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[literaila]

can we get a fic where gojo and reader are playing some game or something and gojo let's reader win every time because she's having too much fun and he is just a sick loverboy

also hope you're doing well I love your writing 😔

“do you have the three of diamonds?”

satoru smiles, sorting through his nine cards like his alien-like hands are incapable of holding them. “go fish.”

you sigh, pick a card off of the pile, then stare blankly at the boy in front of you.

when he suggested a card game you figured it would have more to do with suits and less to do with… just watching him struggle with his hand?

you figured it would be a break from the silence of the dorm rooms—everyone else gone for the weekend—and not the most infuriating sight you’ve ever seen.

you sigh again.

“have you never held a hand in your life?”

“i could hold yours, if you want me to,” satoru answers, leaning over far enough that you could definitely see everyone one of his cards.

but you avert your eyes because you’re not a cheater, and you don’t even need to be when every one of gojo’s turns take three minutes.

“no, seriously. are you trying to do a magic trick or something?”

“pick a card,” satoru wiggles his eyebrows, far too suggestively.

“it’s your turn.”

“oh, right. hmm… got a black seven?”

“which one?”

“clover.”

it takes a strange amount of effort—and the cost of your pride—to refrain a laugh. and this time when you sigh it’s in relief. at least his hand will get smaller and you can stop feeling so sorry for him.

watching him like this is… strange. you’re usually days ahead of satoru, sure, but he’s so good at everything.

it’s almost difficult to know something that he doesn’t.

“okay,” his eyes meet yours. “go ahead. wouldn’t want to start losing now, would you?”

“is this supposed to be trash talk?”

gojo hums.

“trash talk when you just called your card a clover?” you clarify, blinking at him.

“sounds like someone is worried,” satoru drawls. “don’t worry. we’re not playing for money.”

“you have like twenty cards, satoru.”

“actually i have—“ he looks down for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. “eleven. eleven-ish.”

“ish?” you repeat, laughing.

“you can count yourself.”

you shake your head, about to say something else—maybe make fun of him, maybe propose a bet—but satoru drops two cards.

he pouts and you get to watch while satoru painstakingly arranges his cards in one of his hands, and then tries to pry the other cards up without dropping anything.

another card slips from his palm.

you groan. “have you really never played a card game before?” you wonder aloud, unsure how that could be possible—or why he would suggest this in the first place.

satoru scowls, trying to turn a card over with his nail. “i have.”

you laugh, shaking your head again. you set down your cards, face up—because what the hell?

and then you crawl towards satoru, attempting to catch the three other cards he’s about to drop. “can you—hey, stop.”

satoru doesnt, he shakes your hands away and drops two more cards.

“satoru. just wait a second,” and you’re laughing, looking at him and rolling your eyes at the pitiful look on his face.

he looks like an indignant child. stubborn, and completely unwilling to lose.

which, really, isnt so far off.

“okay,” you sigh, when he finally stops moving. “now, hold your hands out.”

“why?”

“i’m trying to help you.”

satoru leans in, eyes catching yours over his glasses, his face contemplative.

“we can start over after this,” you tell him, pushing his shoulder. “just let me show you.”

satoru still looks skeptical, but he relaxes, reluctantly holding his cards out to you.

“alright, now just watch first, okay?”

and you show him how to arrange the cards, fanning them out in your hands so that each one are at an angle and safely tucked into your palms. “you use your thumb to look through them. and readjust if they slip.”

“your hands are so small,” satoru coos, almost like he’s bragging.

you scoff. “and yet i’m not the one dropping my cards everywhere.”

“yet.”

“whatever, satoru. here.” you bunch the cards up and pass them to him. satoru waits a moment and then attempts to mimic your movements,

but a card at the end tilts too far, and then another follows, and then one hand goes to fix the cards that are slipping, and the other half of his pile is forgotten. or rather, the other half is now on the floor.

you laugh. “no, don’t—“ satoru does not listen, tongue poking out as he tries to fix it. “you need to—“

“i got it—“

“satoru, stop letting go—“

“i’ve got it—“

“okay, look, here—“ you lean over him, stopping his hands with both of his.

and in one second you’re climbing almost on top of him, your arms overlapping, each one of your thumbs resting on his. “relax your hands,” you whisper to him, after a moment.

it takes a moment but satoru does.

“okay,” you smile at him, watching as his eyes flit from yours and then to your hands. “now, fold your thumb here.”

you squeeze his hands together, readjusting his fingers, and satoru allows you.

“keep your hand like this, see?” satoru just barely nods. “and fan the cards out…”

then you both look down, each card visible, and none of them slipping. satoru breathes out and you can feel it.

his hands are very warm, like this, and even though he’s annoying—he was right. your hands are smaller, barely able to cover his own.

you look back to him, suddenly just inches away. you can hear his breathing right in your ear. can see the edges of incandescent blue eyes over the frame of his shades.

this time you watch his eyes fall from yours, flickering over your nose, trailing down…

you wonder what satoru sees when he looks at your lips. you see a toothy smile, the indents of teeth, the darker line of red around pink and—

you pull back, quickly, and satoru blinks—his eyes meet yours again.

you’re still kind of on top of him, still basically holding his hands.

“so,” you let go, watching as satoru’s entire body loses its tension. “i think you got it.”

satoru swallows, looking down.

“finally,” you add, like it’s going to do anything to ease the tension you’ve just unwittingly created.

this is completely stupid. you should’ve just let satoru struggle, and you should never get this close to him, and, in fact, you don’t even like playing games with him because he always—

you look down, eyes scanning his cards suddenly.

you yank his wrist over again, scowling. “i asked if you had this! and the six, and the jack—“

satoru’s grin is sudden and unabashed, his eyes not even a little bit ashamed.

“cheater! i would’ve won like ten minutes ago if—“

“what?” satoru drawls, tilting his head at you. “how was i supposed to know? i’ve never even played this before,” he flutters his eyelashes.

you tackle him right there, cards be damned.

[lonelydarknessblog]

ahhh hello! i’m so excited to get into werewolf!skz !!!(i came from daku’s page right after i saw the post) everything looks so amazing already, i can’t wait so see what comes next!

i do have a question tho: how would they take care of you when you are sick, but ignoring it? like, you’re about to pass out from a fever but you’re still making lunch like everything’s fine?

would you mind if i was 🪷 anon?

luv u lots, can’t wait to see what comes next!

Oh lovely lovely 🪷! You have come with the softest ask and I want to hug you for it! Thank you so much for it! I hope this gives you the same warm feeling that your ask gave me.

Also, if you are sick, please please rest the way our boys would want you to!

Honestly, you should have seen it coming. It started as a tickle at the back of your throat. A day later, your head felt like your brain had turned into a lead block. By day 3, you knew the fever was next, but by then, you had told far too many people you were fine and now didn't want to hear 'I told you so'. So, against your better judgement, you decided to go on with life like nothing was wrong.

Bangchan

He smelled it before you began to show signs, his sharp werewolf senses picking up the change in your body, the way it began fighting the infection even before the symptoms showed. But he wanted to respect you, your boundaries. He figured you'd tell him eventually.

You didn't. And he didn't push, but he prepared. So when he found you staring bleary eyed at your laptop, he was ready. He gently shut your device before sitting next to you, not saying a word.

"I'm fine." You grumble even as he wraps his arm around your shoulder and tugs you against him.

"I know." He whispers back, smiling. His other hand runs through your hair, massaging your scalp. You're asleep before you even know it. He carries you to bed, soaks a small towel and presses it to your forehead before tucking you under the blankets.

You wake up hours later, your body having been exhausted after pushing yourself, only to find all the chores completed, a delicate pot of soup simmering, and Chan waiting for you with a gentle smile and a warm hug (and antibiotics, supplements and vitamins).

Minho

You had told him you were tired, and if he could come over for date night instead of going out. That was his first clue that something was wrong. The second was when he stepped into your house to find the aircon set to freezing and you wrapped in three layers of woolens and sweating. He knew you were weird, but not this weird.

Realisation dawned when he slid behind you to check on the jjigae, and felt the heat radiating from your skin.

"You're sick." He stated.

You shook your head. "Nothing severe."

He rolled his eyes, gently manhandled you so that you were in his hold one moment and the plopped on the couch the next.

"The jjigae!" You protested, trying to get back up only for him to press you back down.

"I don't want your germs in my meal. I'll finish cooking. Stay."

You knew better than to argue, and a few minutes later, when he silently pressed a mug of herbal tea in your hands, you didn't have the heart to pretend you were okay. Not when he was looking at you with such unbearable concern and love.

Changbin

At first, Changbin thought the sweat was because you were at the gym, where you were supposed to sweat. But when he saw your arms tremble while holding the 5 kg dumbbell, he knew something was wrong. But you weren't the kind to tell anyone. So he faked a yawn, and you were only too happy to end the session early.

Only when you stepped into the apartment did he let on what he was truly doing; trapping you. His arms went around you in a bridal carry and you were deposited gently in bed. It took five minutes of negotiating to get him to let you shower, on the condition that you would wear the softest pink pajamas after and eat a bowlful of soup.

The exhaustion along with the warm soup left you drowsy, so he pressed a couple of tablets into your hand. Once you downed them, he wrapped you in his arms and you fell asleep with your burning forehead on the cool skin of his chest.

Hyunjin

The first time you cough, Hyunjin pretends like you've personally offended him and his ancestors. He makes you put on a mask and spritzes your hand with sanitiser.

But when it happens the second time, he frowns. His long fingers press against your forehead and he yanks his hand back dramatically, blowing on his fingers as if he touched a flame.

"This fever didn't happen just now." He scolds, rummaging through his things. He pulls out a snap and freeze ice pack and makes you hold it against your head while he shrugs off his hoodie. He bundles you in it, excuses you both from the get together and drives home, making a pit stop at the pharmacy and convenience store. You're obviously not allowed out of the car, commanded to wait for him. And when you reach home and he's given you the necessary medicines and is in bed with you, long limbs wrapped around you like he needs comfort, he whispers, "Don't get hotter, my heart can't take it."

Han

You get a little quiet. You know you're sick and you are ignoring it, going about your day like nothing is wrong. Except Han thinks you are ignoring him. He panics internally, but tries to play it cool. But when you don't react with the usual enthusiasm to the memes he sends, he begins to crash out.

"Baby. What did I do? Tell me how to make it better. You know I love you, right? Whatever it is, I didn't do it intentionally. Please." He's clinging to you, arms wrapped around you, face pressed into your neck. He squeezes you a tad too tight and you sneeze. Once, twice and then a third time.

Han pulls away and squints at you. "Are you sick?"

You nod. He collapses on the floor. "Oh my god, I thought you fell out of love with me!" You giggle and that is all he needs to recover. A while later, you both are wrapped in a tortilla printed blanket, a whole pile of snacks topped by a couple of medicines. And you've been told that Han can't have any of the snacks under the meds unless you have the meds. You get better in a record time of three days, and when people ask how, you and Han grin when he says, "Her love for me cured her."

Felix

Felix senses something is wrong. As a healer, he can pick up on the subtle changes in your body, and he wants to be prepared. So he spends long hours in his apothecary, putting together tinctures and decoctions for different things, nausea, fever, headaches, anything that he can think of.

When he finds you bent over the toilet bowl, he kneels beside you and holds your hair away from your face, rubbing your back. He has a glass of water ready for you and then carries you back to bed, ignoring your half hearted protests about needing to go back to work. He holds your hands and asks you to tell him what you are feeling, so he can bring the right concoction. You are about to scrunch your nose when he assures you that he's added berries to mask the flavour of the herbs.

He serves the concoction in a wine glass, decorates it with mint leaves and a slice of citrus. He wraps you in his arms, puts on your favourite show and nuzzles into your hair when you fall asleep. And when he lays you down on your pillow, he makes sure there is a fresh lavender, vanilla and eucalyptus potpourri under it to ensure you rest well.

Seungmin

He finds you with your head on the table, eyes swollen and a pile of tissues around you. He pokes you with a pen, which he also uses to toss the tissues into a bin. You wake with a groan and see him standing there like a traffic cop, arm pointing to the bedroom. His raised eyebrow makes you swallow whatever you are about say and you trudge to the room.

You remember falling face first into the pillow and passing out, but when you wake up, you're in fluffy pajamas, a hot water bag at your feet while a damp washcloth rests on your forehead. There is a plate of crackers on your night table, along with a flask of tea, a bottle of water and your medicine.

You pad out to the living room, only for him to send you back to bed, having designated it at the only 'germ zone' in the house. When he climbs into bed at night, you mumble something about him falling sick.

"You are germy, but unfortunately, you are my germy. Just don't drool on me, okay?" He says, even as he tucks you under his chin and kisses your head.

Jeongin

When he finds out that not only are you sick, you've also hid it from him, his eyes go wide, lips curve into a pout. He immediately begins gathering items that seem random; a blanket, a cup, the medicine box, a few tea bags, a pillow, bottles of water, an electric kettle and the television remote.

You look confused, but when he tugs you to the couch, some of it begins to make sense. He curls around you before wrapping both of you in the blanket. He is still pouting into your neck even as he rubs little circles into your back.

"You are not moving from here until you are a hundred percent better. And I am not moving from here until I have deemed you a hundred percent better." He grumbles.

"Is that why you have put all the supplies in arm's reach?" You chuckle.

"I said what I said."

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

Thank you so much, 🪷! This was so much fun to write!

[skinnyluciddreams2]

I failed.

Lets talk about it:

TW: Mentions of Suicide attempt. Details leading up to it. You have been warned.

Honestly, the day was like any other.

This had been brewing for a LONG time.

My arms and legs are torn to shreds, I wasn't hiding it. Everyone saw. No one cared.

I said. Let me make ONE final attempt to reach out. Let me try ONE MORE TIME.

I called my adoptive mother: 8:46am

No answer.

I sent a text: 8:53am that read as follows:

"Hey, do you know what time (sister) gets off work? I'm feeling really unsafe with myself and would like to spend the night at someone's house if they're available. I can walk home in the morning if need be."

Mind you the walk from my sisters house to mine is roughly 3 hours. I didn't care. I wanted to live.

The text sent and time ticked slow.. so very slow.

9:47am... nothing. No call. No text. Nothing.

For context, I had spoken with my adoptive mother the day prior and TOLD her I was the worst I've EVER been in my life.

12:00pm... nothing.

At that moment I decided. If I didn't hear anything by 6:00pm. I was ending my life.

1pm..2pm..3pm..4pm..5pm.. nothing.

6:00pm rolls around. It's time. But how?

I had pills, that was definitely going to be the way. But HOW? My bedroom door didn't lock. I had heard stories of ODs and being brought back. Being physically fucked for the rest of your life. I didn't want that. I had to make CERTAIN I was going to die. I did my research. It can take anywhere from an hour to four hours to even START the OD process. Fuck.

Then, hope.

6:15pm.

My brother and his father tell me they are leaving, ask me if I want to come. Of course I immediately say "No"

This was it. This was my time. I needed to do this now.

I watched them back out of the driveway and drive off.

It was like something took over my brain. I spun around and slowly walked towards the bathroom.

Okay Lucid. You got this. Down the pills. Lock the door. They will think you're in the bath if they get home sooner than expected.

My water bottle was full, in hand. I slipped into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. Instantly locking it. I set my water bottle on the counter. Then I looked up and just stared at myself in the mirror for what felt like forever.

For context I had already "signed off" on here.

There was no going back now.

I opened the drawer. Grabbed the bottle. 27 pills. Should be enough. I dumped them all out into my hand. It started shaking. I took a deep breath, lifted my hand to my mouth. Tilted my head back... and froze? Sick. I felt sick. My vision started to blur, my body started to shake and then my knees gave out. I hit the floor and the pills went everywhere. I sat there and I sobbed. For what felt like eternity.

Then, a discord message. My best friend of 15 years. "Hey, everything okay? I got this weird feeling and felt like I should reach out"

And that was it. I poured my heart out to him. I didn't spare a single detail. We came up with a plan. He's picking me up. I'm moving away and not telling a SINGLE SOUL. Gone like a blip. I'm not looking back. I know I will still struggle and I know it will be hard. But i also know I have HIM. He has NEVER failed me. EVER.

I don't believe in God. But something saved me. I don't know what. Maybe I even saved myself.

But I'm here. I'm alive.

I'm not well.

By any means.

But I'm alive.

I'm sorry for worrying everyone. And I'm sorry I failed. I am extremely embarrassed and I don't even know where to begin to make it up to everyone. I feel like a fraud.

And maybe I am.

But.

I'm alive.

[somegrumpynerd]

Did you know tissue is the french word for fabric?

I didn't! :o That's cool, I wonder how it got used in english for the thing you blow your nose with, I guess cause handkerchiefs used to be fabric maybe?

I love learning about words :D

[cluemily]

From Cleo's stream today (6/6/2025). I'm sure some people would like to hear this this pride month. <3

(Note: I cut some brief moments where Cleo read out some subs/donations, or slightly long pauses. But this is pretty much the entire clip.)

[Transcription:

Cleo: Do you know what I've not talked about for a while? I don't think- I think I got sick literally at the beginning of Pride Month. I think I did. Like, genuinely. So I think I have not pride, I have not said glory to you and your identity at all this month yet! So- like-

[CleoOWO redeem triggers, Cleo laughs]

Cleo [in high-pitched CleOWO voice]: Okay, sure, we can do it like this. I'll put in the hearts as well. [Cleo triggers the blush and hearts on their Vtuber model] Pride! Well, congratulations, I appreciate everybody here. And this is a safe, welcoming community. Doesn't matter if you're gay, or straight, or lesbian, or something else. Or, like, bisexual like me, or pansexual, or asexual, or trans, or I'm- I'm coming up- I'm not doing well with the whole list of things. You are welcome if you're not a bigot! Not for bigots!

So uh trans rights, gay rights- uh, hm- having a think. Uhm- I mean I like you as long as you... rights, woo! We appreciate pride month in all its forms. Hashtag not for bigots. If anybody in this chat has decided that they do not approve of the LGBTQ- alphabet mafia- get out! Uhm- yeah! Yay! [Cleo claps]

[responding to chat member] Aw, you're here strawberry, we're good! You and me, we're good!

[talking to entire chat again] I hope that you have a happy pride month and a happy rest of the year. And I know things- uhm- around the world are a bit tough and problematic and... uhm- we need to lock in. And I know that's hard. But you guys take care of yourselves and each other. Very important, okay? Take care of the community, make sure that if someone's fighting they're not fighting alone.

[CleOWO redeem ends, Cleo talks normally again.]

Yeah, I think that's a thing that I want to say to everyone. Like- the reason why we fight is because we have to. It would be nice not to have to fight but make sure we don't fight alone. Okay? Uhm-

[reading chat message] I'm glad we got to experience this during a CleOWO- Valid.

[reading another chat message] This is simultaneously the most heartwarming and terrifying experience in my life. Uhm, I think I embody that, that's valid.

[Cleo addresses the full chat again] All I'm saying is that there has been some backsliding in the world and you need to make sure that you do not let it go. But, also, people are more accepting now than ever. It is literally a small- like- there are people who are very pro-LGBT. Plus.

Uhm- most of the universe is just sort of like 'what, I don't care. You do you, I support you you do you it's fine'. And then you have the outright bigots. The outright bigot fraction is getting smaller and louder, okay? It is happening, they are smaller and louder than they've ever been. But still take care of yourselves.

[responding to chat] Yeah they're scared. They realise they're in their last throes of bigotry- I think- In most of the world's places. They're trying to make you more scared to be yourself, and I'm saying protect yourselves first. Make sure you are safe and that is the key thing. If you are not safe, I'm sorry just- just stay closeted until you can be safe. Because there's no poiint coming out and somebody hurting you. Get to safety first, okay? And then- and then fight. You can fight after you're safe, okay? And there is a whole community out there rooting for you.

End Transcript]

[iam-anordinary-human-orami]

I really want a scene like this in tsc2 where Neil seems to call Jean more often to check up on him and the floozies are perplexed "Why is Josten calling you?" "You guys close or sth?" "You still haven't told us what happened when he whisked you away" "we are worried sick Jean, how can you keep us in the dark?" And then Cat will say sth like "are you not sharing what you're talking to Josten about cause you're embarrassed?" Jeremy being a worried mother hen "is he bothering you?" And Jean keeps shutting everything down telling them not to worry, and then Laila as a joke says "is he flirting with you?"

And Jean responds with "I hope not. I don't think his boyfriend would take it well"

Everyone immediately stops what they are doing. "Im sorry, his WHAT?"

All hell breaks lose. Cat is shaking Laila "Josten is FRUITY?!", Jeremy is like "He has a boyfriend?" Laila being like "in the year that he joined the foxes and almost died in the hands of his serial killer dad, he got a boyfriend??? How???" And then Cat and Laila start asking questions, Jeremy trying to calm them down but also being curious, Jean is like "Well he's not told me explicitly, but it's obvious."

Jeremy having an epiphany "oh my god. Is it Kevin?" Cat in the background "oh please let it be Kevin" Jean says no, "Kevin is too much of a coward", the floozies are looking at each other like "oh we are definitely unpacking THAT at some point". And then they're like okay, well maybe the boyfriend is not on the team. But Jean confirms, it's a fox, i can tell u who it is-' "NO! We need to figure this one out!" "Let our gaydar do the work Jean we got things to prove!" Jean tiredly: "to who?"

So they start guessing, oh Hemmick is undeniably fruity, Jean is like "I don't even know who that is. Oh, backliner? No, not him". "Maybe it's Boyd?!" Cat being like "Escandalo! Cause he's with the captain right? Wilds?" Laila commenting "He'd be out of his mind to pass on that, and this is the educated opinion of a lesbian", Jean is like "how come u guys know all their names?" Jeremy says "they are a small team and it's hard not to keep tabs on them when they are in the news cycle every week or so"

"Guys we're losing track, keep your heads locked in! Who could be Josten's boyfriend, that tonight's pressing question!" "But there's no one else... wait, is he with the other backliner? Short blonde?" "I'm gonna be honest, I don't get queer vibes from him" "Lol can u imagine it's actually the goalkeeper twin" "what the one that went to juvie and looks like hes one step away from biting our heads off on the court? Nahh". Jean looks at an invisible camera like he's in the office.

And then something happens and they forget about it, until like the winter banquet or some shit and Cat is intently looking at Neil trying to decipher who his boyfriend could be, maybe he is in a throuple with Wilds and Boyd? Jean is like "Why are you looking at the foxes' table so intently?" "It's investigative work, don't worry about it" and then Neil comes over and takes Jean away at the open bar to talk about sth, the floozies are pretending to not be looking at them. Neil notices and he's like "I see they taken claim already." Jean responds with "It's not what u think" and they talk, Andrew probably gets bored at some point and goes to Neil, puts a single hand on his lower back and Jean being able to hear commotion in the Trojans table turns to see them acting like "normal", except their poses look rehearsed, there's drinks that have been spilled on the table and Cat is drinking from an empty glass looking at the sky.

[yuquinzel]

atsumu who goes above and beyond to impress you, his crush and classmate of four years, in all definitions of “impress.”

honestly how the fuck isn't it obvious to you by now, he might as well be walking around with “i like y/n” tattooed on his forehead.

you mention you like guys that can cook once and holy fuck atsumu who still doesn't know how to use the microwave without quite literally burning the food, who's never chopped onions before without ending up with enough cuts to bandage his whole hand— that atsumu practices for weeks and stays up till 2 am to prepare for the lunch he'll make for himself, because osamu said said no and then because you bring homemade lunch to stay and eat in class with your friends— he'll casually just plop down on the seat next to you, his friends will then very obviously willingly talk loudly about his lunch and he'll just throw in a, “yeah, made it maself, 'm a solid chef, who do ya think taught 'samu?”

okay if that didn't get your attention, no worries, what are his friends there for?

if atsumu gets lucky in a day and catches you chatting away with your friends in the hallway, then he instructs his friends to walk past you, hover in the corner, just within your earshot— “'kay, so when we pass her by, ya gotta speak ma name real loud, loud enough so she can hear it, but don't annoy her”

and so for the time you stand there, trying to hold a conversation with your friends, all your mind can really focus on is the, “atsumu was so fucking good in practice today, if we're gonna win, then it'll be all him”

and then you hear the subject of the conversation speak, “nah, we're a team, every time we win, it's all thanks ta you guys,” because you also mentioned you like modest, humble guys.

god forbid the days you're absent in class.

atsumu who's sulking all day, doesn't know what the fuck is going on in classes, he's half in and half not in every conversation, even his passes are sloppy and weak. to the point osamu and suna are concerned, well, in their own ways, “are ya constipated or something, yer missin’ your spikes and yer passes as clumsy,” osamu says off-handedly.

“i heard y/n didn't come today, i think her friends said she's sick.” suna chips in, and atsumu shrinks in his spot like a grumpy cat.

“i already know that, wouldn't have come today if i knew she wasn't comin’.”

“you'd miss practice then.”

“don't care, don't talk to me, don't wanna do anything, what's the point.”

“down fucking bad,” suna muses, and atsumu glares at him.

atsumu's day is ruined and his disappointment is immeasurable. why did you get sick? how could you get sick? now he's worried and half of himself and his passes are shit and god, he wants to see you. he feels like he could die.

then when you finally show up the next day after what felt like eternity to atsumu, you find on your desk a pile of snacks with a little note— banana milk, everyone knows it's your favourite, the bar of chocolate they only sell down the convenience store near the school, the glazed donuts that you're always eating in class, and a lot of bubblegums that only one person in class knows you like— atsumu's handwriting is rushed and barely comprehensive but you know it by heart because he doesn't know you saw him slip the note you found in your locker this morning, and countless other mornings—

“i hope you smile because of this”

atsumu as a secret admirer is... not so secret because he's still unaware that you see him every morning, and let him giggle to himself as he slips the notes and the strips of bubblegums in your locker— you don't even like that flavor.

but he gave them, so you think they might just be your favourite.

then again, maybe atsumu doesn't want to be a secret admirer.

atsumu has a crush on you and you know that— he's very obvious. but he's also very dense and doesn't realise that everyone besides him can see you like him too. he doesn't know the only reason you bring homemade lunch is because he had started to eat lunch in class with his friends. you stand in the hallways with your friends pretending to talk so that when atsumu's walking past you, his friends will practically yell his name and you'll see him blushing shyly. he still doesn't know you come to his every match, cheering for him and scream with joy at every one of his scores.

atsumu makes it obvious he has a crush on you but is stupidly dense that you reciprocate all the same :'))))

© yuquinzel 2024 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

POSTING BECAUSE WHY TF NOT HUH HUHHHHHHHHH

@kyoghurts hi bbg

[luna-azzurra]

How to Write a Sick Character

╰ First of all — being sick is boring as hell

Nobody tells you that. You think it’s gonna be poetic and tragic and emotionally moving, maybe a few tears on the windowpane and a soft piano soundtrack? Wrong. It’s pacing in a waiting room for two hours to be told to come back next week. It’s reruns of trash TV because your brain fog is so bad you can't even process a podcast. It's Googling "why do my bones hate me" at 3 a.m. and finding nothing helpful, only vibes. So if you're writing a sick character and every scene is Deep and Heavy and Symbolic, I love you but no. Let them be bored. Let them be over it. Let them fall asleep halfway through someone’s big speech.

╰ Second — sickness is basically a toxic relationship with your own body

And wow, the drama is unmatched. One day your character wakes up and thinks, “Maybe today will be normal.” Their body: “Plot twist, bitch.” Now they’re sweating through a hoodie, canceling plans, and pretending they're “just tired” because explaining the truth is somehow more exhausting than the illness itself. Let your character hate their body sometimes. Let them feel betrayed by it. Let them mourn the version of themselves that used to just do things without needing a three-day nap after. But also—let them fight for their body, too. Advocate. Adapt. Try again. Because it’s not all despair. Sometimes it’s really freaking brave just to get out of bed and put on pants.

╰ Third — it’s not cute

Hollywood loves to write illness like it’s an aesthetic. Clean blankets, sad smiles, a gentle cough. Yeah… no. Sometimes it’s vomit in your hair. It’s medical tape pulling off skin. It’s being too tired to shower but still scrolling through memes like your life depends on it. Give us the gross stuff. The embarrassing stuff. The human stuff.

╰ Fourth — let them be funny

Sick people are hilarious. Mostly because we have to be. You’ve got two choices when your body is a disaster zone: laugh, or fully unravel. So we joke about our failing organs. We flirt with the nurse while on IV fluids. We name our medical devices. We send memes from the ER. Let your character joke. Let them be sharp, sarcastic, absurd. Not because they're “taking it well,” but because that’s their armor. Humor is one of the most honest forms of pain. Use it.

╰ Fifth — sick ≠ broken

Please hear this: your character is not less than. They are not just here to suffer and die and inspire others with their angelic perseverance. They’re a person. Maybe a chaos goblin. Maybe a genius. Maybe a mess. Maybe a lover, a fighter, a giant emotional raccoon with a heating pad. Let them live and have goals. Let them chase things. Let them screw up. Let them be loved and desired and complicated. Their illness is part of them, not all of them.

╰ Lastly — don’t wrap it up too clean

Recovery isn’t linear. Some illnesses don’t “end.” And that’s okay. You don’t need a miracle cure in the third act. Sometimes strength is just learning to exist in a different way. Sometimes it’s re-learning how to hope. Sometimes it’s finding a new rhythm instead of forcing the old one to work. Let your character find peace, not perfection. So yeah—if you’re writing a sick character, you’re doing something important. You’re making space for people whose stories rarely get told with truth and teeth and tenderness. Just promise me you won’t turn them into a symbol. Let them be a person. A funny, scared, strong, exhausted, hopeful person. Like the rest of us.

@katrein05 I Hope This Helps a little... :)

[divinedelusional]

rafe being grumpy when he's sick

rafe cameron x female reader

word count: 678

warnings: none

rafe never got sick anymore like ever

ever since he hit puberty he wasn't catching cold anymore, no health problems (expect for being fucked in the head)

so to say you were surprised when you saw him lying in bed under a thick duvet in the middle of summer would be an understatement

"yo topper what happened to rafe? i leave for three days and my boyfriend's completely wiped out??"

"is he asleep?"

"yeah! that's what's weird!"

"weird? girl you're lucky he's asleep, he's been a complete diva last two days"

rafe woke up after an hour and told you that he must have got sick when they were out at the beach and suddenly it started pouring cold rain and he was soaked before he got in the car

"yeah they brought me some syrup so cough is gone, but who gives a shit, this fuckin fever is too much anyways"

turns out rafe barely ate the last two days since he couldn't get out of bed and he was sick of the food topper and kelce were ordering for him

"wendy's not a type of food you eat when you want to get better rafe"

"hell i know, but what, is it my fault i have to have idiots as friends?"

you rolled your eyes and told him to lay down with cold compress for the fever

in the meantime you drove to get grosseries and made him chicken soup

you could see he really liked it but when he ate he mumbled a quiet "thanks" and went upstairs

that's the last you saw him that day and you were kinda mad at him

next day it didn't got better since he noticed you didn't come to bed last night

"i went to guest bedroom, im not catching whatever you got"

you didn't see him much for another day, only when he was coming to the kitchen for next bottle of water

so at least he took your advice to stay hydrated

not like you could hear him saying: hydration this, hydration that, who tf would want to pee that much

topper was right, you lived with a diva under one roof

grumpy, 6'2, hoodie clad diva

but on the third day you were finally about to reach a truce

rafe came for breakfast and you could see he felt better, as he was almost smiling and wasn't shivering

you ate breakfast in silence but he followed you like a lost puppy to the couch where you sprawled out to watch tv

you were watching real housewives of atlanta and rafe sat down with you for 3 episodes fourth now staring

he was quiet but all of the sudden he started to complain how awful it is to be sick in the summer

he tried to grab your attention, he knew you were testing him, you never binged rhoa for that long

you also knew exactly what he was doing, he was trying to make up with you but you weren't having his ways, so you informed him that you're going to take a swim

rafe was upset that his plan didn't work out, apparently not only sitting through four episodes of rhoa wasn't enough sacrifice for you but it also made him hungry

so he decided to win you back with very simple and little bit goofy solution

you came back after hour and a half, also hungry

you found rafe sitting at the table

there was a faint delicious smell in the kitchen

"you made soup?" you asked rafe after taking a peek to his plate

rafe didn't respond and held out a spoon to you, letter pasta forming words: im sorry bby

you couldn't be mad at him anymore

you ladled yourself a bowl of soup and formed a response on your spoon as quickly as you could

rafe smilled at words ur cute and let out a chuckle

"i missed this smile" you said and kissed him lightly, happy when you felt him smiling into the kiss

"and i missed those lips"

a/n: my first work for rafe, hope it was okay and feedback is really appreciated ♡

bottom divider by: @astralnymphh

[hanniewho]

⋆˚࿔ Mommies' Good Girl 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⋆˚࿔ Summary: A heated argument turning into rough sex when you accidentally called them mommy. Apparently, that made the situation even worst.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ Notes: Actually, I was writing a tlou x Arcane series, but I have no idea what to write since I got ban on character ai for ideas so.. this is what I wrote instead. Also I'm working on my slasher jayce x cam girl reader and I wanna make it noncon but mid writing it I felt sick so I switch it to jayce wearing the ghostface attire while fucking you on stream yeyey:3

𐙚˙✧˖° Words: 5.8k

༘ ⋆｡ ˚ Warnings: Rough sex, Slapping, Pussy worshiping, Fingering, Cunninlingus, Choking, Degrading - Praising, Name calling, Dirty talk, Using dildo, Ass fucking, Multiple orgasm, Threesome, Mommy kink, Delaying orgasm.

⋆✦ Pairings: Vi and Caitlyn x Afab virgin reader

"You never listen to me!" Caitlyn's voice echoed through the room, her frustration palpable.

Vi's eyes flashed with anger. "What do you mean I never listen?" she shot back, her fists clenching at her sides.

Caitlyn's chest heaved as she tried to gather her thoughts. "It's like you're always in your own world, Vi. You don't care about what I have to say!"

Vi took a step closer, her own frustration rising. "That's not true," she said, her voice low and tight. "I care about you, but you're always pushing and pushing until I can't even breathe!"

You watched the exchange, feeling the tension thicken in the air. You knew they'd had their disagreements before, but this felt different—like the pressure in the room was building to a breaking point. You didn't want to interrupt, scared that you'll be the center of their anger.

Instead, you took a step back, hoping to give them space to cool down. But as you retreated, Caitlyn's gaze flickered to you, desperation and something else swirling in her eyes. Before you could react, she stalked towards you, grabbing your arm and pulling you closer.

"Is this what you want?" she growled, her breath hot on your neck. "For me to just take it?"

Vi's eyes narrowed, and you could see the fire in them, a challenge sparked. Without breaking eye contact with you, she stepped closer, until you were trapped between the two of them, their bodies mere inches apart.

"Is that what you want?" Vi murmured, her voice a mix of anger and desire. "For us to fight over you?"

You shake your head, feeling the heat of both their bodies against yours. "No," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "That's not it at all."

But your words seem to have the opposite effect as Caitlyn's grip tightens, her nails digging into your skin. Her eyes are stormy, and you can see the challenge in them, a silent dare to prove your worth. Vi mirrors her, leaning in so close that you can feel the warmth of her breath. The scent of their combined desire is intoxicating, mixing with the faint aroma of sweat and the metallic tang of unbridled emotion.

Vi's hand reaches out, grabbing the back of your neck, her touch firm but not painful. "Then tell us what you want," she says, her voice a soft growl that sends a shiver down your spine.

You swallow hard, trying to find the right words. "I just... I just want us to be okay," you manage to get out, feeling your heart racing.

Caitlyn's expression softens a fraction, but the hunger in her eyes doesn't waver. She leans in, her full, soft lips brushing against your ear. "Is that all?" she whispers, her breath sending a shiver down your spine.

Vi's hand moves down to your hip, her fingers digging in, claiming you. "You know we can give you more than just okay," she says, her voice a seductive purr that sends a rush of heat between your legs.

You gulp, feeling the weight of their combined gazes, the intensity of their emotions. You know what they're suggesting, and part of you wants it, craves the distraction, the release. You nod, and in that moment, the room seems to shift, the tension morphing into something else entirely.

Caitlyn's eyes light up with a feral hunger as she moves in, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, her teeth nipping at yours. You gasp into her mouth, the taste of her anger mixing with the sweetness of her desire. Vi's hand slides from your hip to the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head, her eyes never leaving yours.

You're pinned between them now, your body responding to their touch despite the argument's aftermath still hanging in the air. Caitlyn's hand moves to the back of your neck, mimicking Vi's hold, as they both guide you towards the bedroom. The softness of the carpet under your bare feet is a stark contrast to the harshness of their grips.

The door clicks shut behind you, and the room seems to shrink as their passion envelops you. Clothes are ripped and discarded in a frenzy of movement, each piece removed with the force of their pent-up emotions. The sound of fabric tearing is almost as satisfying as the feeling of their skin against yours.

Caitlyn's teeth graze your neck, eliciting a gasp from you. Her kisses are demanding, a silent apology for her earlier anger. Vi's hands are everywhere, exploring your body with a fierce possessiveness that sends waves of desire crashing through you. You're sandwiched between them, the mattress beneath you giving way as you're pushed down onto it.

Vi's mouth finds your nipple, sucking hard, the sensation making you arch your back. Caitlyn's teeth nip at your shoulder, her hands sliding down to grip your hips firmly. You're surrounded by them, their scents mingling, their breaths hot on your skin. It's overwhelming, but in the best possible way.

Their touches are rough, almost violent, but you find yourself responding to it. Maybe it's the residual anger in the air, or the way they seem to crave each other through you, but your body is alight with need. "Oh... fuck me.." You moan, unable to hold it back, as Caitlyn's mouth moves to your other breast, her teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.

Vi's hand slides down your stomach, her fingers dancing closer and closer to the dampness between your legs. She groans into your neck as she feels how wet you are, the sound vibrating through your body. "You like this, don't you?" she murmurs, her voice filled with a dark satisfaction.

You nod, unable to form coherent words as Caitlyn's teeth move to your earlobe, tugging gently. "Say it," she demands, her voice a rough whisper. "Tell us how much you want us."

You gasp, "I...I want you both so much," your voice trembling with desire.

Their grips on you tighten, their kisses becoming more insistent. Vi's hand reaches your center, her fingers sliding through your folds, teasing your clit with a firmness that makes you whine. Caitlyn's mouth moves to your other ear, her tongue tracing the shell before whispering, "Beg for it, baby."

You do, your voice desperate. "Please, fuck me," you moan, the words tumbling from your lips. You can feel their smirks against your skin, the satisfaction of knowing you're at their mercy.

Vi's fingers plunge into you without warning, her thumb circling your clit with a roughness that sends sparks through your body. You cry out, your legs instinctively spreading wider to give her better access. Caitlyn's mouth moves to your neck, her teeth scraping along the tender skin as she kisses and sucks.

Their touches are a symphony of pain and pleasure, each stroke and bite a declaration of their need for one another. You're lost in the sensations, the argument from moments ago forgotten as you become the focus of their passion.

Vi's fingers move with a purpose inside you, her thumb relentlessly working your clit. Caitlyn's teeth graze your neck, her kisses turning into bites that leave a trail of heat along your skin. "Look at you," Vi coos, her voice a mix of satisfaction and amusement. "Moaning like a bitch in heat."

You whimper, the insult only fueling your arousal as you feel yourself getting wetter. You know they're just playing, pushing each other's buttons through you, but the words still make you squirm. Caitlyn's grip on your hip tightens, her other hand moving to cup your cheek, turning your face to look at her.

"You love it, don't you?" she says, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "You love when we're like this."

You do love it, the way they use your body to work out their issues, turning anger into something primal and sexual. You moan louder as Vi's fingers plunge deeper, the roughness of her touch pushing you closer to the edge.

Vi laughs, a dark, smoky sound that fills the room as she keeps tossing degrading words at you, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of it. "Such a good little slut, aren't you?" she says, her voice a wicked purr that makes your cheeks flush with a mix of arousal and embarrassment.

Caitlyn's eyes darken, a smirk playing on her lips as she watches Vi work you into a frenzy. She leans in, her teeth grazing your neck. "Is that all you want?" she asks, her voice a soft challenge. "To be used and degraded?"

You can't help but nod, your body betraying your thoughts. The harsh words only make you wetter, the idea of being their toy, their shared prize, turning you on in a way you never knew was possible. Vi's laugh is like a whip crack, sharp and stinging, as she keeps tossing degrading words at you, each one hitting its mark.

"Yeah, you do," she says, her eyes gleaming with a dark delight. "You're a greedy little whore, aren't you?" Her fingers are a blur between your legs, and you can feel your orgasm building, a crescendo of sensation that threatens to consume you whole.

You whimper, nodding, the words cutting through you like a hot knife through butter. The harshness of her language is a stark contrast to the gentle way Caitlyn holds your face, but it's the perfect balance of power and submission. You can feel their tension dissolving into something else, something raw and primal, as they use your body to find their own release.

Vi's fingers work you over mercilessly, her laugh turning into a series of low, guttural sounds that resonate through your core. Each insult is a stroke of genius, designed to push you closer to the edge. "You're just a cum dumpster," she murmurs, her voice thick with desire. "A fucking hole for us to fill."

Caitlyn's hand moves from your cheek to your throat, her grip firm but not tight enough to cut off your air. She watches you closely, the smirk on her face growing as your eyes glaze over. "Is that what you are?" she asks, her voice a seductive whisper. "Our little cum slut?"

You nod, your breath coming in ragged pants, the words only serving to inflame your desire. You've never felt so wanted, so desired, so... alive.

Vi's thumb presses down on your clit, and you can't help but buck your hips, the pleasure too intense to hold back. "Fuck!" you scream, your body trembling.

Caitlyn's hand tightens on your neck, a silent command to keep looking at her as Vi continues to manipulate your body. "That's it," she whispers, her eyes dark with need. "Take it."

Vi's fingers work you over, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. You can feel the tension in the room crackling, the air charged with the electricity of their desire and the intensity of your own climax. Your hips jerk against Vi's hand, your body begging for more, and she's all too happy to give it.

Then, in the heat of the moment, a slip of the tongue. "Fuck me, Mommy," you moan, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them. Vi's hand stills, a look of shock passing over her face before it's quickly replaced with a wicked grin. "Mommy, huh?" she says, her voice dripping with amusement. "I think you might need a little more punishment for that."

Caitlyn's eyes widen, and she laughs, the sound low and dark. "Well, well," she says, her voice husky. "Looks like someone's got a naughty side." Her grip on your throat loosens, and she leans in closer, her breath hot against your cheek. "Is that what you really want, baby?"

You blush, your body trembling with need. You didn't mean to say that, but now that the words are out, you can't deny the thrill that runs through you. "I-I don't know," you stutter, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat.

Vi's grin widens, her eyes glinting with mischief. She leans back, giving you a moment to breathe as she pulls her hand away. "Well, if that's what you want," she says, her voice a purr that sends shivers down your spine.

Caitlyn releases your neck, her thumb tracing the delicate skin as she looks at Vi, a silent question in her eyes. Vi nods, a wicked glint in her gaze. "We can definitely give you that," she says, her voice a promise that sends a thrill of excitement and a shiver of fear through your body.

They exchange a look that feels like it's searing you with its intensity. You're not sure what you've unleashed, but you know you want it. You want them to claim you, to take you apart and put you back together again in a way that only they can.

Caitlyn moves away, and for a brief moment, you feel cold without her touch. But Vi's hand is quick to replace it, her fingers sliding down your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She straddles your hips, her eyes never leaving yours as she reaches for the nightstand.

"What are you doing?" you ask, breathless, your heart racing.

Vi's smile widens, and she holds up the dildo, a glossy black toy with a slight curve that you've never seen before. "It's time to introduce you to some new sensations," she says, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "I've had this little toy for a while, but it seems we never got around to using it."

You watch as she coats the dildo with lubricant, the sight of it making you squirm with anticipation. Caitlyn moves back to the bed and settle in behind you, her eyes never leaving yours as Vi lines the toy up with your entrance. The coolness of the silicone against your sensitive flesh makes you gasp, but it's quickly replaced by a burning need as Vi presses it into you, inch by inch.

You try to squirm away, the sensation new and overwhelming, but their combined strength keeps you in place. "Easy," Caitlyn murmurs, her hand sliding up your chest to cup your breast. "You can take it."

Vi's grip on your hips tightens as she begins to move the dildo in and out of you, each stroke sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. Your feet kick the air, legs straining, as you try to find purchase, to either push away or pull closer, you're not even sure anymore. "No, please, I can't," you whine, the words a mix of protest and plea.

Their eyes meet over your body, and you can see the thrill in them, the excitement of watching you squirm and beg. Caitlyn's hand moves from your breast to your cheek, turning your face back to hers. "You can, baby," she says, her voice soothing despite the fiery need in her gaze. "You can take everything we give you."

Vi's strokes with the dildo become more deliberate, the angle changing to hit that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back in your head. You moan, the word "Mommy" slipping out again, and this time it's Caitlyn's eyes that darken with lust. "Keep saying it," she whispers, her hand moving to your mouth to muffle your cries.

Your body feels like it's on fire, their touches and words lighting you up from the inside out. You're lost in the sensation, the sound of your own moans echoing in your ears as Vi works you over. You feel a hand slide up your thigh, and Caitlyn's fingers find your clit, adding to the overwhelming feeling of fullness.

You throw your head back into Caitlyn's shoulder, gasping for air. "I can't," you whine, the words barely coherent. "It's too much."

But Caitlyn isn't listening. She brings her hand to your lip, the scent of your arousal heavy in the air. She forces your mouth open and slides two of her fingers in, coated with your wetness. "Taste yourself," she whispers, her voice a siren's call that you can't resist.

You moan around the intrusion, the taste of your own desire almost as intoxicating as their combined scent. You suck on her fingers, the salty-sweet flavor making your toes curl. Vi watches, her eyes hooded with lust as she continues to pump the dildo into you, the rhythm relentless.

"Good girl," Caitlyn murmurs, her voice a warm caress against your ear. "Tell us how much you like it." Her hand moves from your mouth to your throat, her thumb tracing gentle circles as she squeezes slightly, reminding you who's in control.

You can't help but moan around her fingers, the pressure sending a thrill through your body. "M-Mommy," you pant, the word slipping out again, and you feel Vi's grip on your hips tighten in response.

"Look how much she loves it," Caitlyn says, her voice a low purr that vibrates through your body. "Such a good little slut for us."

Vi's strokes become faster, the dildo filling you up as she watches your reactions with a predatory gaze. You're powerless against the onslaught of sensation, your body a canvas for their pleasure. You arch your back, pushing down on the toy, silently begging for more.

Then, without warning, Vi pulls the dildo out, leaving you empty and gasping for air. You clench around nothing, your body desperately seeking the fullness it craves. "What the fuck?" you manage to get out, your voice a mix of frustration and need.

Vi just grins at you, a wicked glint in her eye. "What?" she says, her voice a taunt. "You think a dirty little wench like you gets to cum that easily?"

Caitlyn chuckles, her hand sliding down to replace the dildo with two of her own fingers, pushing inside you without warning. "We're just getting started," she says, her voice a low growl that makes you quiver with anticipation.

Vi leans over you, her hand coming down to slap your pussy, the sound echoing through the room. You yelp, the sting mixing with the pleasure of Caitlyn's fingers, making your eyes water. "What a whore," Vi says, her voice filled with amusement and a hint of admiration. "Begging for it like that."

The slap sends a jolt through your body, and you can't help but moan. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but the pain feels good, like it's grounding you in the moment. Vi's eyes are alight with something dark, a hunger that you've never seen before. She brings her hand back up, her fingers lingering on the spot she slapped, feeling the heat of your skin.

"Since your pussy is so tight," she says, her voice a low growl, "I wonder what else is."

With those words, Vi pulls the dildo from your pussy and presses the tip against your tight asshole. You tense up, the sensation foreign and overwhelming. But Caitlyn's hand is there, her thumb stroking your clit in a way that makes you want to scream. The conflict of pain and pleasure is almost too much to handle.

"Relax," she whispers, her voice a gentle command. You try, your body responding to her touch despite your trepidation. You feel the dildo breach you, the pressure intense as Vi works it in slowly. The burn is uncomfortable, but the way Caitlyn's eyes never leave yours, the way she watches your every reaction, makes it almost bearable.

"That's it," Caitlyn murmurs, her voice soothing despite the grip she has on your throat. "Take it for us." Her thumb moves in lazy circles on your clit, the pleasure a stark contrast to the pain as Vi's dildo stretches you open. You bite your lip, trying to hold back the cry that threatens to escape, but it's no use.

The sound of your own whimpers fills the room, a symphony of lust and need that only spurs them on. Vi's strokes become more deliberate, her hand moving the dildo in and out of your ass with a precision that speaks of experience. You can feel yourself stretching around it, your body desperately trying to adjust.

Caitlyn's thumb speeds up, the pleasure becoming a crescendo that's almost too much to handle. "You're doing so good," she whispers, her voice filled with a mix of admiration and hunger. "Such a good little slut for us."

You cry out, the word "please" leaving your lips in a desperate plea. "Let me adjust," you manage to get out between gasps. "I-I can't... Mommy, please."

Vi's eyes flash with something dark and hungry, a smirk playing on her lips. "You're so adorable when you beg," she says, her voice a purr that sends a shiver down your spine. She gives the dildo a gentle twist, the feeling making you jolt. "But we're not done yet."

Caitlyn's thumb moves in tandem with Vi's strokes, the pressure on your clit increasing as your body fights the intrusion in your ass. You can feel yourself stretching around the toy, the pain morphing into something more, something that makes your toes curl. "Mommy," you whine, the word a desperate plea for relief.

Caitlyn's grip on your neck tightens, her eyes never leaving yours. "What do you need, baby?" she asks, her voice a seductive purr that sends shivers down your spine.

You gasp, trying to form words through the haze of pleasure and pain. "More," you finally manage, your voice a breathless whisper. "Please, more."

Vi's smirk widens, and she obliges, slamming the dildo into your ass without warning. The suddenness of it makes you scream, the sound raw and primal. The shock sends you spiraling closer to the edge, your body no longer fighting the intrusion but craving it. You feel your muscles clench around the toy, trying to draw it in deeper.

Caitlyn's smile is pure wickedness as she kisses your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. She starts to move her fingers in time with Vi's strokes, the feeling of being filled from both sides driving you wild. You've never felt so full, so claimed, so... owned. The pleasure is so intense, it's almost unbearable.

Her touch is gentle but firm, her kisses a silent promise of the storm that's about to break. You can feel the muscles in your pussy clench around her fingers, desperate for more. Caitlyn's eyes never leave yours, her gaze holding you captive as she explores the depths of your desire. You're panting now, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.

With every stroke, Caitlyn's smile grows, feeding off your whimpers of need. Her kisses move from your neck to your collarbone, her teeth grazing your skin in a way that makes your eyes roll back. She's in no hurry, savoring the moment, drawing it out like a fine wine. Each kiss feels like a brand, a declaration of ownership that makes your toes curl.

Then, the saliva that's been pooling in your mouth overflows, and you can't help but drool. The warm wetness rolls down your chin and onto your chest, making its way down to your tits. The sight of it, the sheer abandon of the act, sends a jolt of electricity through Vi. She watches, transfixed, as it glistens on your nipples, making them even more tantalizing.

Her hand moves faster, the dildo pumping into your ass with a rhythm that matches the pounding of your heart. The pain is now a distant memory, replaced by a white-hot need that threatens to consume you. You can feel yourself getting closer, the tension in your body winding tighter with every stroke.

Caitlyn's thumb presses down harder on your clit, and you know you're about to break. "Please," you beg, the word a desperate gasp that's almost inaudible. "I need to cum."

Vi's strokes become more erratic, her breaths coming in short pants as she watches you squirm. "Do it," she says, her voice a harsh command that sends a thrill through your body. "Cum for us, slut."

Caitlyn's thumb presses harder, the pressure just shy of painful as she brings you closer to the edge. Your body feels like it's about to snap, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. "Now," she whispers, and you do, your orgasm ripping through you like a tornado, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake.

You scream, the sound echoing off the walls, as your body convulses in pleasure. Vi's dildo is still moving inside you, the sensation almost too much to handle as your pussy contracts around Caitlyn's fingers. You're so sensitive that even the slightest touch feels like a bolt of lightning.

Vi's eyes never leave yours, watching the pleasure play out on your face with a look of triumph. Caitlyn's kisses become more gentle now, her touch soothing as she rides out your orgasm with you. You feel their love and desire in every stroke, every kiss, every whispered word of praise.

And then, as the last waves of your climax subside, Vi pulls the dildo out of you with a wet pop, leaving you feeling empty and exposed. You're panting, your body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure as she leans down, her mouth hovering just above your swollen pussy. Her breath is hot against your sensitive flesh, making you squirm.

Vi's eyes are filled with a hunger that's almost feral as she looks up at you, a smug smile playing on her lips. "Tastes like victory," she murmurs, her voice thick with desire.

With a slow, deliberate move, Vi leans down and presses her lips to your sensitive pussy, kissing you as if you're the most delicious thing she's ever tasted. You gasp at the sudden tenderness, the stark contrast to the roughness of moments before making your toes curl. Her tongue flicks out, tasting you, and you can't help but push against her, desperate for more.

Caitlyn watches with a hungry gaze, her own desire evident in the way she licks her lips. She slides her fingers out of you, bringing them up to her mouth to suck on them, her eyes never leaving yours. "Mm," she murmurs, "you taste so good."

Vi's mouth is a symphony of pleasure, her tongue working you over with a finesse that's surprising given the roughness of the encounter. You moan, your hands reaching down to tangle in her hair, urging her closer. She takes the hint, her tongue delving into your folds, lapping up the juices that are still flowing from your body.

Caitlyn's eyes never leave yours, the smirk on her face one of pure satisfaction. She watches as Vi worships your pussy, the sight of it making her own desire burn even brighter. Her hand moves down to her own clit, her thumb circling it as she watches you lose yourself in the pleasure.

"I fucking love girls with pretty pussies like you," Vi mumbles, her words muffled by the sounds of her mouth against your skin. "So tight... warm and soft. Just... fucking perfect." Her tongue slides over your clit, the flat of it pressing down firmly, making you gasp. "Like you're begging me to destroy you."

Her words are a jumble of pleasure and praise, each one sending a new wave of heat through your body. You can feel the vibrations of her voice against your sensitive flesh, and it only makes your orgasm feel more intense. She's a maelstrom of passion, her mouth a whirlwind of sensation that you can't escape from.

Caitlyn's eyes are hooded with lust as she watches Vi work her magic on you. Her own hand moves faster, her thumb rubbing in tight circles on her own clit, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. The sight of you, lost in pleasure, is almost too much for her to handle.

Your orgasm seems to go on forever, your body trembling with the force of it. You've never felt so alive, so wanted, so... used. And it's glorious. Each lick of Vi's tongue feels like a declaration of war, a promise of more pleasure to come.

Caitlyn's hand moves from your neck to your breast, squeezing and pinching your nipple in time with Vi's strokes. The pain is a sweet counterpoint to the pleasure, making you arch your back and push your chest out for more. "Good girl," she murmurs, her voice filled with pride. "Look how beautiful you are when you're being used."

Vi's mouth moves lower, her tongue sliding into your pussy, filling you up in a way that feels like it's going to break you apart. You're so sensitive that it's almost too much, but you can't bring yourself to ask her to stop. You need this, the feeling of being taken, of being theirs.

Caitlyn's hand moves to your ass, her fingers digging in as she pulls you closer to Vi's mouth. "Come for us," she whispers, her voice a dark promise in the chaos of pleasure. "Let us see how much of a mess you can make for us."

You whine, the sound a desperate mix of pleasure and pain. You don't know if you can handle anymore, but your body seems to have other ideas. With a final, vicious tug of her tongue, Vi sends you over the edge again, your pussy clenching around her mouth as you cum hard.

Vi pulls away, her mouth shiny with your juices, and grins up at you. "Looks like someone enjoyed that," she says, her voice smug and satisfied.

You can only nod, unable to form coherent words as your body still quivers with aftershocks. Your eyes are glazed over, your chest heaving with the effort of breathing. You're a mess, sprawled out on the bed, but the look in their eyes tells you that they think you're perfect.

Vi sits back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a trail of your arousal glistening on her skin. "Look at you," she says, her voice filled with pride. "Such a good little whore for us."

Caitlyn's grip tightens around your waist as you go limp against her, your body spent and boneless. Her eyes are warm with affection as she looks down at you, a soft smile playing on her lips. "You're incredible," she whispers, kissing your neck.

You can't help but melt into her, the tenderness of her words a stark contrast to the roughness of the encounter. Her hands are gentle as they glide over your skin, her touch a comforting balm to the storm that's just passed through you. You lean into her, your breathing still ragged, your heart hammering in your chest.

Vi's smile is one of pure satisfaction as she sits back, watching the two of you with a glint in her eye. She reaches out, her thumb tracing the line of your jaw as she brings her hand up to cup your cheek. "You're ours," she says, her voice a low, sultry purr that sends a fresh wave of heat through your body.

You look up at her, your eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure, and nod. The words hang in the air, a declaration that makes your heart race. You've never felt so claimed, so completely owned by someone else's desire. It's a heady feeling, one that you never want to lose.

But even as the afterglow of your orgasm lingers, you can feel the beginnings of exhaustion. Your muscles ache, your skin is sticky with sweat, and every breath feels like it's made of molasses. "I'm... I'm tired," you admit, your voice a soft whisper that seems to echo through the room.

Caitlyn's smile doesn't waver, but her eyes soften. She brushes a strand of hair away from your face, her touch gentle. "Let us take care of you," she says, her voice a warm caress.

Vi nods, her own expression filled with something that might be tenderness. She climbs off the bed, her movements surprisingly graceful for someone so powerful. She walks over to the nightstand and grabs a bottle of water, twisting the cap off with a practiced ease. She brings it to your lips, the cool liquid slipping down your throat, soothing the fire that's been raging within you.

You take a deep, shuddering breath as the water hits your stomach, the coldness of it a stark contrast to the heat that's still pooling between your legs. Caitlyn's hand is still on your waist, her thumb stroking lazy circles that make you want to squirm. "Thank you," you murmur, your voice hoarse from screaming.

With a gentle nudge from Caitlyn, you lean back into her shoulder, closing your eyes and letting out a contented sigh. The feel of her skin against yours is a balm to your overstimulated senses, the scent of her a comforting blanket that wraps around you. Her hand slides up your stomach, her fingers tracing the line of your ribs before settling on your chest. You can feel her heart beating against your back, a steady rhythm that grounds you.

Vi sets the water bottle aside and moves closer, her eyes never leaving yours. She runs a hand through your hair, her touch featherlight. "You're so beautiful when you're like this," she murmurs, her voice filled with something that sounds suspiciously like affection.

You manage a tired smile, the muscles in your face feeling like they've been put through a workout. "Thanks," you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm... I'm just really tired."

Caitlyn nods, her grip on you tightening for a brief moment before she eases you onto your side, tucking you against her. She runs her hand down your back, her touch soothing and gentle, a stark contrast to the fiery passion that had consumed you minutes before. "Rest, baby," she whispers. "We've got you."

Vi settles in beside you, her strong arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer to her firm body. You can feel the heat of her skin, the steady beat of her heart beneath your ear, and it's comforting in a way you didn't know you needed. She kisses your shoulder, her breath warm and soft against your skin. "You did so good," she murmurs, her voice filled with something that feels suspiciously like pride.

You lean into her embrace, the warmth of her body enveloping you like a blanket, chasing away the chill that's started to settle in. You can't help but let out a contented sigh, your eyes drifting shut. Caitlyn's hand slides down your side, her touch gentle and reassuring. "Rest," she whispers, her breath warm against the nape of your neck. "You've earned it."

Vi's grip shifts slightly, her hand moving to rest on your hip. You can feel the callouses on her palm, a stark reminder of the power she wields. Yet here she is, her touch tender and loving, cradling you as if you were the most fragile thing in the world. It's a side of her you rarely get to see, and it makes your heart swell with love.

You snuggle closer to Caitlyn, her breasts pressing into your back, the softness of them a stark contrast to the firmness of Vi's body against your front. It's like being sandwiched between two opposites, two sides of a coin that somehow fit perfectly together. You've never felt so cherished, so... claimed. The thought sends a warm thrill through your body, and you can't help but let out a contented sigh.

Maybe being their good girl wasn't so bad at all.

[littlegochu]

Can we get a big one shot or a series, of single daddy JK and reader is an assistant at HYBE daycare while she temporarily figures her life out (she’s an artist trying to make means meet). She also bartends on the weekend and runs into JK one of the nights he is out with the boys.

I feel like you’ll be incredible in writing this

after hours│ jjk 18+

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: single dad jungkook, slow burn

rating: 18+ (explicit content — sexual themes)

synopsis: y/n juggles quiet days at a daycare and late nights bartending, never expecting her life to shift when jungha — a soft-spoken kid — walks in with his ridiculously attractive, unreadable dad.

between shared coffees, late-night drives, and silent promises, y/n learns that love doesn’t always arrive loudly. sometimes it shows up in small, steady ways — and maybe this time, it’s hers to keep.

-

i really hope this is applesauce.

it’s barely 10 am and my jeans are dotted in glitter glue and something sticky.

"gina," i murmur, crouching beside the low table where a few kids are coloring. "we can get you a new one, okay?"

i try to console her as she's having a full-body meltdown because her juice box exploded.

beside her, haru’s chewing on a blue crayon like it’s a snack. again.

surprisingly not the worst morning i’ve had.

i've been working here for about 6 months now, as a daycare assistant with my bestfriend. unlike her, i never aspired to work anything in child care industry.

but life doesn’t really ask what you want.

it's been hard to keep myself up recently, not after my mom's passing. i dedicated the last 2 years of my life as her caregiver, cutting my own dreams short to tend to her illness and keep us afloat.

i would do it again in a heartbeat, its just funny to think that i wasted my time just to see her go.

after she left i've just been trying to survive, i work at the daycare in the mornings, bartending at night.

my real dream? probably to be an artist.

i was always obsessed with painting, color palettes were my own way of expressing myself—

"miss y/n, how do you draw a sunset?"

jiwon holds up a paper with orange scribbles and a sun in the top corner.

i crouch down beside him, resting my chin in my hand. “well… sunsets aren’t perfect circles. they kind of melt into the sky, right? like when your ice cream melts.”

he blinks. “so i draw a puddle?”

“a pretty puddle,” i say, smiling, and he giggles.

i help him blend red and orange together with his stubby fingers, showing him how to smudge the lines just a little.

“can i put it on the wall?”

-

“alright, clean up time!” i call, clapping my hands twice. “parents are on the way!"

i help the kids line up their drawings on the little gallery wall we made near the door with their names are signed at the bottom.

"say bye to miss y/n and miss kyla!" summer's mom smilies as she carries her toddler between her arms, holding her lunch bag in the other.

"bye bye!"

i wave, already turning back toward the cubbies when i hear someone crying over a missing sock.

"look who’s here, y/n," kyla says behind me.

i glance over my shoulder.

she’s holding a sleeping haru on her shoulder, smirking. her head tilts toward the front door.

i follow her gaze and stop.

standing in the doorway, all black casual business attire and silver rings, hair slightly messy.

mr. jeon.

he's one of those quieter parents, always on time. he's been bringing his 3 year old here for about 2 months and its always been him picking him up.

and never once have i heard jungha bring up his mom.

proabably a busy woman, i cringe at myself everytime i think i have a chance.

seriously? finding your student's dad attractive? you're sick y/n.

but he's such a dilffffffffffffffffffff—

"i'm here for jungha?"

i snap back into reality as i scan for jungha, my eyes land on a small figure by the gallery wall, quietly adjusting his drawing. when he sees his dad, he doesn’t run. doesn’t yell. he just walks over and tugs the edge of mr. jeon's sleeve.

“ready?” he says softly.

he crouches down, pulling him into a one-armed hug. his hand rests gently over jungha’s back, a subtle kind of affection.

“he was good today,” i say, stepping forward. “still quiet.”

mr. jeon looks at me. dark eyes, unreadable. “he usually is.”

i nod, offering a small smile. “he drew a rocket for you.”

jungha glances up at me. not a smile, exactly — just a blink, a flicker of acknowledgment.

he stands, adjusting the strap of jungha's bag. “thanks.”

he doesn’t linger. never does.

-

i slowly close up the bar as the clock hits 12am.

we don’t shut down until 2am but the rush is over. the shift’s been steady, not as wild as it got earlier during the basketball game, but a few stragglers here and there.

yoongi (he’s a newer face), is here — tucked into the end of the bar, sipping a belgian moon. he's been coming around more often, doesn’t talk much, doesn’t cause trouble, he tips well and waits quietly usually.

“refill?” i ask, wiping down the bar in front of him.

he lifts his glass slightly.

i pour a new pint and slide it back to him. “you waiting on someone?”

he glances at the door. “yeah. friend of mine.”

the door chimes.

i look up.

and stop breathing.

in a black shirt button up shirt, silver chain around his neck, the same messy-styled hair this morning.

mr. jeon.

he doesn’t notice me right away, more focused on yoongi, walking toward him with a nod.

they do that half hug — a quick clasp of hands and a shoulder tap before settling into the bar stools beside each other. mr. jeon mutters something low, and yoongi huffs a tired laugh in response.

i’m frozen in place behind the bar, turning away and crouching down pretending to find the bottle opener.

"congrats on your cousins gallery, man, you built that?"

“a bit,” yoongi answers. “been working on it since two years ago. happy to see it up.”

another soft chuckle. mr. jeon's voice is sounds lower, quieter, more relaxed than during his pickups. i peek up from behind the bar, just enough to catch him resting his forearms against the counter, silver rings catching the low light.

he looks good.

they talk about some mutual friend i don’t know, then mr. jeon finally glances toward the drink menu on the bar.

“you got tequila?” he asks, not looking at me yet.

i don’t move. just grab the bottle automatically and start pouring. “silver or gold?”

his head tilts. “gold.”

i slide the shot across the bar without thinking.

he reaches for it, fingers brushing the base and finally looks up.

his eyes meet mine.

and he freezes.

there’s a beat of silence where even yoongi seems to notice something shift. he blinks, eyebrows just barely lifting.

“…miss y/n?”

i raise a brow. “mr. jeon.”

yoongi turns, looking between us with a slow blink. “…wait.”

mr. jeon exhales like he’s trying not to laugh. “you work here?”

“four nights a week,” i say casually, resting one arm on the bar.

yoongi stares at his drink like it’s suddenly gotten way too interesting.

mr. jeon glances at him, then back at me. “she’s a teacher at jungha’s daycare,” he says, lips tugging into the smallest smirk. “interesting seeing you here.”

yoongi clears his throat like he’s trying not to get dragged in. “small world.”

“too small,” i mutter, pouring another round for someone down the bar.

-

yoongi finishes his beer, checks his phone, and lets out a sigh.

“alright. i’m calling it. see you?”

“depends if you call me first,” mr. jeon says, not looking up from his drink.

yoongi stands, gives me a small nod. “goodnight, y/n.”

“night, yoongi.” i manage, offering a small smile.

yoongi turns to mr. jeon. “you staying?”

“for a bit.”

yoongi just shrugs and claps a hand to his shoulder. “don’t bother her too much.”

“wasn’t planning to.”

once the door shuts behind him, the silence shifts.

mr. jeon doesn’t say anything. just sips from his shot glass and scrolls through his phone while i work my way around the bar, wiping down tables and stacking chairs.

-

by the time i flip the lights behind the bar, it’s just the two of us left.

he stretches slightly, standing as i pull on my jacket.

“you can call me jungkook, by the way,” he says suddenly, voice low.

i glance over. “oh?”

“i figured since yoongi’s throwing your first name around like that...”

i smirk. “y/n.” tilting my head a little—“you sure? ‘mr. jeon’ has such a nice ring to it.”

he laughs softly, a bit breathier this time. “only during pick-up hours.”

i zip up my jacket and sling my bag over my shoulder.

he doesn’t move right away, just watches me from where he’s standing, hands in his pockets, eyes following every small movement.

i head toward the front door and flick off the last neon sign in the window. silence wraps around us.

“where’s your car?” he asks.

i hesitate. “a couple blocks down.”

he nods once. no hesitation. “i’ll walk you.”

“you don’t have to.”

“i know.”

he says it so simply. i look at him for a second longer than necessary, then push the door open.

outside, the street is quiet. the sky’s clear, streetlights humming. my boots hit the pavement, his strides just slightly heavier beside mine.

we don’t talk for a while, just walk. his hands are in his coat pockets, mine gripping the strap of my bag.

after a minute, he glances over. “do you usually get off this late?”

“mm. depends on the crowd. tonight was mild.”

he hums in acknowledgment. “do you walk to your car alone every time?”

“i don’t really think about it.”

“you should.”

he’s not looking at me. just ahead, eyes calm, jaw clenched.

my car comes into view, we slow to a stop beside it.

“thanks,” i say, turning to unlock the door.

he nods. “you get home safe, y/n.”

it’s the way he says it; like it’s a request and a promise at the same time. its makes my chest feel strangely full.

i open the door, one foot inside, then glance back at him.

“see you tomorrow?”

his eyes flicker to mine, a corner of his mouth barely tugging up. “yeah. see you tomorrow.”

i get in.

he doesn’t walk away until i’ve closed the door, engine rumbling to life. hands in his pockets. watching.

-

ugh, its the morning.

i’m half-running on fumes when i open the daycare doors at 7:20.

my hairs tied up, coffee half-spilled on my hoodie, and a stack of paper stars tucked under my arm for today’s “space explorer” theme.

i kneel by the cubbies, taping up names for coat hooks when the bell above the door chimes.

i don’t look right away. just call, “morning!”

small footsteps patter across the floor.

a quiet thud against my leg.

i freeze.

then look down.

jungha.

his little arms wrap around my shin, his cheek smushed into my knee like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

i blink.

"morning jungha,”

his face stays buried for a second, then he pulls back just enough to hold up something clutched in his fist.

a folded paper rocket with red scribbles, my name in shaky letters on the side.

“you forgot this,” he mumbles.

my chest squeezes unexpectedly.

i take it, kneeling down. “thank you, astronaut jungha. i’ll keep it safe.”

his lips twitch upward, just barely—before he scurries off toward the coloring table.

then i glance up.

and there he is.

mr. jeon. leaning in the doorway, dressed in black slacks and a slate grey crewneck. same silver chain, one hand in his pocket, the other resting against the doorframe.

his gaze is steady.

not cold, not unreadable, just… watching.

something flickers between us then—small, unspoken.

“you get home okay the other night?”

my breath catches a little.

i nod. “yeah. thanks again.”

his mouth curves, subtle. “see you.”

“see you.”

and then he’s gone.

but i’m still standing there.

paper rocket in hand.

“...you good?” kyla’s voice floats in from the other side of the room, casual, but i know her too well.

i turn, slowly.

she’s leaning against the play kitchen with a plastic banana in one hand, eyebrows raised.

i clear my throat, shove the rocket into my hoodie pocket. “yep. great. just.. tired.”

“mhm.." she hums, biting back a grin. “tired from working late… or from walking to your car with mr. jeon?”

i blink. “how—”

“you had that look.” she shrugs.

“kyla.”

“he walked you to your car, didn’t he?”

i press my lips together. silence is apparently confession enough.

she whistles. “girl. i’ve been saying. the way he watches you at pick-up like he’s trying not to cross a line? but also might be imagining you in nothing but one of those tiny daycare aprons?”

i groan, dragging a hand over my face. “stop.”

“what? i’m just saying. he’s quiet. hot. good dad. you’re single. he’s single. jungha likes you. the universe is doing its job.”

“he’s a parent.”

“and?”

i narrow my eyes. “you’re impossible.”

she winks, already turning back to the kids. “just don’t be surprised when he shows up with a second paper rocket and a coffee.”

-

aaaaaaaaand.. what the fuck.

jungkook walks in at pickup with a coffee in his hand.

i dont even need to look back at kyla to hear her snickering behind me.

i pretend i don’t notice. pretend i’m completely focused on taping up the last few drawings from this morning — crooked crayon suns and glittery stick people — even as i feel him walk closer.

“you’re early,” i say, not turning.

“got off work early.”

i glance over, finally.

he holds the coffee out toward me. “thought you might want this.”

i blink. “…for me?”

he nods, a little too casual. “you looked tired the other night.”

i take it, slowly. the cup’s warm against my palm, and for a second i forget how to hold eye contact properly.

“…thanks.”

his mouth twitches. “cream, no sugar. that okay?”

“how did you—?”

“jungha says you like it like that. said you told him it was ‘adult coffee.’”

i blink again.

kyla cackles from across the room. i don’t even try to hide my glare.

“you have spies,” i mutter.

“i have a very observant kid,” jungkook replies smoothly.

i turn to see jungha run toward him at full speed, backpack swinging wildly. jungkook crouches and catches him effortlessly with one arm, pulling him in.

“did you draw another rocket today?” he asks softly.

jungha nods and glances at me. “this one’s for miss y/n.”

he digs around in his cubby and hands me a folded piece of construction paper. the rocket is lopsided, the stars are pink, and my name is spelled wrong.

i feel my chest actually ache.

“thank you, jungha,” i say, kneeling down. “i’ll put this right next to the one from this morning.”

he just nods again and slips his hand into his dad’s.

jungkook meets my eyes as he adjusts the strap on his son’s backpack. “see you around, y/n.”

“you too… jungkook.”

as they walk out, kyla sidles up next to me.

“you’re so fucked,” she sings.

i sip the coffee. it’s perfect.

“…yeah,” i whisper. “i know.”

-

it’s sunday night and the bar is slow — the kind of slow that makes you count bottle caps and restack coasters just to feel like time’s passing.

the overhead lights buzz louder without a crowd. the tv murmurs with a baseball game no one’s watching. it’s been like this all shift. mellow. forgettable.

and i was kinda hoping it wouldn’t be.

friday came and went.

so did saturday.

no jungkook.

no black button-up, no tequila order, no silent glances from across the bar that made my chest feel like it couldn’t settle.

i told myself it wasn’t a big deal. how he probably got busy or had plans or maybe walking a daycare teacher to her car once at 2am wasn’t as memorable for him as it was for me.

i mean… maybe i looked into it too much.

maybe it was just a one-time thing.

he was being polite, protective. like any decent guy would. i’ve just been tired, maybe the attention felt warmer than it actually was.

maybe i wanted it to mean something.

i lean on the bar, drag my rag across the same spot again.

“you’re spiraling,” kyla says from behind me, not even looking up as she restocks the glasses.

“i’m not.”

“you are. your face does that thing.”

i frown. “what thing?”

“the pouty one. where you’re convinced you read a guy wrong and now you’re punishing the countertop for it.”

i roll my eyes. “very specific.”

she shrugs. “very accurate.”

before i can argue, the door chimes.

i glance up automatically.

a group of three walks in. not him.

i swallow the twist of disappointment and straighten my posture. “booth or bar?”

kyla nudges my shoulder as she passes. “he’ll show.”

i don’t say anything.

but i hope she’s right, not just because it would mean he cares —

but because i think i really, really want him to.

-

the bar’s mostly clean. the register's closed, and i’m reaching under the counter for my bag when i hear kyla’s voice from the front.

“i’m heading out. you good to lock up?”

“yep,” i call back, pulling my coat on.

she swings the door open with her jacket already half-zipped, she turns to glance at me over her shoulder. “text me when you're home. don’t get kidnapped.”

“i'll try.”

the door clicks shut behind her, and then—

a knock.

i pause, slowly leaning to peek out the side window.

and there he is.

leaned up against the brick wall just outside the door. he’s scrolling his phone like he’s been there a while or like he only just got here and makes it look good.

i crack the door open. “we’re closed, you know.”

his eyes flick up from his screen, the corner of his mouth curves. “figured.”

“then what are you doing here, mr. jeon?”

he shrugs. “sunday’s slow. thought maybe you’d need a walk home.”

i blink. “you stalking my schedule now?”

“maybe.” he shifts off the wall. “or maybe your friend told me you usually bus it on sunday nights.”

kyla.

“and you waited out here?”

“you’re not the only one with good timing.”

i step out and lock the door behind me, shoulders hunching slightly against the chill. he walks beside me, casual, hands stuffed into his pocket.

“you missed friday and saturday,” i say after a beat.

“wasn’t avoiding you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“who said i was thinking that?”

he laughs under his breath. “were you?”

“if i was mistaken,” i murmur, “i’d think you have a crush on me, mr. jeon.”

his steps slow just a little.

“you’re not mistaken.”

my breath catches.

“but if it makes you feel better,” he adds, a slight curve tugging at his mouth, “i’m trying to be subtle about it.”

“this is you being subtle?”

he finally lets out a low laugh. “you should see me when i’m obvious.”

he says it like a joke, but there’s a flicker in his eyes when he looks at me that makes my pulse stutter.

i try to ignore it.

“so,” i say, clearing my throat, “do you do this for all your kid’s teachers?”

“just the pretty ones that make my kid smile,” he says, no pause.

i stop in my tracks.

he doesn’t.

just keeps walking a few steps ahead, like he didn’t just casually drop that into the night air and walk away from it.

“…wow,” i mutter, catching up. “bold.”

we fall into step again, quieter now. the wind rustles through a tree nearby.

the breeze gets there first, curling under my coat sleeve. i shiver.

he notices.

“cold?” he asks.

“a little.”

without a word, he tugs the jacket over his shoulders and holds it out. it smells like clean laundry and faint cologne. i hesitate, but he gives me a look.

i pull it over my head.

“you look warm,” he says, flicking his keys from his pocket. “come on. i’ll drive you.”

“you don’t have to—”

“i know,” he says again, unlocking the car. “but i want to.”

the inside of his car smells like pine and something faintly sweet. the passenger seat’s already warm from the heater. i buckle in, tucking my hands into the sleeves.

he glances over as he pulls out onto the road. “comfortable?”

i nod.

a small smirk pulls at his mouth. we fall into a silence, the city blurs with amber lights and red signals, windshield wipers wiping the early drizzle.

i swallow. “you know this is weird, right?”

“what is?”

“you. me. this.”

authors note: i kinda liked writing this, it was a very new trope for me but ill have part 2 soon!

[allpiesforourown]

Okay let me tell you guys about one of my fav bingyuan aus.. bingge having a one sided rivalry with shen yuan

He had to get a scholarship and work his ass off to afford college, had to put on a fake smile and network like crazy.. so naturally when he sees shen yuan, this guy who was born rich and is naturally extroverted, he hates it

Shen Yuan on the other hand, thinks binghe is super cool! He looks like what he'd imagine a stallion protagonist to look like! Not to mention he's athletic, intelligent, beautiful, just perfect in every way!

Binghe is always trying to rile up shen yuan and "expose" him as a terrible person pretending to be good, so their interactions go like this:

Binghe: so you're entering this contest too? Ha, don't waste your time. You know youre leagues behind me

Shen yuan: you're also entering? Great! I can't wait to see you perform :)

Binghe, flustered: FUCK YOU.

Ning yingying is binghes childhood friend and binghe barges into her apartment every other day to rant about this guy.

Binghe: I hate shen yuan!!! Who does he think he is!! Acting all high and mighty !!!

Yingying, who doesn't understand but wants to be supportive of her friend: yeah a-luo, fuck that guy

Binghe: and then even after I rubbed it in his face that I won, he had the audacity to say "I hope I'll get to see you perform next year" can you believe that!?!??!

Yingying: ...?

Shen yuan gets seriously sick before a competition one day and binghe wins by a landslide. He's looking around the whole time, wondering where shen yuan is. He can't make fun of him for coming in second if he isn't here...

Binghe finds out shen yuan was hospitalized and he leaves before they can award him his trophy. Shen yuan wakes up to binghes panicked face saying "how dare you, you didn't come just because you knew I'd win? You were that ashamed of how superior I am to you? You better get better soon or else..!" Shen Yuan is do confused because why does binghe look like he's about to cry? Why is binghe visiting him everyday with healthy boxed lunches "to help him recover quicker" ??

Shen yuan returns to school and he's crowded by classmates asking where he's been/how he's doing. Binghe is off to the side, refusing to come over, but obviously sneaking glances at him. Shen Yuan smiles and waves and binghe looks away but his face is red

[superhoeva]

𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 – 𝐚. 𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐲 (𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭; +𝟏𝟖) | OKAY. very nervous and excited about this one. it was supposed to be a two paragraph blurb... then it balloned as it always does. very special thanks to @robbyology for their kind words about exploring kink in fic. i've become sooo much more open with others and myself when writing/reading taboo and dark fics but still start shaking in my boots when trying to show that growth. eneeways, i hope you find this as hot as i did! i need this man so bad y'all, i'm SICK. if anyone can guess where i got the title from, i'll give you my a cookie <3 word count is sitting at 1.2k :)

warning(s) include language, watersports, holding!kink, freaky!pope, taboo/dubcon, reader has a vagina, pope wants to watch you pee, bodily fluids, public urination; also PLEASE remember this is fiction. do NOT hold in your pee regularly unless you want kidney failure (which can very much kill you)

Of course, Pope doesn't realize he has a piss kink until you're sitting in the passenger's seat of his truck, leg bouncing and gritting your teeth. He immediately asks you what's wrong and you reassure him that you're fine.

"Just gotta pee..." you clarify, and his eyes zip to your clenched thighs.

Gulping, he thinks. You're on the interstate and will be for a while.

"Well... you want me to pull over or–"

You interrupt him with a shake of your head. "No. No, it's fine. Don't wanna go on the side of the road."

Pope shuffles in his place, flicking his stare to you again.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, Pope. I'm good, just try not to hit any–" Thump. The vehicle jumps with a hard jerk, Pope steadying the steering wheel as you gasp and shut your eyes. Your thighs shut even tighter, a groan pouring from you after you hold your seat with a worried grip. "...bumps."

Mumbling a sorry, Pope scratches the back of his head. A thousand words are stuck in his throat and they won't move. Not with you less than an arms length away, doing a bad job at hiding your squirm and quiet groans.

Shit. Why the fuck is he getting hard? Is he that into you that the sight of you struggling to hold your piss is getting to him this badly? The answer is a resounding yes, and he's rock solid and bulging through the crotch of his jeans not even a few minutes later.

Luckily... or unluckily... you're too busy trying not to pee all over his seat. Fuck, the thought of that does not help the man, who ends up grunting out loud before he can stop himself.

There's a shift that happens in Pope after that... one driven by the thoughts of his cock and not his brain. He inhales silently, pushing out his next question on a tight breath.

"...they were really pushing the drinks there, weren't they. You had to have... what? Four? Five? Was kind of impressive, actually. Chugged 'em all like a damn champ."

Pope doesn't look at you when he speaks. But he can still feel the helpless stare you throw his way, your eyebrows furrowed and body rigid as you squeeze. He bets you feel great, all warm and clenched. and he wonders how much warmer you'd feel if he can coax you into letting it go while he was still inside you.

Go ahead. Call him a freak, it's nothing he hasn't heard before.

"Andrew," you call out, the strain of your voice twitching his cock. The fidgeting you're doing is getting worse. More noticeable, more desperate, more distressed.

"Sorry. s'probably not helping, is it? Me talking 'bout drinkin' stuff," Pope continues, making sure to drive over the small hole in the road he sees a few feet ahead. The truck bounces again.

"Shit–seriously," you start, voice wobbly with what sounds a little like embarrassment. You turn to him halfway, eyes pleading. "No more bumps. please, or you'll make me piss my pants."

"Might be you're only option, darlin'," he eases out, swallow at the way your eyebrows furrow at his words. "Don't see another exit comin' up for a while."

You curse again, this time to yourself and quieter. Turning your head from him and to the window, you bite hard into the inside of your cheek as your bladder inches closer and closer to giving out.

Not one part of you is willing to admit that the pressure feels... nice. Better than nice and it's making you wet as you sit here next to the man who is unknowingly the usual cause of your arousal.

Out of the corner of the eye, you see the thick of his arms flex as they readjust themselves.

Hm. Okay.

You need out of this car.

Now.

"Okay, yeah. P-pull over, 'm not gonna make it back into town," you tell Pope, who feels a heat bloom throughout his chest.

He obeys you with zero words, merging the truck and pulling it to an easing stop. The rasp of his voice sounds just as you're rushing to unbuckle and pop open the door.

"Wait."

"What?"

"Just wait–

"Pope, what–"

"Can I watch?"

For the first time since you've gotten in the car, you freeze. It becomes so silent that you can almost hear the gulp that bobs Pope's throat. When you swivel your head, he doesn't look at you... not until you let out a small what?

A long inhale rises his chest and he holds it for a few seconds before huffing out the air, eyes cutting to look at yours.

"Can I?"

Pope doesn't blink the entire time you think on an answer. his heart jumps in his chest when you finally open your mouth.

"...okay."

He follows you away from the truck and behind a thick gathering of trees. Mouth settled in a hard lie to stop him from grimacing at the way his dick is rubbing against the fabric in his jeans with every other step.

Stomach flipping when you stop, you turn and blink at Pope. throwing him a tense smile, he quirks his mouth at you.

"So i'm just gonna..." you sputter out and he nods reassuringly, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

"Do your thing," Pope tells you, scanning his stare to make sure no one else is around. Once he's certain, he looks back to you... eyes darkening when you start to unbutton your jeans.

Hooking your thumbs at the waistband, you pause.

"Do you... do you wanna get closer?"

Pope's answer is a hesitant step toward you. One that sucks the air from your lungs and compels you to pull your bottoms the rest of your way down. His breath hitches as you reveal yourself to him and he shudders all over.

He studies you, unmoving and eyes cemented while you lower into a deep squat and lean against the nearest tree. There's no use in trying to stop the sinking of his stare. rattling with a shaky, sharp inhale, Pope watches you... mesmerized as you finally release.

Jesus, you sound like you're coming with the noises you're making. choking out groans of relief and sweet whines. Your stream is strong and loud splashing beneath you messily, and Pope's mouth is damn near watering at your exposed slit.

"Fuck, that's pretty," the man mumbles to himself, hands clenched into tight fists. His cock is pulsing and now he's unsure that he'll make it home with needing some kind of relief of his own.

You finish with a easy trickle, and Pope hurries to offer his arm. Taking your hand, he tugs you upwards in complete silence, and you end up closer to him than you expect. It stays quiet between the two of you as Pope bends and helps you underwear and jeans back into place.

Buttoning your jeans, Pope floats his face near yours with a bite of his lip. All you can do is look at him. He looks right back.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"Thank you," Pope replies lowly, hands dragging across your hips before he pulls them away.

You don't think about your next move, you just do it. Grab the thick bulge between his legs and pressing until Pope croaks.

"Might need a few more minutes," the man grates out, voice edging with a held back laugh.

Pope groans out again when you squeeze him harder.

"No worries," you bob your head, eyes brightening a touch. "...Can I watch?"

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[witherby]

What would happen if Mouse got sick? Like super, probably at deaths door kind of sick? ok maybe that last part was exaggerating it a bit...But like almost 39 degrees fever, coughing to the point of gagging and vomiting, runny nose, fatigue, no appetite for anything, etc. Based off my own experiences when I get sick. I wanna know what they would do and who would panic the most. Who would lose the little sleep they already have even more. Who would think that the babeh is at deaths door. And who would be the most relieved when Mouse is better a few days later with the help of a paediatric approved medication

-🍨

I like this prompt a lot so I'm gonna do it. Hope u reaaaally like angst tho.

The Littlest Wayne: Sick Bed, part 1

Masterlist is Here!

⚠️ Spoiler/content warning: Young sick child, fever, depiction of seizure ⚠️

It starts with a cough.

"Hey, careful," Jason says, patting your back. The water you'd been sipping sprays across the table as you choke. Tim reaches over to right the glass and Alfred goes and collects a rag to mop up the mess. "You okay?"

"Mhmm," you mutter, wiping your mouth with a napkin. "Sorry...I can clean it, grandpa Alfie."

"It's quite alright, Flittermouse." Alfred gently runs a hand through your hair. "Oh, my, you're quite warm. Why don't you head up to your room and I'll have someone bring a tray to you with soup and crackers?"

"Okay." You push your chair away from the table and duck underneath it, allowing the shadow of the furniture to swallow you up. Bruce watches the dark blob you've become slide out of the dining room and towards the stairs with less energy than usual.

"I'll take it, Alfred," Dick says before anyone else can volunteer, rising from his seat. He sets his leftovers in front of Jason as he passes, helping the butler prepare a tray for you. "Do we have any Tylenol for little kids? If not, I can just crush up a half-pill for them."

"Child-friendly medications will be found in the young master's en-suite bathroom cabinet," Alfred says. "It will just be a few minutes for the soup, Master Dick. I'd recommend you head upstairs and measure out a small dose for your sibling before it's ready."

"Kay, sure," he nods, excusing himself.

Dick hops up the stairs two at a time and enters the family wing of the manor, trailing his hand along the walls and door frames until he finds yours. He knocks lightly and rapidly, a silly little sequence to let you know which brother it is, then opens the door to let himself in.

Your bedroom is almost pitch black. Since the development of your powers, your space has changed to reflect your needs overtime, which means the overhead lightbulbs have been removed and the sheer, pastel blinds over your window have been replaced with thick blackout curtains. For your family who require some form of illumination to see, you have several night lights you pick and choose from; you currently have a round projector plugged in that casts aurora borealis across the ceiling (a gift from Tim) and you've activated the touch sensors installed in the floor that briefly light up everywhere Dick walks, leaving his footprints behind for several seconds until they fade away.

The furniture you originally had, designed in warm, woody colors with bright accents, have also been replaced with black hardware and dark materials. Your bed frame is a dip-dyed wood with silver accents, your mattress and sheets are black, and your dressers, nightstand, and closet have all been painted to match.

At first glance, the large bedroom looks like every goth kid's biggest dream, but the light from the hallway spills briefly into your space when Dick walks inside, showing the bright, colorful books sitting on your black bookshelves, the even more colorful clothes in your wardrobe, your vast collection of toys, and a litany of pictures and photos on all the walls. There is a vibrant, beautiful life in the darkness, which encapsulates you perfectly in his opinion.

"Hi, Flitty," he greets, moving slowly as his eyes adjust to the light. "Alfred's working on your soup, so big bro Dicky's here to do medicine time. Holler at me so I don't accidentally step on you in here."

"Okay," you say from his left. Dick turns and squints, spotting a lump on your bed. He smiles.

"There you are. Lemme see if there's any of the gummies in your med cabinet. Those ones don't taste all gross."

He steps into your bathroom and turns the fairy lights on, bathing the area in a soft glow, and rifles through your cabinet for a minute. Then he makes his way to your bed, sitting on the edge of it with some chewables and a glass of water.

"C'mere," he says, and you comply, shuffling across the bed to give him a quick hug. "Alright. Can you show me you're a big kid and take this for me? Then you'll get a nice bowl of soup and maybe some juice."

You comply without fuss. Dick hears more than he sees you take the medication in the low light, and you go back to hugging him when you're done. Dick wraps his arms around you and lies down, propping you mostly on his chest.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Yeah. Just sleepy," you reply. "And my throat hurts kinda, from when I spit my water."

"Aw, I'm sorry. You only need to stay awake long enough to take a couple bites and then you can rest as long as you want."

"Okay...stay?"

Dick hums, running his fingers gently through your hair. He was supposed to go back to Blüdhaven this afternoon, but...

"Yeah, Flitty. I'll stay."

--

It turns into a fever.

"I'm sorry to turn you away when you've already come by, Delilah," Bruce says, meeting your private tutor in the vestibule. "Mouse came down with something yesterday, and I don't think they'll be up for lessons for the next few days. I forgot to tell you."

"Oh, that's absolutely no problem, mister Wayne," the tutor smiles, shaking her head. "I wish them a speedy recovery! Let me know if there's anything you need."

"I will, thank you. Take care!"

Bruce closes the door after seeing her out, the Charming Socialite mask slipping off his face as he heads for the stairs. He meets Alfred at the top with a nod, stepping past him and walking up to your bedroom door.

He gently knocks three times against the glossy wood, calling your name. "Can I come in?"

After a moment, he watches it click open, and you squint up at him in the doorway.

"Hi, daddy," you croak, voice dry and harsh from the progression of your flu. Bruce tuts and scoops your clammy body into his arms, carrying you back to your bed.

"Honey, you didn't have to come greet me," he says, "manners get thrown out the window when you're sick, remember? Let's get you tucked in."

You don't fuss or complain, which makes the worry flare up in Bruce's mind. He pushes it back, refusing to catastrophize a cold. All of his children get sick, it's not unheard of. A little fever is fine, and so is your lack of excitable energy. It's normal and expected.

"How do you feel?" He asks, pulling the blankets up to your chest. You squirm a bit, kicking them down.

"Hot," you say, "sleepy."

Bruce compromises by tucking the blanket around your tummy instead. You don't push it down any further. He pulls out a thermometer from his pocket and scans your forehead.

"Yeah, you are running a bit hot," he admits. An even one hundred degrees. Should be easy enough to control with careful attention. "Alfred says you refused breakfast this morning. Do you want to try eating something small for lunch? More soup?"

You shake your head. "Not hungry."

"I know you're not hungry, pumpkin," Bruce says, gently squeezing your hand. "But you don't wanna starve, either. Then you'll shrink up like a raisin! How am I supposed to snuggle a raisin?"

You smile a bit and give a wheezy huff of laughter. Bruce smiles back.

"So, will you try? You can have anything you want. I just need to see you take a few bites of something."

"Okay, daddy. Want...um... I want more soup please."

"You can have more soup," Bruce promises, running a hand through your sweatslick hair. He reminds himself to run you a bath in a couple hours. Maybe after a nap. "Do you want anything else?"

"Mmmyeah. Bedtime story?"

"Yeah," he says. "Any story you want, after we get some soup in you."

You smile again. It eases the knot of dread in Bruce's chest.

--

It gets worse.

Three days into it, your fever spikes in the middle of the night. You completely refuse any sort of food or drink all day, despite the angry growling of your stomach, and the family unanimously decides to bring you to the hospital in the morning to get looked at. Dinner without you is full of worry and tense glances toward the family wing, and it seems like not a lot of sleep is going to be had before they find out the total extent of your illness.

When tossing and turning in bed for a few hours doesn't lead him anywhere, Damian decides to give in to the nagging in the back of his head and pop in your room to check on you. He rushes to your bed when he sees you seizing and gasping for breath. Your temperature's shot up to a hundred and six and you don't react when he tries to shake you awake.

Fearful and, for once, feeling every bit the child he still is, he clutches your body to his chest and screams.

"BABAA!!"

The door slams open in seconds, though to him it feels like an eternity. Hal and Jason are coaxing Damian to let go of you and Bruce climbs on the bed to roll you onto your side, carefully wiping the foam and drool away from your mouth while he checks your vitals. Tim is in the hallway calling 9-1-1 and texting Dick to let him know what's happening.

"Dami, you gotta move," Jason says, placing his hands overtop his brother's. Damian's grip on your arm is so tight it's bruising. "Let go, they're okay. Let go."

"I'm tracking their pulse, you dumb bastard!" Damian snaps. "Release me!"

"You're hurting them, Dames," Hal says in his ear, wrapping his arms around Damian's waist. "Bruce has them, now. You have to let go and get out of the way for the paramedics."

Green eyes snap to your arm. He seems to finally take stock of what he's doing and eases off, letting Hal pick him up and pass him off to Jason, who carries him into the hallway.

"Stay out here," Jason says. "It's our job to keep out of the way for now."

"Who's going to let the paramedics in?" Damian asks, trying to pry himself out of Jason's grip. As much as he tries to crane his neck, Jason's standing too far away from your door to let him see how you're doing, and his iron grip is unyielding.

"Alfred's by the gate controls, he'll let them inside."

Tim gets off the phone with the emergency dispatcher and glances at your door with a frown. Every hitching gasp and choke you make can be heard from the hall, along with Bruce and Hal's barely-concealed, panicked murmuring, and he crosses his arms tightly and shuffles over to Jason now that his task is done.

"Can we wait downstairs?" He mutters. Jason keeps one arm wrapped around Damian and slings the other around Tim's shoulders, guiding them to the staircase.

"I want to stay!" Damian insists, pulling against Jason, who ends up needing to sling the little assassin over his shoulder to get him to move. "Todd!!"

"Robin," Jason snaps in his best Batman impersonation. It's a damn good one, because Damian quiets immediately, stiffening in his arms and ceasing his struggling without further protest. Tim freezes beside him, but Jason just pats his back and keeps guiding him down the stairs.

The trio is quiet as they file into the main living room. Jason and Tim sit on the couch and Damian gets propped up in his brother's lap. Try as he might, he can't wiggle out of Jason's arms.

"This is asinine," he hisses. "I should be up there."

"Doin' what?" Jason asks. "Bruce and Hal are both in there with Mousey. Alfred's about to guide the EMTs inside. Tim called 911 and then told Dick the situation. You were the one that first found 'em and got help."

Jason gives Damian a squeeze, propping his chin on top of his head.

"You saved their life, Damian. Ya don't need to do more than that right now. Let the grown-ups take the reins for a while."

"But I —"

"You've done more than enough," Jason insists, not unkindly. His tone has been uncharacteristically soft the whole time, Damian realizes belatedly. "I'm sure they'll thank you when they come out the other side of this."

Damian didn't do it for your thanks. He did it because he loves you. Despite you quickly approaching the age where Bruce might offer you the Robin mantle soon, which has filled him with more anxiety and anger than he's had in a long time, he loves you dearly and doesn't want anything to befall you.

In spite of everything, he's your big brother and he loves you just as much as he can't stand you.

"They will be fine," he mutters firmly. "There's no alternative."

"Right," Tim speaks up. He sounds like he needs the reassurance just as much as Damian. "M is gonna be okay."

The three of them turn their heads when several pairs of footsteps enter the vestibule. Four paramedics rush in with a stretcher and duffel bags of medical equipment. Alfred orders them in the direction of your bedroom with simple, firm instructions, and they head off.

The butler then turns, spotting them out of his periphery, and he clears his throat and adjusts the belt around his robe. He's still in his sleepwear, having rushed out of bed to help prep for the emergency like everyone else.

"I've had my fair share of exciting nights," he comments, "but I must say, they never become more enjoyable. Why don't you all join me in the kitchen and I'll prepare some drinks? Hot chocolate should suffice on a chilly evening."

"Sounds fantastic," Jason says, hopping to his feet. He lifts Damian up with him, denying him the chance to refuse, and with a glance and jerk of his chin, coaxes Tim to get up and follow after.

"Put me down," Damian says, reaching up to tug on Jason's night shirt. "I won't run back upstairs. I swear."

"Yeah? You double-swear? Don't make me chase you, kid, I really do not have the patience."

"On Father's life," he insists.

Jason sets him on the floor. Damian follows them into the kitchen and takes a seat at the island, cupping his hands around a warm mug of hot cocoa when Alfred hands it to him a couple minutes later. He watches the wisps of steam curl up into the air and dissipate, unable to stop thinking about your writhing body in bed. Your eyes had rolled back and your limbs had locked up, jerking uncontrollably. And the noises you were making...

The mug gives a foreboding creak under his grip. Alfred gently places his hand on Damian's back and gives it several soft pats.

"Do not fret, master Damian," he says, "our little Flittermouse is very resilient. An illness turning poorly won't keep them down for long."

"I know," he says. Alfred nods, and with a final brush against his shoulder, tends to Tim next to ensure he's also doing okay. When Damian looks at Jason, he sees him calmly drinking from his mug without so much as a furrow in his brow. But there's an almost imperceptible ricketing noise that means he's bouncing his leg nervously. It makes his stomach twist almost painfully, to know he's just as scared as everybody else.

Damian takes a deep breath. He sips his coco. He thinks of the froth pouring out of your mouth when Bruce rolled you into the recovery position. He puts the mug down.

He knows you'll be okay. You have to, because he just can't live with the alternative.

[myfictionaldreams]

Omg I can’t believe you’re back!!!! I missed you so much❤️❤️❤️

I have an idea for a fic. I’ve been going through it in the past few days with an ear infection from a sinus infection. I was thinking of a mafia stucky story where reader got sick and developed an ear infection, and when reader is on meds they get off balance due to the fluid imbalance in their ears, and the way they ground themself is through tlc from the boys (there can be some smut or cockwarming 🤭🤭)

⁀➷ Anchor Me // Mafia!Stucky x F!Reader

Summary: When an unexpected wave of illness leaves you shaky and off balance, comfort comes in the form of tender care, warm hands, and the two men who would do anything to keep you safe.

Requested by: Thank you lovely anon for the request! Love a sick!fic. Also I hope you're doing better my love <3 Thanks for sticking around whilst I was off for so long lmao

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, fluff, sick!fic, ear infection/sinus infection, hurt/comfort, cockwarming, creampie, begging, light dom/sub, aftercare

Words: 2.9k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

The office was quiet and calm. Maybe a little too quiet for a Wednesday afternoon. Outside, the late-afternoon sun made its last attempt at warmth as it beamed across the plush rugs underfoot.

You’d barely noticed the beauty of it, though. Your head was pounding too hard, caught in a dull, buzzing pressure that throbbed behind your eyes and deep in your ears.

You sniffled softly and blinked hard against the light, wishing that you’d been able to find your sunglasses sooner. Your ears were stuffed full of static, like a radio just slightly off its frequency and every step you took echoed wrong into your skull. But you were just fine.

Dodger, your loyal Rottweiler, passed beside you with slow, patient steps, his head brushing your thigh now and then as if checking in, or attempting to keep you upright. You reached down and let your fingers drag over the soft ridge between his silky ears.

“I’m okay, Dodger,” you reassure, “it’s just the meds. It’s nothing.”

Dodger responded with a huff, almost like he was in disbelief.

The hallways ahead blurred for a second, the lines of the walls and ceiling smearing together. You blinked hard again, hoping it was just something in your eye. No, you weren’t going to fall apart over a stupid infection. Not when Steve and Bucky were buried in a volatile meeting downstairs. Not when you’d promised Sam your bodyguard that you’d get something to eat. You just had to make it to the kitchen, get some soup and sit down.

Simple. Right?

But your legs were jelly. The right one, especially, had gone weird and floaty, like it didn’t belong to you. The further you went, the more the floor seemed to rise and tilt up under your feet at strange angles. Your vision blurred yet again, worse this time, and your gingers reached blindly for the wall–

Too late.

The dizziness surged quickly and suddenly, as if an earthquake were shaking the ground beneath your feet. Your stomach lurched. The hallway rolled. Nd then the weight of your body tilted beyond your control. You gasped out loud, knees buckling.

“Sam–!” you called, voice already fading in strength as your shoulder smacked against the wall, causing the picture frames to shake and crumbling to the floor in a pathetic heap, landing painfully on your hip with a wince.

Everything was wrong. The pressure in your ears was unbearable now, muffling your senses and throwing off your balance so badly you shouldn’t be able to tell up from down. A whimper slipped past your lips as you pressed your hand to the side of your head, trying to force the spinning to stop.

 Dodger barked frantically and immediately nosed under your arm, licking your cheek like he could wake you up.

“S-Sam,” you whimper again, trying to push yourself up, but your body is not cooperating. Slumping again, helpless and humiliated, tears stinging your eyes even though you didn’t mean to cry. You hated this. Hated feeling this weak.

But also knowing that Steve and Bucky weren't even on the same floor as you, meaning you wouldn’t be immediately wrapped in their arms.

But then, thudding footsteps. Fast and heavy.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, Boss lady, can you hear me? Are you ok?”

Sam’s voice, deep and commanding, was missing any sort of usual comedy. Instantly, you were grounded. Your eyes opened wearily, blinking up as he crouched beside you, his hand cupping your cheek as Doddger let out another worried little chuff.

“Jesus, sweetheart. Okay, talk to me, what’s wrong? Did you hit your head? This is the last time I ever let you get a coffee by yourself, I swear to god.”

“I just got super dizzy,” you choked, cheeks burning with shame as you tried to sit up further and fail miserably. “I thought I was fine, I swear I–.”

“You’re not fine,” Sam said firmly, gently brushing sweat-damp hair from your forehead. “You’re burning up. Damn it, you shouldn’t said something when we came here, I knew there was something wrong. You haven't been yourself all day; I should have just taken you home. Right, we’re going to take it steady, ok? Come on, I’ve got you.”

“I didn’t want to bother anyone,” you admit, eyes fluttering shut as you lean heavily into Sam’s hold as he tries to stand your swaying, aching body upright.

Sam huffs, his arms tightening reassuringly. “You think we’d all call this a bother? Sweetheart, you’re always a priority.”

You barely registered the vibration of his phone as he typed out a message with one hand whilst cradling your shoulders with the other. You didn’t hear what he said next, but you felt the tension.

Steve’s voice came first, firm, questioning, but more concerned than angry, “Sam?”

“She’s okay,” Sam answered quickly, but his tone held a gentle seriousness. “Just dizzy, it came on fast.”

Then they were in front of you, hands replacing Sam and trapping you in a firm, steadying warmth. “What’s going on, baby girl? I thought you said you were feeling better?” Steve asked while cupping your jaw.

You cracked one eye open. His face was a mix of warmth and worry. Soft, blind hair falling over his forehead, navy tie loosened from the day’s meetings. 

“Feels like my head's trying to explode,” you admitted, leaning into his touch as Bucky’s cool metal fingers rested against your forehead, a welcome chill. 

“Oh, honey,” Bucky chided with a kiss to the back of your head. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

You tried to shrug, but even that made you dizzy, and you leaned completely against them. “Didn’t think it was this bad.”

Steve rubs a hand down your side, voice full of that calm, sturdy affection that always made you feel small and safe. “Next time, just call. We don’t care if it’s a sniffle or a stubbed toe.”

“Don’t say that,” you mumble with a slow smile, eyes closing. “You’ll regret it. I’ll call you over a papercut.”

“You already have, remember?” Bucky reminds you, “and we showed up, didn’t we?”

You nodded, letting your head fall against his shoulder, utterly worn out.

Sam stood to the side, stroking Dodger’s back. “She needs to lie down properly. She’s roasting. Either of you want to be the hero and carry her out of here before she melts onto the floor?”

Bucky scoops you up before Steve can even speak. “Already got her.”

You snuggled into his chest, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck, cheek tucked just under his jaw. Steve reaches out to brush your hair away from your face, thumb gliding down your cheekbone.

“Let’s get you home. PJs, couch, warm blanket, Dodger on your feet and us on either side. Deal?”

“Only if I get cuddles”, you say sleepily, trying to ignore the continued waves of nausea. 

“Non-negotiable,” Bucky responded.

Knowing you were going home to your safe space, with the men you loved, before long, you’re asleep in Bucky’s strong arms.

Your home was tentatively quiet when you woke up again, tucked under layers of buttery soft blankets. It smelled like home, with a mix of leather and cedar. Steve’s cologne. Lucky’s shampoo. The faint whiff of the chamomile tea someone had left on the nightstand.

You stirred a little, groggy but no longer dizzy. Your body still felt heavy, head clouded, but the pressure in your ear had dulled. The meds were kicking in.

You barely had to move before Bucky appeared, like he’d been watching for the slightest sign of life.

“There she is,” he says with a hushed voice. His metal hand smoothing over your cheek. “How are you feeling, doll?”

“Mm, better. A little out of it. Did I sleep long?”

“A few hours. You needed it.” His thumb brushes under your eye. “Steve’s making soup, you know his mom’s recipe?”

“Mmm, I can’t wait.”

A moment later, the door creaked open, and Steve padded in, barefoot, shirt sleeves rolled up, a steaming mug of broth in one hand and meds in the other. “There’s my girl,” he grins as you reach across the bed for him. “Think you can sit up and take these for me?”

Nodding slowly and with Bucky’s help, you ease upright, his body bracketing your side like a warm shadow. Steve set the tray down, handed you the glass of water first, and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Ear still hurting?” he asked gently, crouching beside the bed so he could be level with you.

You nod again. “Still feels weird. Like there’s water in it.”

“That’s the fluid's buildup, Doll,” Bucky explains, his voice close to your temple. “The antibiotics will clear it up. Until then, you’ve got us.”

Steve fed you a spoonful of the warm broth, careful not to spill a drop. You leaned into Bucky’s touch, his hand stroking your thigh under the blankets, grounding you.

“Can I just stay here forever?” you say after your fifth spoonful, drowsy and warm and utterly loved.

“Forever and then some,” Steve promised.

Bbucky leans in, his lips brushing your jaw. “Want us to rub your back? Run you a bath?”

You blink up at them, your two giant boyfriends, both hovering like you might break if they breathed too hard, and your heart swells with love.  But under it, something else was growing.  A low, needy ache deep in your belly.  The kind of want that came not from heat or lust, but from craving. From knowing who you belonged to and when they cared for you like him, you just wanted to be as close as possible.

You shifted, turning in Bucky’s arms, your fingers toying with the collar of Steve’s shirt where he leaned against the bed.

“Can I…”, your voice was small and unsure. “Can I just be… full?”

Their eyes darkened in tandem, but not with hunger, with understanding.

“Yeah, Sweetheart,” Bucky encouraged. “You want to cockwarm?”

You nod, already pressing your cheek to his chest. “I’m not up for more, but I just want to feel you both.”

Steve leans in, kissing your forehead. “You don’t have to ask twice, but if it gets too much, please let us know.”

Between the two of them, they undressed you with careful fingers, gentle touches, little verbal praises, hands skimming warm skin and sore limbs. They shed their clothes only halfway, enough for what you needed, enough to wrap you up in head and safety and them.

You ended up straddling Steve, soft thighs splayed over his lap, your chest against his as Bucky kneeled behind you. They were slow, careful. Steve guided himself into you with a low groan, holding still as you sank onto him, every inch sending sparks through your fuzzy brain.

The stretch was just what you needed, the burn in your pussy replacing any thoughts you had on feeling unwell. Bucky kissed your shoulder, his cock nestled between your rse cheeks, his arms wrapped around both of you as you rocked gently into Steve’s body, more from instinat than intent before settling down, resting your face against the firm chest of Steve.

“Just like that,” Steve encouraged, cradling your head. “You’re so good, baby girl. So soft for us. We’re going to look after you.”

You whine softly, shifting your hips slightly until you are filled just right, locked around him, your body melting into theirs. They didn’t move much after that, just held you closely. Steve’s hands rubbed slow circles into your spine. Bbucky pressed kisses along your neck and shoulders, whispering things you didn’t even fully register.

Eventually, your hands wandered. One snuck down Bucky’s arm, fingers catching his wrists, tugging gently. You kissed his scarred knuckles, then sucked two of them into your mouth, moaning softly t the taste of his skin.

Bucky hissed, pressing tighter behind you, his chest radiating warmth into your back. “Fuck, Doll….”

You popped your mouth off his fingers, long enough to whisper, “wanna feel you both finish inside me.”

That shattered the fragile calm both men were desperately trying to hold onto.

Steve’s groan rumbled deep through your body as he tilted his head back against the headboard, his control fracturing. Bucky’s hand tightened around your waist, voice rough against your sensitive neck.

“You sure?” he rasped.

You nodded. “Need it. Want you both.”

Steve was first to move, hips bucking just once, slow but deep, dragging a broken sound from your lips as you cling to him more fiercely. Your pussy clenches firmly around his cock, needy and greedy for more. 

Bucky reached between your legs, cool fingers finding your throbbing clit with practiced ease. “Then let’s make you cum first, Doll. Let you feel every drop after.”

You were so close already, teetering on the tip of insanity. One breath, you were mentally begging for their bodies, the next, you could hardly breathe in time with the way Bucky’s fingers circled.

Steve was panting beneath you, his cock twitching inside in time with each of your internal pulses. His thick fingers held onto your face, brushing your cheek with his thumb, eyes locked on yours like you were the one thing that mattered.

“You’re doing so good, baby girl. So fucking beautifful. You feel so perfect,” Steve encouraged gently, but held that authority that naturally came over him when they were together.

Bucky’s lips were on your shoulder again, his teeth teasing with sharp nips against the soft skin there. “Cum for us, Sweetheart. Wanna feel you soak his cock, you can do it.”

You were already there before his perfect praises. Body tightening until pulses of pleasure gripped your cunt to Steve with fierce overwhelming stimulation.

You whined as the orgasm took you, slow at first, a full-body bloom that made you shiver in their arms. Steve moaned loud and low as you squeezed around him, your slick soaking his cock as you came with his name in your mouth.

“There you go,” he whispers, voice shaking as he gently squeezes the front of your neck, keeping eye contact. “That’s it, baby. That’s our good girl, you feel so fucking good.”

Bucky didn’t stop touching you until you were wrung out and twitching, tears caught in your lashes from how good it felt. You slumped forward, lips against Steve’s throat, your thighs shaking around his hips.

And then, just as you were starting to catch your breath again, your hips began to rock against him with a soft whimper. “Please, I want to feel both of you finish inside me.”

Steve’s hands flexed from where they now rested on your hips, holding you down as he gave a deep thrust. “I’m gonna fill you up, baby girl. You’re gonna take every drop, yeah?”

You nod lazily against the facial hair covering his throat, mewling as Bucky gave his own thrust from where his cock continued to rest between your arse cheeks. Not even inside you yet, but already so close to how sweet you looked coming undone.

“You want it, Doll?” Bucky growled in your ear. “Want us both to make a mess of you?”

“Please, Sir. Please, I need it more than anything,” you beg pathetically, reaching behind your head to stroke his cheek.

That was all it took.  Steve’s hips jerked, and with a low, guttural moan, he came deep inside you – hot and heavy, his forehead pressed to yours. You felt it flood you, the heat of it, and it made your already spent body ache for more.

Bucky was right behind him, one hand fisted in your hair, the other clamped on your hip as he rutted hard against your ass, his cock slick between your thighs. With a curse and broken gasp of your name, he pushed his cock into your pussy as Steve’s spent cock slipped out.

Mixing together, Bucky’s cum joined Steve’s painting your insides in a delicious, possessive claim. Everything was hot and trembling limbs.

And then complete and utter silence.

The three of you remained in the recovering bliss for moments, or hours, you couldn’t tell as you were slumped entirely against Steve.

A soft kiss to your temple, with strong fingers kneading into your scalp, Steve was the first to speak, “You okay? Do you need anything, Baby girl?”

“Just…stay.”

Bucky chuckles against your back, kissing your shoulder. 2You’re not going anywhere without us.”

Without moving you too far, they eased you off of Steve’s lap slowly, carefully. A soft hiss left your lips as Bucky’s cock slipped out, and Steve immiedaltey reached for a towel that was conveniently placed next to the bed, having thought ahead.

Bucky cleaned you up with steady hands, tenderly between your thighs, murmuring soft praises and kisses to your body as he went.

“That’s our girl, took us both like a dream,” he said, voice thick with affection.

You could barely keep your eyes open, but you smiled sleepily, completely boneless in their arms. Steve momentarily disappeared but returned with a nightshirt and a fresh bottle of water, prompting you to sip before you even had to ask.

And then, without needing to speak, they each took their place. Steve was behind you, arm wrapped tight around your waist, whilst Bucky moved in front, hand stroking your cheek as you drifted.

You nuzzled again his palm, blinking sleepily. “Still feel floaty.”

“That’s ok, Doll. We’ll keep you grounded,” Bucky promised, barely above a whisper as you finally slipped into a peaceful sleep.

[dakusan]

Under the weather, under their care.

stray kids ot8 x reader | comfort, sick day fluff

🌙 synopsis: you’re sick. your head hurts, your throat’s sore, and your body feels like it’s made of led. lucky for you, the boys don’t take your sick days lightly. from dad-mode chan to chaotic nurse han, here’s how each member would react to you being under the weather.

💌 a/n: I made this upon request, @cybergracie, she's sick, I HOPE U GET WELL BESTIE 🥺. this is a fluff-heavy, comfort-core piece. each member is written with personality accuracy in mind—not just idealized bf fluff, but the actual way they’d show care in their own unique ways. also: please imagine han beatboxing your fever away. thanks. ps. reblogs = love

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the divider

🎶 Now Playing: "Still With You" — Jung Kook

Bang Chan // 방찬

The second he notices something off—your voice a little hoarse, your body a bit sluggish—he’s on it. Doesn’t matter how tired he is, he’s clocked it. You barely get a chance to brush it off before he’s already adjusting his schedule around you. If he's on tour or at the studio, he’ll be checking in constantly with messages like:

“Did you eat anything yet?” “Are you resting properly?” “Don't make me come home early, I will.”

When he is home, though? You’re not lifting a single finger. He’s all over the place—running to the pharmacy, heating soup, fluffing your pillows, and making sure you’ve got water within reach at all times. He’s quiet about it too, not making a big deal, just subtly doing what needs to be done because taking care of the people he loves is second nature to him.

You try to tell him you’re fine, and he just raises an eyebrow.

“You’re literally shivering. Don’t argue with me.”

He doesn't smother, but he's present. Keeps a calming hand on your back while you nap, plays soft music in the background to soothe your headache, and watches over you without making it feel overbearing. He reads the room well—gives you space when you need it, but never strays too far.

If you get emotional or frustrated about being sick, especially if it messes with your routine or makes you feel helpless, he gets it. His voice goes softer. He cups your cheek with a warm hand and murmurs:

“You don’t have to be strong right now, okay? Just rest. Let me take care of you for once.”

He will pull out the dreaded herbal stuff his mom used to make him drink when he was sick—“it tastes like sadness but it works”—and insists on staying up to monitor your fever, even if you beg him to sleep.

He keeps your hair out of your face, wipes your forehead with a cool cloth, and kisses your temple like it's instinct. Being with Chan when you're sick doesn't feel like being a burden—it feels like you're being wrapped in care, in love, in quiet devotion.

He won’t let you thank him too much either.

“You’d do the same for me. And besides, this just means I get extra cuddles when you’re better.”

Lee Know // 리노

He notices immediately. You don’t even have to say anything—just one look at your slightly pale face, the slower blink, the off rhythm of your breathing, and he’s narrowing his eyes like:

“You’re sick, aren’t you?”

When you try to deny it, he just stares you down until you give in with a sigh. You’d think he’d tease you, but no. Lee Know becomes uncharacteristically serious when it comes to your health.

He's not dramatic about it, but he’s efficient.

The moment you admit you’re not feeling well, he’s already on his phone checking what’s in the pantry, planning what you can eat, and quietly adjusting his day to make sure you’re not alone. He doesn’t announce it. He just does it.

He shows care through actions—not babying, but making sure you’re comfortable. Your favourite blanket suddenly appears around your shoulders. The heating pad is already plugged in. He hands you medicine without saying a word and watches to make sure you take it properly.

He cooks for you—but don’t expect anything fancy. You’re getting classic, warm, nourishing meals, exactly the kind of food that won’t upset your stomach. And yes, he’ll roast you a little:

“It tastes bland because you’re sick. What, you want Michelin-star when your nose is running?”

He absolutely will not cuddle you while you’re contagious. He’ll stay close, sure—sitting at the edge of the bed, folding laundry nearby, occasionally brushing his fingers through your hair with a sigh—but full-on snuggles? Nope. Not until your fever’s gone and you're cleared.

But he doesn’t leave the room either.

He stays just far enough to keep from catching whatever you have, but close enough to monitor you. He keeps one earbud in to give you peace but always pulls it out the second you shift or wince.

And when you wake up coughing at 3AM? He’s already by your side, handing you water before you can ask. His voice low and gentle, like:

“Don’t talk. Drink first. Breathe.”

If you start crying or feeling weak, that’s when he gets quiet. He won’t overwhelm you with comfort, but his gaze softens. He tucks you in tighter, hand lingering just a little longer against your forehead.

“You’re allowed to be sick. Stop trying to act like you're okay all the time.”

Later, when you’re getting better and a bit more dramatic than necessary (maybe asking him to fluff your pillow again), he smirks and rolls his eyes.

“You’re milking this. I know you.”

But he still does it. And when you're fully recovered, that's when the affection comes back in full—teasing kisses, long hugs, and a quiet,

“Don’t get sick again. I don’t like seeing you like that.”

(And maybe a whisper when he thinks you’re asleep:

“You scared me a little, you know.”)

Changbin // 창빈

The moment he finds out you’re sick, he goes from 0 to 100. Like, you text him “I think I caught something” and five minutes later he’s blowing up your phone with:

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SOMETHING??” “How bad is it??” “Do you need me?? Should I come over?? I’m coming over.”

When he does show up, he’s carrying way too much. A full bag of random groceries, multiple drinks (some contradictory—like, why ginger ale and sports drinks and vitamin C packets?), tissues with lotion, and something pink and fluffy that you’re not even sure has a purpose.

And he's breathless, out of breath from rushing, still in his hoodie and slippers like he didn’t even stop to fully change.

“Okay—okay, first things first—do you have a fever? No, wait, let me check—no, you don’t check, I check—”

He's definitely the type to Google your symptoms while sitting next to you, holding your hand like you’re dying. You cough once and he’s already deep into “early signs of pneumonia” and quietly panicking.

But here’s the thing—under all that chaotic energy is someone who really, really cares.

He wipes down surfaces, makes you take medicine on time, and paces while you nap because he can’t sit still when you’re unwell. If you so much as shift in your sleep, he’s immediately next to you.

“Do you need something? Water? Blanket? Me? I mean—I’m here—just say the word.”

He tries to cook. Like really tries. Follows a recipe video step by step, but ends up making the kitchen look like a warzone. The food is edible, and honestly, it tastes way better than you expected—but it comes with a sheepish smile and a “Don’t die, okay? I put my soul in that rice.”

He’s the type to encourage you to laugh through the misery, even if he knows you feel like crap. He’ll pull out his silly voice impressions, make faces, or randomly do aegyo just to get a smile out of you.

And when you’re too tired to respond? He quiets down. Holds your hand gently. Tucks the blanket up to your chin and just stays close.

“Rest, jagi. I’ll stay right here. I promise.”

And if you thank him too much, he gets all bashful and dramatic again:

“Stop being cute when you’re sick! I’m trying to focus on taking care of you, not falling in love all over again!”

Hyunjin // 현진

When you tell Hyunjin you’re sick, he gasps like you just confessed a tragic secret.

“You’re what? Sick? You?!”

He's immediately distraught. Not because he doesn’t know what to do—he actually does—but because he hates seeing you like this. His empathy is through the roof. If you're miserable, he's basically miserable by osmosis.

He shows up in a long coat, scarf, and a tote bag full of oddly curated items: a sketchpad, multiple fancy drinks, a candle he claims will help “cleanse your aura,” and a tiny stuffed animal “to guard your bed.”

But once the theatrics die down, he’s incredibly gentle.

He speaks softly around you, like he’s scared to disturb your peace. Brushes your hair back from your face with his knuckles. Gets you tissues and cool compresses and rubs your back when you cough. He doesn’t make a fuss out of helping—you just look up and he’s already kneeling next to the bed, adjusting your blanket with care.

“I don’t like this. You should always be glowing. You’re supposed to be warm and smiley and annoying me with your weird jokes.”

He doesn’t necessarily cook full meals, but he’ll cut fruit for you like a seasoned Korean mom. Brings you sliced apples and pears with toothpicks and arranges them in little patterns. He lights the candle (of course he does) and hums softly while you rest.

And when you fall asleep, he doesn’t leave.

He curls up at the foot of the bed like a quiet cat, sketchbook in his lap, drawing you as you sleep—not in a weird way, just a soft “I want to remember you like this, even if you’re sick” way. His lines are delicate. Thoughtful. Honest.

If you start crying out of frustration or exhaustion, he immediately drops everything to cradle you, whispering into your hair:

“Hey. It’s okay. You don’t have to hold it in. Let me carry it for you.”

He’ll cry too, but quietly. Not to take the attention off you—just because it genuinely hurts to see someone he loves in pain.

And when you finally start to feel a bit better, he brightens like the sun peeking out after rain.

“You’re healing,” he says, brushing his knuckle under your eye, “and when you’re fully better, we’re going to go out and celebrate your immune system.”

Because of course he would.

Han // 한

Han freaks out immediately—but it’s not super helpful at first. You text him something simple like “I’m feeling kinda sick today,” and within ten minutes he’s calling you with a full-blown gasp:

“OH MY GOD YOU’RE DYING—okay no you’re not dying BUT LIKE—ARE YOU OKAY???”

He’s definitely pacing back and forth in his room, still in pyjamas, with a headband holding his hair back and zero plan on what to do. He panics first, then pulls himself together. His love language is chaos-then-action.

He shows up at your place with a bag that makes no sense: two different kinds of ramen, a random juice box, cough drops, chocolate, three stress balls (“in case you’re bored”), and a neck pillow. No medicine. No actual meals. Just vibes.

“Okay okay, hear me out—I panicked. But I brought snacks and love.”

Despite the scattered brain, he pulls it together when it really counts. He’s attentive. He’ll sit next to you while you rest and hold your hand loosely, thumb brushing over your knuckles. He won’t say anything for a while—just watches you with those big, warm eyes full of concern.

If you’re curled up and miserable, he’ll adjust the blanket for you and say in a surprisingly soft voice:

“I don’t like seeing you like this. I’d rather be sick instead.”

(He means it. But also, if he got sick, he'd be 10x more dramatic than you. Bedridden. Needy. Demanding forehead kisses every five minutes.)

He makes you laugh without even trying. The moment your fever breaks a little and you can sit up, he’s already putting on dumb videos, doing weird impressions of your doctor, or lip-syncing to ballads with way too much emotion.

He’ll also say stuff like:

“If you die, can I keep your hoodie collection? Not because I want them, just so no one else gets them.”

Followed by:

“Wait, no, don’t die. You’re the only person who laughs at my weird jokes.”

He’ll write you a freestyle rap while you nap. It’s bad. It’s so bad. But it’s from the heart. And you wake up to him beatboxing quietly next to you, working on rhymes like “She’s sick but she’s slick, with tissues so quick—uh, what rhymes with thermometer?”

And even if he makes light of it, he doesn’t leave. Not until you’ve eaten something. Not until you’re tucked in. Not until he’s made you laugh at least once.

“You’re not allowed to feel gross. You’re still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen—with or without the sniffles.”

Felix // 필릭스

Felix immediately switches into guardian angel mode the moment you tell him you're sick. His brows knit together with concern, and he softly goes:

“Oh no, darling… Are you okay? What hurts? What do you need?”

His voice somehow gets even softer than usual, and that’s saying a lot. He doesn’t waste time—he’s already got a mental checklist going. He shows up at your place like a quiet storm, arms full of carefully selected things: your favourite tea, fresh fruit, his cosiest hoodie (the one you steal all the time), and a little handwritten note that just says “rest well, lovebug 🤍” tucked into a book.

He moves around your space like he’s done this a thousand times. Lights a soft-scented candle. Makes you tea—ginger, lemon, honey, everything—and hands it to you with both hands like it’s sacred.

“Sip slowly, yeah? It’ll help your throat.”

He speaks in a hush, like he’s scared to be too loud and disturb you. But even more than that, he listens. He watches your cues. If you don’t feel like talking, he sits quietly and rubs your back in slow, rhythmic circles. If you’re cranky or frustrated with how you feel, he’s patient. He doesn’t dismiss it. Just murmurs,

“It’s okay to be upset. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

He won’t let you feel guilty for needing help. He doesn’t even think twice about it—it’s just natural to him to care for you. He’ll spoon-feed you porridge if you’re too weak to eat (with a soft, teasing “open up, baby~”), fluff your pillows, and offer to braid your hair to keep it out of your face if it’s long.

And when you’re really out of it, in that floaty feverish state? He hums lullabies to you. Soft, low, breathy melodies while running his fingers through your hair, grounding you like an anchor.

He’s physically affectionate but gentle—he won’t cling if you’re uncomfortable, but he’ll press a kiss to your forehead with reverence when your fever starts to come down.

“You’re getting better already. That’s my strong baby.”

When you start feeling a bit better and try to apologize for being so out of it, he just shakes his head and smiles that soft, dimpled smile:

“I’d take care of you a hundred more times if it meant I get to love you this much.”

Seungmin // 승민

You text him: “I think I’m getting sick.”

His reply:

“Wow. Weak.” “Do you want me to come over or are you going to survive this incredibly tragic cold on your own?”

He teases you endlessly, even when he’s already halfway out the door with a tote bag full of essentials. He’s not the kind to show up flustered or chaotic—he’s cool, collected, and annoyingly prepared. He stops by the pharmacy like it’s a casual errand, picks the right kind of medicine, and shows up at your place with soup containers labelled with the exact heating instructions.

“Because I know you’re going to ignore me when I leave. So I made it idiot-proof.”

Despite the constant roasting, he’s weirdly good at caretaking. Like, scary good. He’s probably done this for the other members a million times. He doesn’t hover, but he keeps you on schedule—meds on time, hydration checked, food warm. He sets timers on his phone like:

“Every 4 hours, you're drinking something. I don’t care if it’s water or juice. Just not coffee. Don’t test me.”

He definitely sits at the edge of your bed or couch with a mug in hand, watching you like a judgmental hawk while you eat something.

“Chew slower. You sound like a vacuum cleaner.”

He’ll bring over one of his own hoodies and act like it’s no big deal when you snuggle into it—but there’s a flicker of fondness in his eyes when you do.

If you’re really sick and end up crying or feeling gross, Seungmin’s whole vibe shifts. His voice softens. His teasing fades out, and he looks at you like you’re fragile—but never in a pitying way. Just... attentively.

“Hey. Don’t do that thing where you bottle everything up and pretend you’re okay. You're sick, not invincible.”

He sits beside you, holding your wrist gently and checking your pulse like he knows what he’s doing (and honestly? He kinda does).

When you’re asleep, he doesn’t leave right away. He stays long enough to make sure you’re breathing evenly, your fever’s down, and that your glass of water is full. He’ll tidy your space a little—nothing crazy, just enough so that you’ll wake up feeling a bit more at ease.

And if you ask him why he’s being so sweet the next day?

“Because I don’t want you to die. Who else would I bully?”

And then under his breath, as he's walking away:

“…Plus, I care about you. Obviously.”

I.N // 아이엔

Jeongin freezes when you tell him you’re sick. Like—deer in headlights, soul leaving his body—kind of freeze.

“You’re… sick?? What do I do?? What am I supposed to do?? Do I call Chan-hyung?? Is there a number for this??”

He genuinely panics at first, not because he doesn’t want to help, but because he doesn’t want to mess anything up. He’s never fully confident in these situations, but the second he realizes you need him, he pulls it together real fast.

He shows up at your door with the most random collection of items: yogurt (he read online it helps), a bag of cough drops (he bought 3 kinds just in case), a warm scarf (that he knitted, sob), and a tiny teddy bear he won at a claw machine a week ago.

“He’s here to keep you company when I can’t. Don’t get attached, though. He’s still mine.”

Once inside, he’s constantly checking with you—nervously, but sweetly.

“Do you want porridge? I can try making it… it might be weird though.” “Do you feel hot? Like fever hot, not hot-hot. Not that you’re not hot—okay never mind—”

He’s flustered. So flustered. But he puts 200% effort into everything. He follows tutorials to make you soup and burns his tongue taste-testing it (“worth it”), tries to fluff your pillows in just the right way, and keeps offering you water every ten minutes.

He might pace a bit when you're napping, muttering to himself like:

“Okay, don’t forget the medicine at 2. And check the temperature. And don’t forget to smile when she wakes up. But not creepy. Calm smile. Natural. Chill. I'm chill.”

If you’re too tired to talk, he’ll just sit nearby, playing quietly on his phone, occasionally peeking over to make sure you’re okay. He doesn’t leave until you force him to rest too. And even then, he sets an alarm so he can wake up and check your temperature in a few hours.

And when you’re finally feeling better, all the tension leaves his body in a big sigh of relief—and he gets shy.

“You’re okay now… That’s good. I didn’t really do much but… I’m glad I was here.”

Then adds with a soft, sheepish smile:

“Next time, let me take care of you before you pass out trying to act fine, okay?”

He’s your little protector in disguise—nervous, thoughtful, and quietly proud of himself for stepping up when it counted.