soft murmur of his voice:

“Love you, dove.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! i appreciate all feedback <3

[delirious-donna]

tw: female reader, suggestive, yearning, reader is adored, could be considered somno but reader wakes up before anything starts, implied pussy eating, he just loves you so so much

The bed was pleasantly warm, so comforting against your spine. Soft sheets cradled your form as if trying to lull you into slumber, whilst the book you held slipped between your fingers as tiredness pressed against your eyes.

The spotlight from the bedside lamp painted the most magical shadows against the wall, the conjurations seeming to dance from the gentle fairy lights that twinkled around the room's edges. It was like a fairytale landscape but you fought the sleep that tried to tease you into surrender as if it were a dragon to be slain.

You waited, not sure how much longer it would be before you could be reunited with your lover. It felt too empty in here without him, his presence such a welcome and soothing one that you missed it all the more when he was gone.

Thoughts of the man you loved were the last ones you could recall before sleep pressed you deep into the mattress.

You were so cute, sweeter than the sugary candies he sometimes indulged in, and he was dying for a taste.

The sight of you prone on your squishy bed, chest rising and falling gently whilst you slumbered was just what he needed after the tediousness of the day. The veil of fatigue lifted enough to know that he wouldn’t be ready for sleep until he had you in his arms, his lips on every inch of your glowing sleep-soaked skin.

He padded silently towards the bed and knelt carefully so as not to disturb his sleeping angel.

For a long moment he admired your adorable pyjamas with the white fluffy bunny print–his personal favourites–with a lazy smile curling his lips at how the shorts bunched around your plush thighs. It was like he could already feel your softness beneath his touch, and he swiped his tongue across his teeth at the thought.

Slowly, like a stealthy animal, he crawled towards you. He watched through hooded eyes as he kissed up your smooth calf, enjoying the slight squirm of your hips when he reached the inside of your knee.

You smelled of your favourite body wash and he inhaled deeply until only you filled his head. He palmed you through the thin barrier of your pyjama shorts, instantly feeling your warmth and wishing to nuzzle against you.

It strained his dick to almost pain. The restraint of his pants uncomfortably tight, length throbbing with the close proximity to your pretty little pussy. His pretty little pussy… fuck.

Carnal thoughts of tasting your unique essence on his tongue, your thighs pressing against his ears and the hands that would switch between caressing and tugging on his hair, filled his mind. It made him crazy with need for you, and only you.

Deft fingers curled around the flimsy waistband, tugging the shorts down your legs until they flew into an unknown corner of the darkened room. Groans of you waking roused him enough to stare into that sleepy face that made him want to present you with his heart on a gilded platter.

“Baby?”

“Mhm, it’s me. I missed you,” he assured whilst his fingers tangled with your own, shifting your hands into the messy strands of his hair before pulling away to trace the glistening pussy lips that he was desperate to taste.

You blinked rapidly at familiar eyes glazed with desire, and it was enough to twist your stomach into knots. The swell of emotions that he evoked in you was so powerful that you could sense the slick building with every second that passed.

His lips were feverish, a contradiction to the usual cool sweep of his mouth, as they pressed against your skin. His dexterous hand snaked between your thighs only for you to press them tightly together in a mixture of embarrassment and seeking out that much-needed friction.

You let out a whimper as he sucked bruises of possession into your flesh, almost crying out aloud in simple ecstasy when he spoke once more.

“Now spread your legs and try to tell me about your day.”

Kuroo, Bokuto, Daichi, Suna, Osamu, Kakashi*, Obito, Kiba, Nanami, Gojo, Choso, Erwin, Levi, Reiner, Kunikida, Fuzukawa, Chuuya, Aizawa, Keigo, Sebastian, Hanma, Zhongli, Wriothesley, Kaeya + your fave that fits the story!

*I’m including Kakashi even though he doesn’t like sweets!