Hey!! I found your blog about…2 hours ago, and then may or may not have started on a super-intense fic reading spree that ended abruptly when I noticed I had already read all your fics and started panicking. So anyway…your stories are amazing and have ruined my life, and I wanted to request a Warren fic with the prompts “You’re so cute when you’re half asleep like this…” or “Stay the night. Please.” or both? Thanks!

alexsunmners:

Could I pretty please request a fic where Warren is a cocky jealous shit who chases after the reader, but is actually a huge softie that buys her stuffed animals and knows her coffee order by heart and crap like that. (thank you so much and oh my god I love your writing)

A/N: Oh my god thank you so much! That’s actually the nicest thing, like, ever! Sidenote, I’m combining these requests because it mostly works and I’m a fan of efficiency. 

Warren Worthington iii + You’re so cute when you’re half asleep like this

Helping your boyfriend limp up the flights
of stairs to your apartment was definitely not what you had had in mind for the
night, and yet here you were, all but shoving Warren through the door and
propping him up at the kitchen table while you dig your first aid kit out of a
drawer.

“Honestly,” You sigh in exasperation as you
pull the small red box out and set it on the table. “I mean at this point I
shouldn’t really be surprised that
you manage to find fights to get into literally everywhere, but did you really
have to punch him because he ‘looked at
me funny’? I’m a big girl, Warren. I can flip off creeps myself, thanks.”
You say, gently taking his chin in your hand to examine his split lip and
swollen nose more closely. Warren just shrugs, his wings fluttering slightly
behind him.

“He was an ass and I don’t like other guys
drooling over you,” He replies thickly, his voice somewhat distorted by his
battered nose. “Besides, you shouldn’t have
to deal with creeps yourself. That’s my
job.” He sounds almost petulant, and you roll your eyes, because this isn’t the
first time you two have had this conversation, and you’re willing to put money
on it not being the last time either.

“I’m very capable of standing up for
myself, and I’d really prefer it if you didn’t get into some ridiculous fight
over my honour or whatever every other time we go out. It’s kind of a pain in
my ass.” You remind Warren, handing him an ice pack to hold to his nose and
upcoming black eye while you clean the cut on his lip. He starts to say
something in protest, and you quickly cover his mouth with your hand, giving
him an admonishing look. “Babe please. I know you love to assert your
dominance, but I’m not a fan of limping you home every time, and I worry about
you. So if you could manage to refrain from fighting anyone who looks at me,
that would be wonderful.” You don’t withdraw your hand from over his mouth till
he nods in defeat, letting the conversation drop for the time being at least.

You finish cleaning Warren’s lip before
handing him some painkillers and pushing him gently towards the shower. He’s
obviously tired, because he goes willingly, and when he emerges, hair damp and
clad only in flannel pyjama pants, he looks more or less asleep already. You
push back the covers beside you on the bed and he flops down onto it face
first, his wings spreading a little to drape across your lap as he tucks
himself against your side, slinging an arm around your waist. You put down the
book you were reading, smiling fondly down at him as you stroke his hair
gently, carding your fingers through his curls.

“You’re so cute when you’re half asleep
like this.” You chuckle as he leans into your touch. Warren just hums drowsily
in response, tightening his grip on you and pulling you down the bed a little
so he can rest his head against your shoulder. Squirming in his grip, you reach
over to turn out the light on your nightstand before cuddling in close beside
him, idly tracing light patterns across his wings. It takes him all of about
two minutes to fall asleep, one wing slung over you protectively, face tucked
against the crook of your neck, and his slow, even breathing soon drags you into
the realm of unconsciousness.