#I want to feed him soup . and then put him through the mattress

[direful]

need mithrun So fucking bad btw he is exactly my type

[your-girl-mj]

morning after [1610!miles × f!reader]

summary: morning after with hangovers and your sweet boyfriend miles

warning: mama rio in early mornings /jk

note: she/her for reader, he/him for miles. aged up!miles and reader <3

created: august 10, 2023

published: august 15, 2023

first part | second part.

[name] woke up feeling wasted the night before, which is true. she blinks the lights out until she gets used to it. looking around, she just figured out she's in miles's room.

she was scooted to the far corner of the bed, blanket neatly tucked her in, with an empty side of the mattress.

the girl slowly sat up, and she was hit with a major headache. hammering into her brain. a groan left her lips before she lay down again to make it stop.

[name] was rubbing the side of her head when miles came into his room. "hey. morning, baby." he was holding a bowl of freshly made soup, with a towel hanging on his arm. he spoke so softly to her, scared that any loud sounds would make her hangover worse.

"hi," matching his tone, she looked confused at the bowl in his hands as miles gave her a peck on her crown. "what's this?"

"breakfast, i made it." he grinned proudly. with a twip sound, he shot a web to glass of water at the table across the bed. when he retrieved it, the water spilt and wet the floor, "oh shoot—!" he was quick to send a sheepish beam

a giggle erupted from her throat, "you're such a dork." miles laid the towel on her lap and put the bowl in her hands.

"don't eat it yet," then taking off to get towels on his drawers, muttering; "didn't think that one through."

"¿mijo, estás bien por ahí?" mrs morales' voice is heard from outside the room, [name] peak at the agape door she saw her cleaning the kitchen. she's cleaning the mess miles made. [son, are you okay over there?]

"buenos dias, señora." the girl greeted, slowly sitting up again, as mrs. came in the room. not noticing miles hanging the now wet towel by his window sill next to his newly washed jacket. [good morning, mrs.]

"¡buenos dias, mija!" her voice made a slight knock on the brain, but [name] smiled warmly at her mother-in-law. "¿ya te lo comiste? miles lo hizo solo para ti." [good morning, daughter!] [did you already eat it? miles made it just for you.]

"not yet, but i'm sure it's good—" the girl was about to sip, but mrs. morales stopped her before she could get a taste. the spoon full was frozen in mid-air as she waited for the woman's words, thinking she did something wrong.

"ah!" a single sound makes it feel like you did something you should've. "mijo, feed her. i'm getting her some aspirin." with that, she left the room, leaving the door open for reasons.

"i was gonna before you came in," miles muttered a comment, rolling his chair closer to the bed, smiling at his girl who mirror it back.

"what did you just say?" mrs morales swiftly turned to face where his room is. her tone is blaring enough to be heard loud and clear. hands rested on her hips with a deep frown.

"i said, i was already planning to, mama!" miles cupped a hand over his mouth, not wanting to make [name]'s hangover worst. "sorry 'bout the noise, [nickname]." he sends a sheepish grin, stirring the soup, then scooping a spoon full and feeding her.

the two can hear mrs. morales muttering along the lines of, "if i heard one bad mouth, i'll ground him for three months. mummbling and muttering, i will woop his—" and the rest is mystery.

"its okay," she replied once swallowed, "i like lively mornings with you," [name] rested her hand over his, a beam never seems to left her features, "any morning with you, to be honest. it's been a while since i stayed over." with that, she continued to eat as he fed her. mrs. morales order's.

miles feel the same warmth in his heart at his girl. thinking about it, it's been a while since they spent the night together, and it's because he's busy being spiderman, a son, and a student all together. he only has a little time to be her boyfriend.

he soon feels guilt in his chest once again, the same one he felt last night. he now knows what she meant when she said he cancelled another date. sober [name] said it was fine while drunk [name] is saying she feels unloved.

they do say drunk words are sober thoughts.

before miles can bring up the topic, his dad already there to join the chaos. "what's the fuss all about?" he gave his wife a bear hug from behind. he's already in uniform, ready for work.

"my daughter has a hangover," mrs. morales stated, she finally found the medicine, and strolled her way back. those words never fail to make [name] melt on the spot.

"kidnapping is illegal." mr. morales reminded her, making himself a cup of coffee. his wife ignored his words and set water on the table as well as the aspirin the girl needed.

"drink this once you're done eating. miles, you're in charge of her." she gave him a firm look before pulling the door to only a few inches open.

"i'm starting to think she loves you more than me," miles shrugged, taking a few sips on the soup as well before feeding his girl. his eyes are literally heart-shaped as he looks at her lovingly.

"sorry, you have to find it this way, babe," [name] matches his tone, drawing a chuckle from her s/o. after a short moment, she leaned to his headboard with a sigh. "sorry, i got drunk. you probably had a hard time getting me home," she refused to meet his eyes, playing with the helm of the blanket on top of her.

"nah, it's cool. you're adorable when you're drunk." he kissed her on the nose, which she crunched up in process. "do you remember anything yesterday?" thinking she might be able to recall what she said to him.

as miles fetch her water and medicine, she couldn't help but get curious. "no. did we swing to your room?"

"if we did, the streets in brooklyn will be close for major clean up." his hand was fast to catch the thrown book at him, just seconds after his spider sense activated. he spun to face her, dorky beam is present to his face.

his girl only narrowed her eyes at him, "i don't know if i should be pissed or attracted to you right now." miles only shook his head with a laugh.

he thought back what her words were about last night. he wanted to make things clear and apologise for cancelling his dates with her more often than he intended.

she did say she doesn't drink, but why change that last night? he thought about it. clogs working on his brain before he was hit with reality. but he wanted to confirm it before assuming.

"is there any reason why you..drink last night?" miles asked gently and worried at the same time, not wanting to make her taken back with the sudden question.

"uh.. i kinda wanna know what it tastes like and... i guess i lost track.." it was the hesitancy in her voice that made his assumption higher. "this thing tastes amazing, by the way. i didn't know you had a chef dna in your blood." [name] smiled lightly, holding the bowl up then setting it to his bedside table.

changing the topic, he thought. "what can i say? i'm a genius," he hid his flustered expression with a smirk. miles hand her the aspirin, sitting beside her on his bed. miles watched her chugged up the water. once she was done, he started, "y'know, you can tell me anything, right?" taking her hand in his. miles' other hand put the cup away, right next to the bowl.

as the heat of his palms envelopes hers, it made her lean her body to him, swallowing the heat of his body, head on his shoulder. miles gladly accepts the gesture, wrapping his arms around her. "i know you basically know all my secrets." chuckling, she played it cool.

miles rest his head on top of hers, breathing out a sigh, "not all of them.." pulling her to his lap, just letting her rest. he peaked the crown of her head. "¿Por qué bebiste hermosa?" [why did you drink, beautiful?]

[name] can tell he was worried, she also feels a little guilty. miles let her play with the helm of his shirt, folding and unfolding, tugging it, wrinkling it. whatever made her to process her words to say. "i don't know.."

"you don't know?" his hands tapping on her thighs, before drawing — doodling on her back with the tip of his finger. they're completely relaxed to each other, to the point they didn't see mrs. morales sneaking a picture of them, then letting them be.

"i was... feeling kinda lonely, i guess.." she crumbled the bottom of his shirt, "i don't really know.." she whispered, dancing around the truth. she's too embarrassed to admit that she misses him dearly,

they've been like this for almost a year. few months after miles became spiderman, he's always there for her.

they still have time together, but after a few times of miles missing a date or hangout... those few times became often. and she feels like she's his best friend again, just.. hanging around for a short while before he leaves.

"y'know, you told me you feel unloved because i always cancelled our dates..." miles feel her hands stopped fidgeting, her state completely frozen. "is it true?"

when [name] only stayed quiet, he suck his teeth. "hey, it's okay if you do. i won't cancel on you again, i promise you."

"...i—" she took a breath, "i don't want to feel like a priority to you..." miles frowned at that, "you're already busy being spiderman, and with your studies not to mention with your parents, i don't want to squeeze myself in there—"

[name] was unable to finish as his lips pressed into hers, miles pulled away from a second, looking at her briefly before locking their lips in a kiss again.

once pulled away, the girl is in awe for a short amount of time before hiding into his neck. miles gave her ear a kiss, whispering. "you don't have to squeeze yourself in. you're already in it." sighing, disappointed to himself, "it was my fault.."

"miles..." she shook her head, ready to deny his words.

"no, don't deny it." he pulled away, looking at her beautiful face, cupping it in his hands. "I've been a bad boyfriend to you for so many months now... and i'm really sorry, sunflower.." [name] feel her heart skip a beat at the old nickname he always call her when they started their relationship, where everything was perfect.

the nickname brought both nostalgia.

"i wanna make it up to you, and not just flowers, chocolates, and some drawings." holding her hands in his, he kisses each and every finger and knuckles, "i want to make it up to you in a real date, without any interpretations. just me and you." his eyes held hope and determination. he doesn't want to mess this up.

[name] feel a smile crept to her lips before it was wiped out and worry was replaced. "but miles, what if—"

"dad can handle it." miles immediately answered, but her expression didn't change, she feels like she would be the reason why someone would get hurt because spiderman didn't show up. "they'll be okay. it will only be once in a while. there are no super villain on the loose for them to need me. dad can handle a few criminals."

the smiled he adored came back, making him mirror it. "okay," she nodded, pulling him into her once again, "i missed you."

"i missed you too, sunflower."

sorry for not posting sooner, writer's block beat me like miguel beating miles (child abuse /jk) 😔

[kisscara]

Hey hey~! Can I perhaps request a light angst about reader getting really sick(not to the point where it’s fatal) but ends up coughing a lot and scara/wanderer gets scared because of what happened with the kid in his third betrayal??

(´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)♡

promise me? [scaramouche x gn!reader] ⎯⎯ angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, fatui!scaramouche

a/n: HURRAY an angsty req to get myself fired up and i hope you like this anonnie :3

scaramouche idly stands outside of the bedroom door. he looks down at the bowl of soup in his hands. his heart makes little tugs of pain each time he hears you cough and endless thoughts run through his mind as he recalls the way he lost someone else in the exact same way.

but you wouldn't. you'd never. all you've ever been to him is loving and understanding. surely, there's no way that you'll leave him so abruptly. then again, that's the way he thought with them. scaramouche hesitates before using one hand to push the door open. he enters the room with his eyes fixated on your figure.

"oh, scara, i told you that you didn't have to stay back today. aren't you-" you stop short to cough before continuing with a strained voice, "aren't you busy?" scaramouche mutters, "are you an idiot? i'm not leaving you home alone in this state." he sets down the bowl onto the drawer by the bed and sits with you.

you notice the way he avoids looking into your eyes as he slowly mixes the soup with a spoon. "i'll be okay, scara. you know me and my immune system." you make a futile attempt at comforting him. scaramouche lightly scoffs, "i never said i was worried."

you sink in your spot with a pout. "liar." at that, he finally looks up to meet your gaze but you turn your head the other way with your eyes closed. scaramouche huffs as he tries to feed you the soup, "don't be difficult, (name)." you lie down on the bed, eyes still closed, and you slip under the blankets.

"i'm not looking at you 'til you believe me." you say, voice muffled by the sheets. scaramouche deadpans, "c'mon, i do believe you. i... i'm not worried about anything, okay? worrying's for weaklings such as you." he puts the bowl back onto the drawer and pulls the blanket off, only to find nothing.

scaramouche looks around and notices your head of (color) hair at the side of the bed. he gets onto the mattress and peers to where you were sitting on the floor. "i don't like it when you think like that, scara." you murmur, picking at your nails. he joins you on the floor. "think like what?"

you finally look at him and your soft gaze is one full of sorrow. "like i'm going to leave you." scaramouche gulps at your words and looks away, only to be stopped by your hand gently cupping his cheek to face you. "i love you and you know that, or do you?" you query.

he tightly holds your hand holding his face, "i do! i do know that, i just..." scaramouche's eyes scan yours for anything. 'say something, please.' he's begging and tears blur his vision. you wipe a falling tear, "if you know i love you, then why can't you put your full trust in me?"

you sniffle as your own tears peek at the corner of your eyes, "it hurts me to know that you think i'll leave you in the blink of an eye." scaramouche shakes his head and his vulnerable side comes out into the light. "no, no, it's... i don't want you to end up like him." there's parts where his voice cuts off and you sigh.

"i promise you," you push your lips against his and whisper, "i won't leave you but you have to promise me that you'll do the same and that you'll trust me from now on." scaramouche falls silent. you tear up even more, "promise me, kunikuzushi." he wavers before holding your face in his hands. "i promise, (name)."

you thinly exhale, "thank you." scaramouche gives you one last kiss of reassurance. "i promise." he plants kisses all over your face and neck before returning to your lips. you laugh and hold him back by his shoulders, "dear, you're going to get sick." scaramouche mumbles, "i can't get sick so,"

he wraps your waist in his arms, "let's stay together just a little while longer." you bury your face in his neck, "okay." you pull away and get back onto the bed, "now, are you still going to feed me?" you smile as he sits by you. "yes, now come here. i'm going back to work tomorrow, so you better be well by the morning."

you sit on his lap and he holds a spoonful of the soup in front of your mouth. you carefully sip it as to not spill any and burn your tongue from the heat, no less. scaramouche is bound to get another spoonful but you stop him by hugging his torso. "i feel better already."

scaramouche's pupils dilate.

he rolls his eyes, "that's not going to work on me. i know you hate ginger soup but you have to take this." you whine, "but seriously, it tastes bad..." scaramouche tsks, "do you want to stay sick forever?" you look at him and grin, "yeah. so then, you'll stay home everyday and take care of me!"

scaramouche places a hand on your head, "no. finish eating or i'll make you take medicine instead." you panic and sit up, "but that's not fair! i had one spoon, that should be enough!" scaramouche squints at you, "a spoon of soup is not the same thing as a spoon of medicine."

you grip fistfuls of your hair in frustration, "i thought the fatui were stupid!" scaramouche scoffs, "not me, because i chose you." you pause and sputter out in a laugh, "you're so corny." he gets out of the bed, "medicine it is."

© kisscara

[illicitlamb]

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝. 𝖶𝖾𝖽𝗇𝖾𝗌𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗑 𝖳𝗒𝗅𝖾𝗋

— entry for 2024 Wyler Spring Fest [@weylerwritingevents] │ inspired themes: change, spring allergies

summary: Tyler cares for a sick Wednesday.

—word count: 1.2k

—warnings: mentions of vomiting

—a/n. this was something i wrote really quick because i've always wanted to participate in a writing event like this. i didn't have a lot of time so i hope this is good enough. :)

Tyler carried the steaming bowl with one hand while the other knocked on his bedroom door. But when there was no response, he cracked the door enough to slip through and shut it in his wake. Setting the bowl on the bedside table, he faced the blindside of Wednesday’s still body to reach out with a gentle hand.

“Wednesday?” His voice hovered above a whisper while he brushed her bangs back. Her brow gently hardened under his touch before she rolled over to look up at him through narrowed eyes, a groan pressing her throat. “Hey. I made you some soup.” A chuckle left his lips when she only blinked. “Yeah, I know it’s not your favorite, but it’s the best thing to eat when you’re sick.”

He placed her pillow against the headboard so she could sit up properly. Bringing a spoonful to her mouth, she parted her lips but not to take him up on his offer.

“I’m sick, Tyler, not disabled.” Her voice was still hoarse and was held hostage in a softer tone. “I can feed myself.”

Galpin beamed awkwardly. “Oh, y-yeah. I just didn’t want you to spill it on yourself.” Those dark orbs of hers struck like sharp, onyx gems as usual. “I thought you might still be a little loopy from the cough syrup.”

“I was never loopy,” grumbled Addams.

He nodded. “Aye-aye, captain.” Handing her the bowl, he watched her stare at the broth before taking a sip. Then another. “Better than taking medicine, huh?” She had fought him on taking medication, claiming that doing so only compromises the immune system’s natural defenses further. Or in simple terms: adapt or die.

The other glared at him. She did not appreciate his humor even if she did prefer the soup over thick, cherry-flavored syrup and horse pills. Although she did not like soup much more, it did soothe her raw, sore throat.

She only glanced away when the Hyde’s hand pressed her forehead for a moment.

“You still feel a little warm,” he reported and then touched her cheek. “That might be because you’re under the covers.”

Wednesday did not bother keeping the conversation focused on her. “I thought you had to work this evening.”

“I was, until I found out you won’t take care of yourself.”

“I’m not a child,” her comeback was quick but more mellow than she anticipated. “I know how to take care of myself, Tyler. Trying to do a good deed by forcing medicine into me and waiting on me, hand and foot, isn’t going to have a good word carved on your epitaph.”

The other smirked. “I’d hope not.” He sat down on the edge of the mattress. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I’m just tryna be a friend, Wednesday.” On seeing the weariness in her pale face, he decided to leave her be for the time being.

Once the Raven finished as much of the broth as she could manage, Tyler took the dish downstairs and allowed her to occupy herself with her book while he focused on his laptop. The two kept quiet for about 30 minutes before Wednesday’s voice broke the silence.

“Tyler?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you come sit with me?”

This had Galpin turning in his desk chair. He found that she had put her novel on the side table and was sitting further up as if she was uneasy about something. “Sure,” he responded, getting up from his seat. “Are you okay?” He rounded the bed to meet the mattress.

“I’m just a little nauseous.”

“Okay, well, I have Pepto. That might help.”

But she shook her head. “No, I just-” Her stomach churned, forcing out what she never thought she would ever ask him. “Could you just stay with me?”

“Yeah, anything you need,” was his vow. As she released a nasal sigh, he glanced at his computer and hatched a quick idea. “Do you want to watch something to help take your mind off of your stomach?” Luckily for him, she gave a somewhat-reluctant nod.

Returning with his laptop, he sat back against the headboard and scrolled through his downloaded movies. “Is there anything in particular you wanna watch?” He left it alone when the other’s reply was a quiet “you choose.”

The beginning of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings trilogy flashed on the screen. The uncomfortable fizzing in Addams’s stomach persevered despite the proposed distraction. She chose to stay still to keep any sloshing at bay while her black nails curled into the covers beneath them. Normally, reading was soothing to her, but this time around, she could not focus on the words without the bubbling feeling in her stomach threatening to reach up her esophagus. If she needed to run to the bathroom, it was better to keep her book away from any possibility of being vomited on. While she was not too nauseated, she was waiting for that one moment to send her running.

Then she felt a hand touch her back.

“It’s okay, Wednesday. Just try to relax.” Galpin’s palm glided up and down her spine with strokes that leveled her nerves better than she knew was possible. No one had touched her like this before besides her mother. No one had ever dared to. To her surprise, it was something new that she felt was different… but in a weirdly, calming way.

Taking another deep breath, the Raven maintained her stiff position. Every now and then, she would feel the Hyde’s gentle caressing upon her six while trying to focus on the movie playing. Her claws began to loosen their grip as her stomach slowly leveled out with her anxiety. Yes, the film was something to listen to besides her contemplating thoughts, but that distraction was not what had her falling back into peace – it was Tyler who distracted her.

One thing led to another before Wednesday was lying down once more. She had shifted closer to the barista yet kept her head up to see the laptop’s screen. Her sinuses pulsed while her brain struggled to keep up with its ability to stay awake with each passing minute. But when she did finally give into sleep again, the other felt a weight lean against his bicep. 

Looking over, Tyler found shut eyelids and the soft rise and fall of his crush’s torso. Her head had fallen onto his arm like she could trust him for once. That was all he wanted. He wanted her to feel like she could trust him with whatever, whenever. He would always be there for her whether she liked it or not. Yeah, she drove him wild with her remarks and ways of doing things, but that somehow only made him fall for her harder, and made him want her even more.

And she would deny it, no doubt. She denied countless offers of his sympathy and refused his help with things that she struggled with. She was stubborn. It was in her blood, but it was also in her blood to fall in love as any given girl does. Outcast or not, she was still human, still had a beating heart, and still had just as much of a chance to have her steel walls come crashing down by someone who has the courage to love her. Tyler Galpin loved her; that was no secret. But if you asked Wednesday Addams if she loved him…

She would lie, without a doubt.

[diremoone]

Beautiful (Always) | Joel Miller.

w — female Reader, mentions of disability, Reader in a wheelchair, mentions of brain injury and loss of motor skills, use of “cripple” being self-derogatory on Reader’s part, Joel being a sweetheart and making Reader feel better

note(s): this made me cry a little bit while writing this. This second part to “Never, Ever” was requested and fueled by this ask. Thank you for requesting a second part and making me make myself cry lmao. I would’ve had this out sooner, but my sleep schedule got messed up D: Maybe I’ll have a Pedro fic out by Valentine’s Day hmmm

****

When you wake up three weeks later, Joel damn near cries.

He’s missed your eyes. He’s missed looking into them and getting lost in them. And when you open your eyes for the first time weeks after being comatose, Joel realizes that getting lost in your eyes has become part of his life. He realizes how beautiful they are and how they shine in the sunlight. He realizes how much, how important it is to him to see your eyes. Because for the first time in weeks, he doesn’t feel empty.

He doesn’t feel alone.

Joel is there for everything. Save for showering and using the restroom, he’s by your side constantly.

You need it, at first. Your motor skills are anything but what they used to be. You can feed yourself and use the bathroom by yourself, barely, but you can hardly walk or do anything else.

The blunt force trauma to your brain from Abby’s beating almost left you completely unable to fend or do much of anything for yourself, aside from the most menial of tasks. And even those take all of the energy you have. The unusual and abnormal strength and muscle you had acquired over the last twenty years was next to gone. You felt as helpless as an infant with the strength of an infant. You wanted to cry like one, too, if you were ever honest with yourself.

It was exhausting getting in and out of bed, too, having to rise and push yourself off of the mattress. Your arms and legs shook with strain. So Joel had taken it upon himself to get you in and out of bed and into your wheelchair every morning and night, hating the sight of seeing you struggle.

God, you loved him. Joel Miller would move Heaven and Earth for you if you do much as asked.

But God forbid those times you have to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.

But during those nights, you feel Joel’s hand on your back, carefully pushing you up and into the wheelchair. He’s always there, ready and willing to help you, no matter how tired he is.

****

Your hand shakes as you hold up the spoon to your lips. You hated this.

For over a month it had been this way. It had gotten better, but you were still shaking like a leaf, struggling to put the spoon up to your lips without spilling any of the hot soup Joel had made.

You drank the soup, closing your eyes and enjoying the flavor. Joel’s domestic skills were certainly shining through.

You dropped the spoon into your bowl, sighing heavily. Damn it. You wanted to slam your fist against the table. You were so weak. How could you be this weak?

“Something wrong with the food?”

At the sound of his voice, a faint smile stretched across your lips.

“Never.” You watch as Joel comes in and sits beside you. “But you’re home early.”

“Tommy sent me home early,” Joel answers, “also sayin’ I’ve got the day off tomorrow, too.”

“That’s nice of him.”

“Ah, he just knows I’m not worth much with you still being in recovery mode,” Joel admits.

“You don’t need to worry about all the time,” you insist, taking hold of Joel’s hand. He lovingly rubs his thumb over your skin. “I’m a big girl. I can still handle some things by myself.”

“I know ya can,” he replies, slightly unconvincing, “but that ain’t gonna stop me from worryin’, sweetheart.”

You love this man. You really freaking do. Your heart solely belongs to him, and you’d swear it in front of the entire world — well, what was left of the world, anyway — and in front of God himself. Under the altar, you mused, looking down, bashful of your own thoughts. I guess that’s why people get married.

“Joel…” You sigh. “You shouldn’t worry so much. Plus, it’s not good for your health, you old man.”

“Keep teasin’, see what happens, baby,” he says, chuckling.

“Sure thing, handsome.”

He grabs a bowl of the the beef soup and eats alongside you. It’s peaceful. It’s the most peaceful dinner you’ve had since your… incident.

“You showered?”

“That was the first thing I did this morning.” You shrug lamely. “Haven’t done much else.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “I can do the other stuff tomorrow.”

“I’ll help.”

“No—“

“Don’t piss me off, Joel. Or I’ll get up and walk out that door just to scare the shit out of you.”

Joel raises a brow, a smirk crawling up his lips. “Oh, yeah? Think you can?”

“Wanna fuck around and find out?”

Your smiles and his smirk turned into amused giggles and chuckles. He grabs your hands and kisses both of them.

“I love you,” Joel murmurs. “So much, baby.”

“I love you, too,” you whisper.

How fast the air of joy can turn into one of melancholy, you think to yourself sadly.

“You want anymore food, baby?”

“I’m good,” you admit. “Was actually really filling.”

Joel takes and rinses the dishes and places them in the left side of the sink, leaving them there to do tomorrow.

“Ya know, Tommy’s having a small party this coming up weekend,” Joel starts, “and I was thinking maybe we could go and have some fun. Tommy hasn’t seen you but twice since… you know. And I think he thinks you deserve to have some fun.”

“I think I’ll pass,” you say quickly.

He gives you a certain look, an unsure smile appearing on his face. Of course he was going to try to convince you.

You feel the tears of shame and embarrassment burning at your eyes. You can’t imagine going anywhere like this. Not like this. You can’t imagine going anywhere with Joel, because you felt like nothing more than a… damn deadweight. Not like this. You felt like nothing more than an embarrassment. You shouldn’t be sitting here in this wheelchair, unable to stand or maintain your balance to stand. You should be up and around, doing things around the house and the community to help.

“It might be good for you,” he said, drying his hands. “Lord knows people miss seeing you. Party might help lift your spirits, sweetheart.”

“No! Not like this, Joel! Not… like this!” you cry out.

You angrily slam your fist against the arm of the wheelchair over and over again, letting out broken-hearted shout that makes Joel’s own heart break.

Joel catches your fist and holds it tightly against his chest so you won’t continue to bruise and abuse yourself.

“Sweetheart,” he begins. “I—“

“How can you still love me? Even like… like this?” you sob out, sniffling and swallowing the snot in the back of your throat. It’s only now that the tears roll down your cheeks. They’re sticky and you dislike it. You hate it. You hate that your nose is stopping up. You especially hate that you’re crying in front of Joel. You were supposed to be strong, damn it. For Joel’s sake, you were supposed to appear unfazed, by both your trauma and your current condition. “I know I’m not a complete cripple, but I just hate this! I hate feeling so fucking… useless, Joel… I hate not being able to do the things I used to. I can’t even get out of bed without making myself tired all over again. It’s… It’s driving me nuts. And I feel like I’m going insane. And I feel like I’m letting you down, Joel. I’m nothing more than a burden, and I hate it.”

It’s silent after that, Joel unable to respond from the weight of your words. It’s nice to get it out in the open — everything you’ve been feeling out on the table. It’s been hard on you mentally, struggling constantly with the knowledge you were as helpless as you were, that you needed as much help as you did, especially doing tasks that never used to take up your energy but now take all of it.

But then he clears his throat and pulls the chair he was sitting in right up to your wheelchair. His legs touch yours, but all you can think about is how you can hardly walk from the kitchen to the bedroom without collapsing into the bed in a sad heap of tears and pain.

Joel’s big, warm, firm hands gently cup your cheeks. He softly tugs your face up, forcing you to look into his glistening eyes that are rimmed with tears. You look away in remorse and guilt, internally chastising yourself for making Joel cry.

“Look at me baby.” His tone is gentle but commanding, shaking with concern. And you do it, holding his gaze.

“First of all,” he begins, jaw tight, “don’t ever call yourself a fucking cripple. Don’t ever call yourself useless, because you’re not. You suffered a severe injury to your head savin’ my old ass. Don’t hate yourself for this. Don’t hate yourself for something that ain’t your fault… Okay? You’re not a burden, baby. Never will be. Why wouldn’t I take care of the woman I love?”

The tip of his nose touches yours and he gives a slow Eskimo kiss. He kisses away the tears rolling down your cheeks.

“I’ll always love you, no matter what. You’ll always be beautiful to me. Whether you’re in this wheelchair or not, which you won’t be for long considering you’re getting your strength back pretty quickly, you’ll always have my heart. I ain’t leavin’, you silly woman. Now, come on. Show me that pretty smile I love so much. I know it works, or do I need to press your smile button?”

You grinned, sniffling and wiping away your tears. Joel booped your nose (your “smile button”) anyway and chuckled too, happy to see your tiny grin flourish into a cheerful smile and giggle among your tears.

He wraps his big arms around you and pulls you into his lap. Your legs dangle to the side as he hugs you to him.

You sharply inhaled for breath and said, “I love you, Joel. I love you so much. Thank you for being with me.”

“I should be thanking you for being with me,” he laughs. “Who’d love an old man like me?”

You smack his chest. “You’re not old!”

“You’re right, with my knees creakin’, I’m ancient.”

“Joel!”

[oh-no-my-hand-slipped]

wind sneezes please? like not powerful enough to hurt someone but enough to cause havoc. they've caught a hell of a cold and now their snzfucker so gets to take care of them.

A Few Sunny Days

A Ficlet

****************************

Klaude groaned, feeling a familiar buzz in his nose. As much as he wanted to turn over and close his eyes, he weakly felt around for their handkerchief. As his nose began to twitch, he spread his fingers, and opened one eye.

The sheets were in a bundle at the end of the bed, and his handkerchief, which he had laid beside him, was nowhere to be found.

“Oh, gods abo-hove-!”

Klaude squeezed his flaring nostrils shut, and used his other hand to fling the blankets aside, but to no avail. In one last attempt to cover, he put both arms in front of his face and braced himself.

“Hih…hih…!”

Suddenly, Klaude heard the door creak open from behind his arms.

“Oh, you’re awake? How-”

“HYEKSH’SHOOOO!”

Klaude’s sneeze billowed from him, causing all manner of papers, napkins, and curtains to flutter into the air in a whirlwind. Bottles of medicine fell from the nightstand, crashing onto the floor. Klaude himself was even thrown a few inches off the bed, coming down with a loud thud and the squeak of springs. When he opened his eyes again, a concerned face was standing over him.

“I suppose you still don’t feel well, do you?”

Klaude sat up, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

“Oh, doe, I feel…snf…buch better than yesterday, Leif. This is a day’s sdiffles, is all. I’ll be fide as fog after I-”

Klaude began to cough, his throat sore after the sudden sneeze. Leif clucked his tongue and pushed him back onto the bed by the shoulders.

“You aren’t nearly well enough to get out of bed,” he said, pulling the bunched up sheets over the sprite again, “much less take reign of any more storms.“

“Id’s the season for it,” Klaude protested. “Whad’s winter withoud any storms?”

Leif ran his fingers through Klaude’s matted beard. “I know, my love, I know. But you shouldn’t conjure such weather in your condition.”

Klaude sniffled, having no more energy to argue. Besides, his nose was beginning to buzz again. Leif began to clean up the mess, sweeping up shattered glass and dabbing cough syrup off the carpet.

“I can cook some stew, if you’d like. You haven’t had anything since yesterday’s tea…”

“‘M dot hungry.”

Leif swept the glass into the wooden bin next to the bed. “You must eat something, Klaude. Feed a fever, starve a cold, you know.”

Klaude grunted. Thunder rumbled outside.

“Grumpy little storm cloud,” Leif said, chuckling. “I’ll make a bit of carrot soup - I know you like that. And some lavender tea for your throat.”

Klaude settled down into the covers, sniffling.

Leif smiled and leaned down, kissing Klaude on the tip of his red nose, then rubbed his own nose against it in a slow rabbit kiss. Klaude’s nostrils twitched.

“Don’d…hih…!”

Leif wrapped his arms around him, letting Klaude’s nose bury into his chest. He could feel the nostrils quiver against his wool sweater. Klaude’s muffled protests and desperate hitching only made Leif hold him even tighter.

“Hih…HYEK’TSSSHOOO!”

The mattress squeaked as the pair bobbed from the force of the sneeze. After a few moments, Leif withdrew, but not without a large wet spot down his front. Klaude’s eyes glazed, and he sunk deeper into his pillow.

“I s’bbose,” he rasped, “I could do with a few suddy days.”

Leif looked down at his ruined sweater, then gave Klaude a look just below his eyelids.

“Yes,” he said, grinning. “I suppose you could.”

[cobrrastyle]

Am a bit sick ATM so this is completely peojecty but ghost billy with a friend or so with a cold. I just think hes a great alternative to an ice pack if you have a fever

a.n. sure thing! that last bit got me chuckling LMAO and omg AUUGHHH noooo!! ANON! HYDRATE. remember to get plenty of rest 😭 take it easy, okay? if by the time you're reading this you're in good health—good. if not, i hope you get well soon! <333

𝗕𝗶𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮 𝗦𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝗦/𝗢

𝅘𝅥𝅲  gn!reader

𝅘𝅥𝅲  relationship. established romantic

𝅘𝅥𝅲  warnings. none

𝅘𝅥𝅲  edited. n/a

• he loves you. so much so its astounding. that being said,

• mf is gonna be grossed tf OUT at first.

• he tries to hide it, he really does, but when you start coughing and it sounds like that minecraft munching sound?? crunchy??? omg cue the crooked lop-sided grin, the guy breaks.

• the second he sees snot dribbling down your nose, mans will waste no time shape-shifting into some kind of hazmat suit.

• he insists comically and ever so dramatically that he doesn't want to get sick—the fact that he's a ghost flying completely over his head.

• like bruh be fr rn 💀

• offer to kiss him on the lips as a joke and he will visibly recoil 😭 again, he loves you, but there's no way he's going to do that!

• he will go out of his way for you tho! his bro spence has gotten a few fevers here and there, so he isn't entirely new to this sort of thing.

• doesn't take long before "doctor billy" takes over, diagnosing you with a bad case of the cold as if you didn't already suspect that yourself. goofiness aside, he's gonna do the best he can to make you feel better! mans was really looking forward to hanging with you and it hurts him to see you not at your best :(

• your wish is his command!

• feeling hot? say less! he will turn his arms into a fan and blow you away

• he's going to verbally consider plastering some ectoplasm on your forehead to cool you down. do NOT. i repeat, DO NOT let him do this unless you wanna ghostify yourself 💀

• cold? he's gotcha covered! he's going to steal blankets from the wrights and bring 'em to you.

• will rummage through your medicine cabinet, and cast any embarrassment aside 'cause he'll insist on spoon-feeding you your medication.

• very adamant on taking care of you and will not let you over-exert yourself. it's chaos if you're the type to get restless (having been in your bed for so long) and wanna get things done. be it college hw, work, or chores, he'll just escort you back to your bed (hilariously, by force if he has to).

• pull a trick on him by telling him to do stuff in another room, and it's only a matter of time before he catches you red-handed trying to leave your bed

"hey babe—whoa! no! you are NOT going anywhere!"

• personal hc incoming: he's a terrible cook. the cobra has never picked up a cooking utensil in his life! so when he tells you he's going to make you soup? INSTANT PANIC.

• you can try offering him some help, but don't be surprised when he lays you back down on your mattress. i'm telling you, it won't work. he's a man on a mission. nothing will stop him!

• he'll make a mess of your kitchen, obviously struggling, but you know he means well <3

• what he brings back isn't the most... tasteful dish. tbh it's hard to swallow whatever he's put in there with phlegm clogging your throat. you're over here on the verge of gagging and he's looking at you, eyes wide with anticipation.

"well? whaddya think? pretty good, huh?"

• please please PLEASE give him a smile + a thumbs up. for him! 😭

• eventually, sweet bby ends up craving your touch and he'll swoop right under the covers with you. to hell with feeling icky, he is needy!

• he'll smooch your forehead before resting his head in the crook of your neck <33

• billy may get a little stir-crazy after a while, but he'll never leave you on your own. it's at times like these when his acts of service shine!

• will clean the mess he made and tidy up your home a tad. gives it a little bit of the "cobra touch" while he's at it too!

• getting tired comes by real easy, but actually getting some shut-eye while having your nose stuffed/throat sore is a bit of a challenge for some. fear not! billy's gonna do whatever it takes to get your mind off it!

• counting sheep? nonno, we're counting bro puns in this house 🥴

• he does this cute little thing where he counts every pun on his fingers. he gets so in the zone that he's a little surprised when he turns to look at you and you're fast asleep. ofc, if you wanna stay up and join in on his little bro-fest, he's all ears!

• get into a coughing fit during all this and mans will go from giggling to screaming thinking you're dying 💀

• not in the mood? that's okay! he'll play some soft tunes on his guitar/keyboard to lull you to sleep, or generally as you sleep. he has no problem singing you to sleep either. in fact, it serves as a major boost to his ego when he's successfully gotten a few snores out of you!

• when it comes down to it, billy worries about you immensely and can't wait for you to recover💙

[t0rture-memoved]

Cat and Mouse p.8

[start] [previous]

{i don't think there is anything in this chapter that needs a cw? if i'm wrong please let me know!}

It took Danny a good while to realize that he was alone. Hell, it took him a good while just to stop having a panic attack. He wasn’t sure, but he might have even fell asleep in the ball he had curled himself it. By the time he returned to himself, Fish had curled herself up on the bunched up blanket at the end of the bed. Good, better she used it rather than him. It would just get him in trouble anyway, wouldn’t it? Better to just leave it alone.

Still, it was so cold in the basement. Maybe it would be ok… Just for a minute? No, no. Danny resolved to not touch the blanket at all, no matter how cold it got. Not until he knew it wouldn’t get him hurt. Maybe something warm to eat would help. He scooted himself across the bed to sit next to Fish, scratching he lightly behind the ears.

“Fishy~” Danny sang softly. “You hungry, baby?” Her ear twitched in response, blearily opening her eyes. She gave a little chirp and a yawn before nuzzling into Danny’s hand. “Ok, breakfast time… I think.” Tepidly, Danny stood from the barely-comfortable mattress, slowly so as to avoid irritating his whipped back and bruised body. He hadn’t gotten a chance to see all that Marcus had brought for Fish, so it was probably a good idea to make sure it was the right stuff.

[cut to marcus in a petshop talking to a clerk “my, um… son found a stray cat. I have no clue what i’m doing what do i need-]

The litterbox had already been set up, thankfully. A few toys, treats… Yeah, all the basics. No wet food, though. Danny frowned, Fish would be pretty bummed about that, but she’d have to put up with just the crunchies for now. He filled the little bowl with her food and set it on the floor, to which she happily trotted over. Danny gave her a pat on the head, then went to fill another bowl with water for her, putting it down near the food bowl.

“Sorry there’s none of the good stuff. I’ll have to add that to my next list.” If I survive that long, Danny added silently, shuddering at the thought. “Ok… Food for me now, I guess. I have no fucking clue what time it is, so I guess it doesn’t matter what I eat.” Danny mumbled, trudging over to the small cabinet where he had seen Marcus putting away the non-fridge stuff. It was a soup day, one hundred percent. Chicken noodle was a safe choice. 

Danny made quick work of warming up the soup. He brought the bowl back with him to the bed, but instead opted to sit on the floor next to it. Knowing his luck, he’d end up spilling it on the mattress and ruining it. The floor was frigid, but the hot soup quickly warmed him up from the inside. He had gotten about halfway through when he heard the basement door open. He froze, he couldn’t help it. His heartrate quickened as he watched Marcus walk down the stairs.

“Oh, good, I’m glad to see you eating.” Marcus said, surveying the room nonchalantly. “Why are you on the floor?”

“I didn’t want to spill on t-the bed, Sir.” Danny said quietly, his eyes flicking between staring at the floor and taking quick glances at the vampire in front of him. “Is it–” His breath hitched, “Is it night already? Do you need to, u-um, feed now?” Marcus almost chuckled in surprise at the question.

“No, no, that’s not for a good couple hours. I suppose you wouldn’t know what time it is.” He hummed. “I wanted to check on you. You were very upset when Ciaran and I left earlier.”

“I was having a panic attack… I was more surprised that it took me so long to have one here.” Danny mumbled. “Of course I was freaking out… Look at where I am… Who I’m with… I gave up my clothes, all the things you brought for me just so he wouldn’t take Fish away. And you keep going against him and making him mad, like you’re trying to get me hurt! And– And—” Danny cut himself off harshly, looking fearfully up at Marcus after he realized what he had said. “I– I’m sorry, Sir.” He whispered. “I didn’t– didn’t mean that, I’m s-sorry, I’m v-very grateful for y-your kindness, I’m so s-sorry, I–”

“Stop.” Marcus ordered. Danny snapped his mouth shut, looking blankly forward with wide eyes, unable to bring himself to look at the man in front of him. His hands were trembling now, though he wouldn’t have noticed had it not been for the ripples going through his bowl of soup. “I am sorry that Ciaran has been hurting you because of me. I understand that you are not in the best situation, but you need to watch your tone. This is a warning because you’ve already had a rough day.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.” Danny whispered again, still not daring to look at him. “Th-thank you, Sir.”

“It’s fine. You know I will have to punish you next time, correct?”

“Y-yes, Sir…”

Marcus heaved a sigh and sat down on the mattress, taking a look at the blanket laying untouched at the end of the bed. “Did you get a chance to rest after your panic attack? Did you use the blanket?”

“No, S-sir, I didn’t touch the b-blanket.” Danny shook his head, his stomach turned. What if Marcus thought he was lying? Would he get punished for using it? Would he get punished for not using it? Danny felt himself start to panic again. His knuckles turned white, a death grip on his bowl.

“Danny.” Marcus’ voice cut through the thoughts racing through his mind. The last thing he needed was the kid spiraling again. “You’re not in trouble. Why didn’t you use the blanket?”

“Didn’t wanna get in trouble.” Danny said shakily, trying to loosen his grip. Finally he let himself put down the bowl only to occupy his hands by picking at his nails. There was no way he was going to be able to stomach any more soup, now. “ ‘sides, Fish w-was sleeping on it.”

“Come here, Danny.” Marcus said, patting the mattress next to where he was sitting. Danny’s eyes flicked up to Marcus briefly. Hesitantly, he moved over to sit next to him, his shoulders stiff. Was he shaking from fear or shivering from the cold? Neither he nor Marcus could tell. Danny flinched harshly when he felt something drape over his shoulders. “If you don’t feel comfortable using it when you’re alone, that’s ok. But at least while I’m here, you have permission to use it. Ciaran will not punish you for using the blanket while I’m sitting here with you.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Danny let himself relax just slightly into the warmth of the blanket, taking the edges and tentatively wrapping himself up.

“If I stay down here, will you try to rest?” Danny nodded mutely. Marcus’ hand found Danny’s shoulder and guided him to lay his head in Marcus’ lap. “Good boy.” Marcus pulled a small book out of his pocket and began to read silently.

“Sir?”

“Hm?”

“If it’s ok, would you, um, read to me? Please?”

Marcus was already almost done the book, Danny wouldn’t understand what was happening in the text at all if he started reading to him now. He paused for a moment, looking down at the boy laying on his lap.

“Sure.” He hummed, turning back to page one.

Taglist - @whumpsday @pumpkin-spice-whump @ramadiiiisme @octopus-reactivated @wolfeyedwitch @whumpiguess @thecyrulik @whumpeedeedoo @morning-star-whump @interdimensional-chaos

[molotovmetro]

Finn with a sick/injured s/o

I've been in a big Finn mood lately, so enjoy :) let me know if I need to add a tag or warning

Warnings: sickness and mentions of vomiting, injury, mentions of surgery, not explicitly mentioned but references to being in a short coma

If you're injured:

The second Finn finds out, he drops everything and run half way across HQ to get where you are

If you need any kind of surgery after getting hurt, no matter how big or small, Finn is going to be inconsolable. He wants to see you and see for himself that you're okay, but they're not letting him in and no one is telling him anything concrete and he's so, so worried - yeah, he's panicking

Once they let him see you, he's not going anywhere. He beats himself up over not being there for you when this happened, and he's not letting you out of his sight for the time being so he can protect you. He knows it comes with the dangers of the job, but he can't stand seeing you in pain

The doctors have given up on trying to get him out. They know he won't budge. But Captain Redfield cleared him to stay, so they couldn't kick him out if they wanted to. He sleeps in the chair next to your bed with his head on the mattress and his hand tightly holding yours untill you wake up. And when you finally do, he cries in relief

Once you can go home, he doesn't stop being overprotective. He wants you to rest and heal, so he'll do basically everything he can. He'll go get anything you need, if you're injured in a way that makes it hard for you to walk he'll carry you, he'll help you shower and dress so you don't pull your stitches... He's a sweetheart, and he'll jump to help you in any way he can

If you're sick:

From the moment he finds out you're sick, he's fussing over you

If you're at work, he's probably not going to let up untill you go home and get some rest. But if you woke up sick, he'll tuck you back into bed and if he can, take the day off to care for you

He honestly doesn't have much experience with caring for others, though. So he'll call his mom to ask for help. She tells him what meds he can give you for what symptoms, and she talks him through the process of making you soup. He takes it way too seriously and treats it like he's dismantling a bomb, but it pays off. It's slightly too salty, but its honestly not at all bad. Although its probably better because he's insisting on spoon feeding you himself

He makes sure you always have plenty of comfortable blankets and keeps around a water bottle and makes sure you stay hydrated, especially if you're throwing up. It's easy to lose fluid that way, and he knows being dehydrated will only make things worse. Speaking of which, if you throw up, he'll sit there with you to keep your hair out of your face and to comfort you as he rubs circles on your back. He doesn't care that its gross, he'll wipe the snot off of your face if necessary. You can't help being sick, and considering he works with BOW's, he's not very squeamish

If you have a fever, he'll put a wet washcloth on your forehead. It's a bit silly how he's walking back and forth to the bathroom to make sure it stays cold, but it's also incredibly endearing how seriously he is taking this. You'd probably be fine just sleeping it off, but having Finn there to take care of you makes you feel better already

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 7.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: both non-sexual and sexual pet play, dom!jimin, sub!jk, sub!tae, handjob, yoongi and yn pretending like they don't wanna suck the souls out of each other, exhibitionism, voyeurism, mutual masturbation

A/N: welcome back to my best boys ;;;;-; this chapter is being cross-posted from ao3. in the future i'll try and upload in both places at the same time!

DAY TWENTY-THREE

It’s two blocks of pure ice that wake Taehyung up that Tuesday morning. Before he’s even really coherent, he’s hissing and tucking into a ball away from the cold.

“Puppy, shh, it’s just me.”

Even as those chilled items that Tae can tentatively identify as feet tuck between his bare legs, he goes lax and accepts the body that wraps around his curled back. “Minnie,” he mumbles, and it’s so quiet that the older boy probably doesn’t hear, but his grip tightens anyway. “‘What time ‘s it?”

“Early, I’m sorry.” Jimin’s voice, unlike his thawing toes, blows warm across the back of Taehyung’s neck. “Missed you.”

A sleepy smile of bliss crosses Taehyung’s face for exactly three seconds, at which point he recalls the fact that he didn’t go to sleep alone tonight. Shooting up so quickly that his shoulder catches Jimin’s chin, Taehyung peels his eyes open to see Jungkook, awkwardly hugging a pillow to his chest with his legs crossed.

He bites his lip, avoiding their gazes. “Sorry, I, uh, don’t mean to disturb.”

“Shoot.” Jimin rubs his face blearily. “I didn’t see you there, Jungkookie. I should go-”

“No, no, stay,” Taehyung begs hurriedly, launching himself back onto the mattress and wiggling himself back into the curve of Jimin’s front. “Jungkook, um, you can come cuddle too if you want. I like being middle spoon.”

The youngest gazes back and forth at them, never resting long enough for eye contact. His indecision is palpable, but there’s a pleased glimmer too. “Is that...okay with Jimin-hyung? I don’t wanna intrude.”

Jimin’s voice is soft, his eyes slipping closed as he eases his face into the crook of Taehyung’s neck, arms snaking around his torso. “You can be a part of us too, Jungkookie.”

The words are perhaps more intimate than Jimin even realises, and in the vulnerable setting of a bed in the early morning hours, Jungkook’s hard swallow is audible, before he slowly puts the pillow aside and tucks his feet under the covers, slipping down. It’s not until Taehyung’s arm is his headrest and the other one provides a comforting weight low on his hips that he speaks up again. “Do you… do you mean that just for now, or… Or for good?”

“What do you think, Minnie?” Taehyung’s fingertips trace lazily over the bare skin that’s exposed by Jungkook’s shirt riding up. “Can we keep him?”

Jimin hums in affirmation. He’s just about asleep again, but Taehyung can feel his pleased smile against his shoulder. “Of course we can, puppy.”

The repeated nickname causes Taehyung’s heart to twitch just as his dick does. It’s no less endearing and special, but Jungkook is still perfectly awake and right there, and it feels a little confronting.

But Jungkook just chuckles, twisting around in Taehyung’s slack embrace to face him, eyes bright. “If you’re a puppy, what am I?”

Taehyung’s careful not to jostle Jimin. He’s begun snoring, nothing more audible than regular snuffling, but still Tae doesn’t want to disturb that rest. “What do you mean, Jungkookie?”

He scrunches his nose, thinking away. “Well, there’s Minnie and there’s puppy. I want a cute nickname too if I’m gonna be - you know - with you guys.”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung begins haltingly, “Jimin calls me puppy because… God, it feels silly saying it out loud. He calls me puppy because sometimes when we’re together I go into puppyspace. You know; like petplay.”

“That’s not silly,” Jungkook says reflexively, even as his eyes widen and lips part. “What’s it like?”

“Puppyspace?” Taehyung asks. Jungkook nods eagerly, and the motion is transferred through Tae where they connect, making Jimin grunt and bury his nose deeper into the crook of his neck. “It’s so peaceful, Jungkookie. He takes care of me so I don’t have to think. I can nap and cuddle and play, without all of the stresses of life. It feels all warm and cosy, you know? I love it.”

Jungkook’s eyes sparkle in wonder, his fingers finding their way to Taehyung’s worn black sleepshirt, fiddling with the hem. “Can I try? How do you… how do you know if you can do it?”

Behind Taehyung, Jimin lets out a half-asleep groan, his nose pressing against the taller one’s back. “Of course you can try. Let’s just sleep for now, though? I’m sure Minnie can play with both of us later.”

It’s that promise that allows Jungkook to settle, nodding with a tentative hum and shifting down so that his head can rest in the crook of Taehyung’s neck. Taehyung falls back under like this, with a heartbeat thrumming against his back and soft, even breaths tickling his bared shoulder.

--

“Hobi?”

Hoseok pauses, frothed toothbrush clamped between his teeth. “Mmng?”

“I don’t-” you cut yourself off, clearing your throat to dislodge the thickness that distorts your voice. “Can we not tell them?”

He bends over to quickly spit out the majority of toothpaste, but when he stands upright to face you again there’s a smear on his chin. “Tell them what?”

You blink. “Last night. I just… I don’t want them to- to pity me or treat me like I’m glass or anything. I know it won’t happen again, it was just…” Shrugging hopelessly, you give up on trying to put words to it. “I don’t know.”

The dom remains silent for a few moments, lips pursed in thought. “The chicken must have been bad,” he concludes.

Bewildered, you cock your head to the side. “Huh? What chicken?”

“You and I went out for dinner at this fried chicken place, but when you got home last night it made you sick. That’s why you aren’t quite yourself today. I’ll get Yoongi-hyung to make some hangover soup.” His eyes are warm, pulling you into a comforting one-armed hug. “Just the chicken, that’s all. Yeah?”

You swallow down the swell of gratitude and instead bury yourself into his safe embrace. “Yeah. That’s all.”

To his credit, Yoongi doesn’t ask questions, pushing all his concern into his cooking. The doctor all but feeds you himself, hovering with a furrowed brow and a napkin. Strangely enough, his fussing goes a long way in cheering you up, and you let the events of yesterday wash away with the salty broth.

Hoseok hangs around for a while before going down to do some laundry, Namjoon briefly jumps in to steal a spoonful directly from the pan, eyes never leaving the novel he’s holding open with a single hand. Even Jungkook stumbles in blearily at one point, nose first, requesting an extra two bowls for Jimin and Taehyung as well.

You’re onto your second serving by the time it’s just Yoongi and you. He’s pulled up a chair beside you, cradling a coffee. “I got a text this morning, you know,” he begins gently. “I can ignore it if you’re not up to it.”

It takes you a moment to process his words, recalling Sejin’s instructions the day prior. “It’s your day, then?” He nods silently, scanning you for any reaction. You hum, spoon swirling lazily in the dregs of your breakfast. “I’m up to it,” you answer finally, “if you are.”

“Always,” Yoongi replies immediately, voice bared and soft. His hand passes over yours, squeezing briefly, before he stands up and clears the bowls from the table. “Aspirin is in the pantry if you need it, blue container.”

You give him your thanks, left alone as he disappears upstairs.

Grabbing a glass and pouring yourself some water, you track down the aspirin and take out two tablets, grimacing as the bitterness sticks to your tongue. While you may not actually be sick, a headache was beginning to bloom between your brows.

So much had happened in the past few days, you almost felt like you’d gotten whiplash. The early days of lounging around the house and chasing pleasure seemed so distant. Feelings tangled things up more each day, unraveling quicker than you can get a hold on them.

It wasn’t just you, either. You saw the way the guys looked at each other, how gentle they were, how thoughtful. It was in the little things. Jungkook’s laundry pile started featuring clothes from the other maknaes; Namjoon and Hoseok always sat so close together, even when there was room on the couch; Yoongi had started giving the others bigger portions when he cooked, even as his stayed the same. And Jin…

You startle when a door opens, glass almost slipping from your hands. It’s the unfilmed room across the stairs. You frown as a tall figure slips out, swamped in a massive pink hoodie that you’d never seen in the house before. A sleeve-covered hand reaches up to rub under the hood, dark hair poking out. Your breath catches. Jin…

He moves across the hall gingerly like his body aches, hand never leaving his face as he grumbles sleepily. For a split second, your mind entertains the thought of sprinting past before he sees you, avoiding the conflict that is no doubt upon you.

But only for a split second. Because the only thing worse than being confronted by him is not seeing him at all. You wait, instead, until he rolls his shoulders back, tipping his face to the ceiling to stretch out his spine. The hood falls back, exposing a serious case of bedhead, tired eyes, and sallow skin. But it’s Jin nonetheless, beautiful despite his apparent exhaustion, and your heart breaks again for being the one to cause this.

He notices you when his head comes back down from the stretch, and were you not in such despair you may have cracked a smile at the way he jumps. “Y/n…” he mumbles, voice barely audible.

Your mouth goes dry. Even if it wasn’t you don’t know what to say, simply bracing yourself for anger.

He doesn’t stiffen his features, however, simply watching you with melancholy eyes. “You look sad,” he says weakly.

Your heart is racing a hundred beats a second at just hearing him speak to you, and it takes you that much time just to process his words, eyes pricking sharply. “I am sad,” you reply honestly, blinking the wetness away. “You look tired,” you whisper in return.

His bottom lip trembles, before flattening tightly. Instead of responding verbally, he just nods.

The two of you sit in that silence for a while. Jin’s breathing is ragged, his eyes unfocused as they slip past you. You think you might be sick with the way your stomach flips.

Finally, you can’t stand the silence. “Are you still mad at-” you begin, but your words die in your throat as you’re enveloped tightly by him, clutching you so close that your chest constricts. The tensed breath you didn’t know you were holding rushes out of you with a sob, and your arms fly up to hug him back, just as tightly.

There’s nothing more than just a simple hug, but your heart is still full, almost overwhelmed by the cathartic relief of having him close to you again, his chin resting on the crown of your head, his hands rubbing circles on your back, the gentle sway as he rocks you in the hold.

It lasts for an eternity too short, and when he pulls away you feel untethered, already pining for that contact again.

His eyes are swimming, though you see the way he tightens his jaw to hold it back. “I’m devastated,” he admits, “but I miss you too much to ice you out like this. I need time but god, I don’t want space. Can you give me time?”

You’re nodding hastily, sniffing as your nose threatens to run. “Of course, Jin. I’ll be here. I… I think I-”

“Don’t-” he interrupts sharply, sucking in a shaky breath. “Don’t let now be the first time we say it. Later,” he promises.

We. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps, electricity thrumming along your nerves. You let that word settle you, repeating it in your head as Jin sends you a sad smile - but a smile nonetheless - and takes his leave, disappearing upstairs.

You decide to take a bath, in the end, letting yourself soak in the thought of “we” a little longer.

--

“So, what, we start barking? Chew on some sticks?”

Taehyung colours violently and Jimin sends Jungkook a sharp glare in rebuke. “Say less,” he scolds the youngest, before reaching up to run his fingers through Taehyung’s hair, breaking up the curls. “We just ease into it. Taehyung doesn’t use it for humiliation or anything like that, he just likes being taken care of. Isn’t that right, pup?”

Taehyung hums, eyes already fluttering as he leans his head into Jimin’s palm. The three of them had migrated onto Taehyung’s now-made bed after their breakfast after Jungkook once again mentioned wanting to try petplay.

Significantly larger than Jimin, Taehyung has to awkwardly shuffle down the mattress further to rest his head in Jimin’s lap, but Jungkook can immediately see the lines of stress that melt away once he does so. Jimin smooths his hand down to cup the younger’s chin, delicately stroking the soft flesh as if he were patting a sleepy dog.

“You’ll just watch for now,” Jimin instructs Jungkook without removing his gaze from Taehyung, “and if it feels right, you can join in. There are no expectations and no rules, only to respect the process and don’t disrupt Tae’s petspace. Got it?”

Jungkook swallows as Jimin chooses that point to lift his steeled gaze, brows high as he waits for Jungkook to agree. “Got it,” the youngest confirms. He gets comfy, tucking his feet under him and leaning up against the pillows.

“Such a lucky boy,” the dom begins with his voice like melted sugar. “Dogs aren’t meant to be up on the furniture. But you’ve been good lately, so I thought I’d treat you.”

Taehyung’s eyes flutter closed. He shuffles slightly, stretching one leg out until his ankle dangles off the edge of the mattress, but doesn’t audibly respond.

Jimin chuckles fondly through his nose, hand running down to rub up and down Taehyung’s clothed tummy, which is now facing upwards. “Oh, pup,” he coos, “you must be tired after the big walk. How about we rest for a bit, and we can play later?” Instead of waiting for a response, the dom just gasps like he’s forgotten something important. “Oh! Your collar! I must’ve taken it off when I took off the leash. Never mind; Jungkook, dear, could you get me the brush and collar out of the bedside table? Bottom drawer.”

It feels like the very particles in the air shift when Jungkook is ripped away from the observer role and into an active participant. He swallows away the dryness in his throat to little avail and nods, fumbling with the drawer handle and pulling out a barely-used hairbrush and velvet dog collar. “These?” he asks redundantly, nerves settling when Jimin gives him a pleased smile and holds out his hand.

“Alright, little puppy,” Jimin announces, his voice lilting easily back into the candyfloss tone that all owners used with their pets. “Let’s give you a brush before we put your collar back on. I don’t want your coat getting matted.”

Taehyung gives a small, throaty hum and lifts himself laboriously up onto his elbows, tipping his head up to his master. Jimin pats his cheek warmly and calls him a good boy, and Jungkook gets a front row seat to the beautiful sight of a sleepy, lusty Kim Taehyung going pink in the face, a shy smile twitching his lip.

‘Brushing his coat’ is just brushing his hair, but even Jungkook can see that the technique is slightly different. Jimin does it slowly, methodically, line by line from the front to the back, then reaching around to the nape of his neck to give it a good brushing there - Taehyung all but shivers at each swoop of the brush - even folding down each ear when he goes past. Watching it is nothing short of mesmerising, and Jungkook feels his spine tingle, wanting to feel it too.

Was it too soon to join? He could always ask for the brush later, he decided. Though even as he reached that conclusion, the thought was slipping out of his mind sand through fingers, hazier and hazier the more he listened to Jimin’s lull tone and watched his patient movements.

“There we go,” the dom whispers, passing the brush over one last time to settle all the curls in their rightful place, “much better now. Chin up, pup; time for your collar.”

Taehyung’s chin lifts the minutest of degrees. Jimin waits for a moment, but the brown-haired boy looks almost like he’s falling asleep on the spot, swaying slightly as his elbows prop him up.

“Silly me,” Jimin tuts with a smile, reaching out to manually adjust Taehyung how he wants him. “Doggies can’t understand human words, can they?” Like a proud parent, he turns to Jungkook, grin widening as he sees the state the boy is in. “I am trying to teach Tae-tae some commands. Sit, lie down, wait. Suck. He’s getting better.”

With that, the dom grabs the collar off the duvet and fiddles with the buckle, undoing it so that he can wrap it carefully around Taehyung’s neck. The process reminds Jungkook much of what happened when his parents put a collar on his childhood dog: slipping a finger under the material to test how snug it was, shifting it around until the small dangling pendant was to the front, giving it a little tug to ensure the buckle was on right.

At the gentle tug, Taehyung practically topples, going lax with his face down on Jimin’s thigh and snuggling down, breaths even. Jimin doesn’t comment on it, simply humming in acknowledgement and returning to softly stroking his back and shoulders. But he does glance over to Jungkook again, eyes glinting. “Do you wanna come a little closer, hm?”

At the invitation, Jungkook almost trips himself scooting over, wrapping his arms around one of Jimin’s and holding it to his chest. Seeing the tender moment shared between Taehyung and Jimin had made him feel positively touch-starved, desperate to feel some of that sweet attention.

Jimin’s eyes widen in bemusement before twisting his hand in Jungkook’s grip and giving his stomach a little scratch. “Goodness me, little energizer bunny, huh?”

Jungkook whines, recognising that higher-pitched voice. He was being talked to like a pet, and the thought made his insides hot. He presses his face against Jimin’s shoulder, feeling the heat on his skin there too.

“No need to get all shy on me now, bun,” Jimin teases. “I’ve already seen that little friend in your pants. Well, I suppose he’s not that little.”

Jungkook tightens his arms around Jimin’s one, wanting to rock his hips up to feel some friction. He just squirms instead, hoping his need is answered. “Jimin-hyung.”

Jimin sucks in a breath. “Can this bunny speak, hm?”

Jungkook blinks, the furnace inside him cooling for a moment. “Am I not… supposed to?”

“I’m not telling you off, I’m asking,” Jimin explains softly, cocking his head down at the potentially-sleeping Taehyung in his lap. “Tae-tae likes to be non-verbal. It’s just preference. Would you rather keep speaking?”

After a moment of thought, Jungkook nods, then props his chin up, sending Jimin his best puppy eyes. “Minnie, I need you,” he pleads in a small voice, writhing against him again.

Jungkook’s fingers curl when Jimin’s hand dips lower suddenly, grasping his length from over the fabric of his sleep shorts. The pleasure is like a bolt that shocks his whole body, and when Jimin strokes him once, the texture of the fabric increasing the friction, the guttural sound that falls from his lips is more animal than human.

Jimin just smiles placidly, patting the throbbing heat once. “Does it hurt, bun? Want me to make it go away?”

“Y-yeah.” Jungkook’s breath is shallow with excitement. This feels like new territory, relying fully on Jimin to relieve the ache, too helpless, too stupid to do anything about it himself, just a dumb bunny with a generous owner.

“You’re drooling, bun,” Jimin points out, voice raspy with arousal. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

Jungkook feels fingers at the elastic band of his shorts before Jimin withdraws. He whines, a pout threatening to form, but the dom just runs his fingers and palm over Jungkook’s mouth and chin. Then, when his hand delves in and grips Jungkook, he’s slick with Jungkook’s own drool, the slide wet and hot and electric.

He moans, but saliva won’t stop gathering in the hollows of his mouth. It’s like it’s impossible to close it at all, every firm, purposeful stroke making it harder to do that basic function.

“Noisy boy,” Jimin scolds, though there’s no venom to his tone. “You might wake the puppy up, bun.”

With a strangled groan, Jungkook’s head flops down, his teeth banging against Jimin’s shoulder. A thought floats across his dazed mind, of pressing his teeth into skin, lovebites to colour the bronze.

But his teeth don’t sink into flesh. Fabric fills his mouth. Jimin’s shirt. His teeth don’t stop, though. On the contrary, he chews on the cotton, letting it muffle the sounds he can’t help but make.

“Oh, good boy,” Jimin praises warmly, his hand speeding up mercilessly to pitch Jungkook over the edge. There’s no foreplay, no kisses or teasing touches. His hard cock is a problem that his master is kind enough to solve, that Minnie-hyung is making go away, and he won’t stop until his bunny has finally-

When Jungkook comes, his whole body feels it like an earthquake. Every muscle jerks, pulses so that his toes curl and his core trembles, the drool soaking the fabric of Jimin’s shirt now until he feels it run down his own neck, blubbering through the waves of it.

Jimin slows down after the first burst of cum, but doesn’t stop, only tightening his grip like he’s milking every last drop out.

Once the tides of pleasure have dipped back down again, Jungkook goes boneless, whimpering until the hand finally leaves his softening, oversensitive cock.

He’s panting, all of his body weight on Jimin to stay upright, and it takes a few moments for his senses to properly return to him, his heart still beating erratically in his chest. “Oh, fuck.”

Jimin giggles elfishly, before reaching up to tap on Jungkook’s bottom lip with wet fingers. “You made such a mess, little bunny. Clean it up, now.”

Jungkook welcomes the digits, blinking blearily as the bitter tang of his own cum fills his mouth. He sucks Jimin’s fingers clean two at a time, swirling his tongue between them dutifully. It isn’t until he’s done and Jimin is praising him that he restores enough energy to sit up again.

Across from him, Jimin peels the soaking wet sleeve of his shirt off his shoulder, laughing softly in good humour even as his brows furrow at the weird feeling. Before Jungkook can offer up an apology, Jimin is stripping it off entirely, chucking it away and rubbing at his now-bared chest. “Much better,” he muses to himself. After a moment of letting Jungkook clear his head, Jimin turns to him, his dry hand returning to lazily card through Taehyung’s curls. “How was it, Jungkook?”

“Uh,” Jungkook replies eloquently, feeling the way his cock still throbs every few seconds in aftershocks. “Uh.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jimin states proudly, before sending Jungkook a serious gaze. “We’ll talk later, yeah? When your dick isn’t hanging out.”

Jungkook flushes, scrambles to tuck himself away, and the movement jostles the bed enough that Taehyung groans, craning his neck up with bleary eyes and rumpled hair.

The two sitting on the bed go silent. Jimin cocks his head to the side and cups Taehyung’s cheek. “Were you- Tae-tae, did you just have a nap in the middle of the scene?”

Taehyung beams sleepily, eyes still lidded. “Mm.”

“Tae! Are you out of petspace now?”

“Think so.” With a dramatically loud cry, Taehyung reaches an arm up into a deep, arching stretch, rubbing at his eyes once he’s done. “Mm, yeah, definitely. My foot has kinda gone dead too.”

As Taehyung sits up to rub at his foot, pressing his thumbs into the muscle, Jimin’s shoulders sink with a deep pout. “Tae-tae,” he whines again, “you know I like playing with puppy.”

“Sorry,” Taehyung replies easily, though it doesn’t sound like he is in the slightest, “I guess I just wanted to destress more than anything. I didn’t sleep so well last night.”

Jimin’s face softens, his complaints dissolved at Taehyung’s words. Without a verbal reply, he just reaches out, hooks his finger on the neckline of Taehyung’s shirt, and pulls him in for a kiss, humming into it slightly.

The movements, the touches are so natural and intimate that Jungkook feels like he’s intruding. It only lasts a moment before they break apart to go shower, but it’s enough time to sear the sight behind Jungkook’s eyelids. Maybe he’d been allowed to join them in their scenes, even cuddle with them, but he wasn’t a part of that bond that tied Jimin and Taehyung so strongly together. The thought sinks in his stomach, and he decides to skip the shower, getting dressed instead for a long workout downstairs.

--

When you knock on his door, Yoongi is at his desk, a pair of black-framed reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He glances up, an eyebrow lifting in mild surprise.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You muffle a smile at his domestic getup - a grey t-shirt hangs off, far too big for him but outlining his chest and strong shoulders nonetheless, and his long black sweatpants all but cover his bare feet, toes tapping the carpet unconsciously as he waits for your reply. “I’ve been informed that today is your day.”

“Ah, checking in to the Fuck Hotel, I see,” he quips casually, slipping his glasses of and shutting the lid of the laptop he was working on. “We do have one vacancy.”

“Is that so?” you say, unable to stop your grin as he stands up from his office chair and rolls his head back like an athlete warming up.

“Comes with a continental breakfast,” he assures, before ducking his head with a sheepish chuckle. “God, hyung is becoming a bad influence on my sense of humour.” With slightly pink cheeks, he stretches out a hand towards you, before jerking it back and freezing, fingers curled and tensed. “Wait. Shit.”

You frown, glancing down at yourself, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. “What is it?”

“Hm. I just remembered my prompt, is all.” He takes a step back with a thoughtful furrow of his brows, clenching his hands into fists and putting them behind himself. “Dammit, I was meant to think of a game plan but I got distracted sorting out- uh- client emails.”

“Was this a bad time?” you ask with a light laugh, even as you cast a guilty glance towards the laptop. A month in and he was still doing work?

“No! No, it’s fine, it’s just…” Wincing, Yoongi scratches at the back of his neck and takes another step back, gesturing down at himself, and at the messy work desk. “I’m not in sexy mode yet. I look like a stay-at-home dad trying to work out how to order groceries online while my toddler is finally having her 2pm nap.”

You pause before an incredulous laugh bubbles out of your throat. “Okay, first of all, I think stay-at-home dads are very sexy, and I happen to think that you are very sexy. Secondly, ‘her?’ Why was that whole analogy so specific?”

Yoongi huffs defensively, petulantly throwing himself down to sit on the bed with his legs splayed wide. “I used to have a life plan, okay? But that’s not relevant now. The point is, I haven’t worked out how to do a good scene. I don’t want to it to be disappointing. Or, god forbid, boring.”

Your frown just deepens. “It doesn’t need to be an elaborate setup, Yoongi. Just fuck me. Touch me, at least. I can’t believe we’re still both wearing all our clothes when I’ve been very explicit about my intentions.”

You don’t miss the wince that flutters across his face. “That’s kinda the issue. Touching you, I mean.”

“You don’t wanna touch me?”

“I-” Yoongi all but stomps his foot, teeth clenching in frustration. “Of course I fucking want to, but I have to stick to my prompt, Y/n.”

Your mouth drops open. “So your prompt is that we can’t even touch each other? Doesn’t exactly sound very appealing for a porn show.”

He clicks his tongue. “You can still touch me,” he corrects with a dry gaze.

Unconvinced, you narrow your eyes. “Isn’t that convenient?” you question rhetorically. “Gonna make me do all the work this week because you haven’t organised it in your planner yet, Doctor Min?”

He glares at your teasing tone. “Excuse me for trying to play the game properly.” You swallow as his eyes run down your body heavily, pink tongue darting out to wet his lips. “If I could touch you, trust me, I’d have you dripping by now.”

Your thighs tighten, but you force them not to move. The last thing you want him to know is that you’re just about dripping already. “Sounds to me like you’re just lazy.” He doesn’t react, watching you make up your mind. You suck in a breath to hype yourself. “If I walk away right now, you’ll get nothing. Not only will you lose your prompt, but you’ll be stuck with blue balls. But if you give in and fuck me already, then you’ll only lose the prompt.”

“Who says I’ll even have blue balls? I’m perfectly comfortable,” he fires back immediately, tipping his head to the side cockily.

“Oh, please,” you drawl, letting your eyes fall to the sizeable bulge beneath his sweatpants, “you aren’t that big soft. Don’t kid yourself. So do you wanna get off, or not?”

His gaze hardens to stone, jaw flexing. “I’m surprised you think I need you for that. Aside from the fact that there are six other people in this house, I brought a fleshlight from home for a reason.”

Now that is something you hadn’t expected him to say. You freeze from your spot in the doorway, feeling heat pulse between your legs. Your spark of resistance is quickly fading, overtaken by need, so you don’t hesitate in firing back while you can. “If you think your fleshlight is better than me, then that’s your loss. Enjoy the bunkbeds; I’m off to do what you’re too cowardly to.”

“Have fun, sweetheart,” he snips, one of his hands sneaking under his shirt to rub his lower abdomen, fingers slipping below the hem of his sweats. “Shut the door on your way out.”

Feeling like you’ve lost the argument (and a little too horny to care) you have your final say by slamming it, thumping your feet with every step down the hall to your room.

Once inside, it takes mere seconds to throw yourself onto your bed back-first and shove your hand down your pants. But then, before you even dip into your wetness, a thought strikes you.

Pulling your hand out and making your way to your desk, you use your other hand to clumsily type in your password, and open a browser. It doesn’t take long to navigate to the page with all the paid streams for your own show, and with a slight flush you select Yoongi’s bedroom, impatiently punching in your credit card details.

After an agonising wait, the payment is processed and you’re brought to a private livestreaming site, a single window open in front of you.

The angle itself is strange, making Yoongi’s room look larger than it was, but you’re surprised at just how high quality the video and sound is once you bring it to full screen and slip your headphones in your ears. Yoongi is hunched over his nightstand, and you can actually hear the wooden slide faintly in the background as he opens and closes a drawer, returning to his office chair with a seemingly-transparent fleshlight and a bottle of lube.

Something about watching him through a camera in the corner of his room feels so wrong, especially as he palms impatiently at the tent in his pants, uncapping the lube and pouring a generous amount into the opening of the toy. You’d never been much of a voyeur - or, at least, so you thought - but you couldn’t take your eyes off him, blinding slipping your hands down your pants but over your underwear, simply pressing down on your clit to ease some of the crying need.

Oddly, the lube pours down and begins to drip out the other side, creating a dark patch on his clothed thigh. The audio picks up Yoongi cursing, and there’s no further preamble before he’s using one hand to hook down his sweatpants and kick them off to pool on the floor. The motion causes his cock to jerk up onto his stomach, leaving a smear of precum on his grey shirt, visible only by a few pixels of darker grey.

He scoots a little down the seat of the chair and hitches a leg up over one of the arms, eyes slipping closed as the hand not holding the dripping fleshlight grips his own cock, thumb pressing at the head.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans lowly, the sound running through your headphones and straight down between your legs. His brows are furrowed like it’s almost paining him, but he hovers the opening of the fleshlight over his tip as if he’s trying to hold back.

Slowly, he lowers the toy down one inch at a time, until the lube is drooling over his cock. Finally, the transparent toy slips down over his cock and his hips jump off the chair, his knuckles white on the arm of the chair and the fleshlight as he growls and lifts it back off again.

The sight of him intentionally teasing himself is too erotic for you to stay unmoving, and you find yourself burning up, losing the headphones for a moment to shuffle out of your own clothes. You hurry as much as you can, grimacing at your sopping panties, but by the time you’re back in your chair with nothing but a bra and tuning back into the stream, Yoongi’s not even focused on his toy anymore.

It sits propped up on his thigh, with two of his fingers lazily, almost absentmindedly thrusting deeply inside of it to keep it steady as the rest of him swivels in his chair to open his laptop again.

You frown and squint at the tiny screen on the stream. Rows of fuzzy squares stack up, and while you can’t be certain the phallic shapes of some of the miniscule images inside them make you think he was on a sex toy website.

He quickly opens a new tab, however, and your heart begins to beat nervously as a familiar page comes up. One you’d been on just earlier.

With bated breath you wait, hands grasping at the meat of your thighs and clothed breast to hold off on touching between your legs just yet. Yoongi navigates the Bangasm page, going through the same payment process you did.

It isn’t until you’re met with a miniature version of your own room on his screen that you realise what’s happened. And it’s when Yoongi squints and leans in closer, before turning to face the camera directly with a bewildered look, that you know you’ve been caught.

Frozen, you watch the on-screen, Yoongi look back and forth twice, before slowly scooting his chair back on an angle to the table, so that the laptop is in eyeshot even as his body is facing the camera fully.

Your mouth is dry, but the fleshlight he picks up again is wet, so wet that his fingers glisten, almost slipping off the toy entirely. He holds it tightly, transferring it to his dominant hand and teasing the top over his tip, biting hard on his lip.

The squeeze you have on your thigh is almost painful as your core burns, but you’re too stunned still to move, watching him dance the opening of the fleshlight over his cock, never dipping it inside.

With a twitching grin and lusty eyes, he glances towards the laptop. Your whole body feels hot as you glance over your shoulder to the camera in your room, before looking back at the screen. He’s not moving, chest visibly heaving even as he stares patiently at the computer screen.

He’s… waiting for you.

With one strangled breath, you tilt your chair away from the desk, adjusting your own laptop in a similar setup to him. Eyes locked on the stream, terrified you’ll miss a single moment of him indulging himself, you let your fingers uncurl from your inner thigh and trail them down, wasting no time in automatically locating your clit, massaging around the small bud.

Pleasure flows through you like hot water, down to your toes. After holding out for so long, after being so aroused for so long, the simplest touch has your knees weak and your head lolled back against the headrest.

On screen, Yoongi’s grin widens, and he rewards you by lowering the fleshlight, the clear silicone making way for the tip of his cock. He doesn’t stop there like last time, though; instead, he slowly but surely plunges it all the way down until it’s flush with his pelvis. Your eyes fly open when the flushed head pops out the other side, and Yoongi clearly enjoys it too judging by the way he curses and grips it tight, practically panting.

Without really intending, your fingers dip down and slip inside, two already. You barely feel a stretch with how wet you are. Although the feeling of something inside you is nice, you know your fingers just aren’t enough, especially with the angle of you slumped back in your chair.

So, you chance one look back at the screen - Yoongi is using the tip of one finger to spread his precum around the glossed tip of his cock, but his eyes are firmly locked onto you - and walk on shaky legs to your closet, where an unassuming (and so far unused) black silk bag lies amongst your shoes.

The amount of time it takes for you to duck into the bathroom and quickly wash the silicone vibrator you have with soapy water feels like an eternity, and by the time you hurry back it isn’t the toy that’s vibrating.

Frowning, you hesitantly answer the call that’s coming through on your phone from a familiar contact.

Yoongi’s voice immediately fills the room as the pixelated version on the screen rests his phone on the side of his desk, not jerking but twisting the fleshlight in slow arcs around his cock. “Couldn’t get enough of me, hm?”

“Says the one calling me,” you offer back lightly, switching onto speaker mode so that you can settle back in your chair, “enjoying the view?”

“A little too uneventful for me yet, sweetheart,” he teases, and his breathy groan is timed with the Yoongi on the stream lifting the fleshlight up a little and plunging it down again. “How about you put that toy in your pretty little pussy for me. For us.”

You feel your core pulse at the reminder that it wasn’t just Yoongi on the stream. Any number of anonymous strangers could be tuned in right now, seeing you with your legs spread.

The only way to cope is to lean into it instead of shying away. You slide the black silicone toy through your folds to slick it up, sighing with every light pass over your clit. Once it’s as wet as you are, you press the slightly bulbous tip down until it slips inside you, immediately shivering at the feeling.

The toy is small enough that you don’t need any special prep, yet big enough that it was satisfying, and curved just right. It had been your old reliable long before coming on the show, and there’s something strangely familiar and comforting about feeling it fill you out as you push it in deeper.

“Fuck, there we go,” Yoongi praises, and you hear the wet smacking noise of him snapping his hips up into the toy. “I may not be able to touch you, but you’ll still call my name when you cum for me.”

Your toes curl, and you’re no longer able to focus on the stream, letting your eyes fall shut and your ears tune in to his voice alone as you work the toy in and out of you.

He doesn’t waste any time in joining you, and the resulting sounds that fill your room are obscene, him making no effort to muffle the gravelled curses and moans, nor the wet thwack of silicone that gives away his movements.

The noise is somehow even more thrilling than the sight, and the feeling of his eyes on you encourages you to speed your hand up, even reaching down to desperately rub at your clit with the flat of your fingers, shivering at the wave of pleasure that wracks through your body.

It’s not long before you hear Yoongi’s voice turn guttural and the pace of the flesh light pick up frantically.

You wrench your eyes open and gaze blearily at the computer screen just in time to watch the stream of white that spills up through the back end of the fleshlight and over Yoongi’s knuckles. As hot as the image is, you whine at being made to watch this through the pixels instead of in real life, and the thought of being right fucking across from him as he fell apart is enough to make you seize up in your chair, orgasm draining you thoroughly, with not enough force to squirt but dripping on the seat nonetheless.

You take the toy out once pleasure turns to the sharp tweak of oversensitivity and pant, fighting to catch your breath as your feet feel positively numb.

Coming down from your high, you almost forget the running phone call until you hear his voice come through the speaker again. “Have a shower and then come back down to my room. You’re sleeping with me tonight.”

The beeping tone leaves you alone in your room, and you loll your head back over the edge of the chair with an exhausted moan, not without a grin playing on your lips. You wouldn’t protest to that.

[palaceofpassion]

Can we get some follow up for that one involving Jaune breeding Nuts and Dolts. Maybe either Ruby’s turn or the Bees getting bred while the three already breed ladies watch.

Part 2 to @dam1994s original ask!  This time its Ruby’s turn, also the reason I didn’t label the first as NTR.

“Ruby.”   

This didn’t feel right, it hadn’t felt right for a while now, but now that he actually got the chance to take a look at Ruby’s face he felt torn up about it.  “I’d let things get too far…”  

“Y...yes…”  

She couldn’t even look him in the eyes, staring lifelessly towards her sheets.  Patting the sheets in front of him he called his young friend over, “Come here.”  He’d have to fix this, “Sorry Penny, we’ll continue later if time allows it.”  He’d have to take control of the situation, things had gotten far too out of hand.  

“No problem, friend Jaune!  Come Ruby it's your turn!  Oh I can’t wait!  I can’t wait till we’re both big and pregnant!  Round bellies with wonderful life in them!”  

Jaune rolled his eyes, but left a pleasant smile on his face, that was till he saw how demure Ruby was.  The once adventurous team leader was disheartened, broken, just sad.  He felt like he’d kicked a puppy, though maybe it was better to say Weiss had.  Who was simply smiling at him, to which he shook his head in disappointment.  “Ruby, sit now.”  

 And like the broken puppy she was, she made her way over to him, slowly meandering forward until she was kneeling a foot away.  “Look at me.”  When she didn’t respond, he simply grasped the bottom of her chin, lifting it slightly so she could shift her gaze to match his.  “Ruby.”  

“I’m ready…”  

He could tell how unready she was, the dark bags under her eyes from crying or with how red her sclera was.  She wasn’t doing well at all.  “Ruby, you’re not, and you’re not okay.”  He took a deep breath as he brought his right hand to her cheek, gently sliding his thumb beneath her eye and clearing the falling tear.  “Ruby, if you didn’t want this, you should have said no.”  

It took her a moment to start speaking, her lip trembling as she did.  “But… but… I would have… everyone would have been disappointed in me.”  

“I would not have!”

Penny spoke up, dancing over next to them, thick droplets of semen dripping from her pussy as she landed next to Ruby.

“I wouldn’t have either.”  

It looked as if Ruby wanted to say something, but Jaune spoke before her.  “She really wouldn’t have.  Weiss is just a…”  He turned towards his wife, who simply smiled at him, like the princess she knew she was.  “A sadist, a very hardcore sadist.”  

“You know it~”  

“But… she said… and…”

“Ruby, if you didn’t want you or I to get pregnant you should have said something!”  

“But…”  

“Ruby, it's okay.  We can stop here, I...”  He scratched the back of his head as an uncomfortable silence followed.  “I’m sorry Ruby.  You shouldn’t be.  I should have noticed you weren’t feeling great.”  

“I should have more so.”  Penny once again chimed in.

“I just… I want Penny to be happy… but watching her being taken by you… and seeing her face… she was…”  

“Oh Ruby!  I’m sorry!  It was just my first experience with a cock and… and it FELT REALLY Good.”

“Penny not helping.”

“And Weiss was saying…”

“Sorry Ruby, I tend to get REALLY into it when Jaune starts to fuck other women.  I do care for you… but it's really hot.”  

Again he rolled his eyes at his wife.  “And… I don’t think you’d want to have sex with me.”  

“Wait no I-”

“HAH!  Jaune not wanting to have sex with you?!  Are you serious!?”

His face started to flash hot as a sudden realization began to dawn on him.  “Weiss, you better not.”  

However, that didn’t stop his wife.  “Ruby!  He’s had a HUGE crush on you for as long as you knew each other!  Did you think he just had a thing for Pyrrha and me?  Ohohohohoho!”  

“What?”  

Jaune felt his face flash really hot.  “Weiss, that's enough.”  

He tried to sound as threatening as he could, but Weiss was having none of it, instead she simply smirked and nodded, “Okay~”  He didn’t like the way she said that.  Either way this was a moment for Ruby, not for his wife, he’d get to dealing with her later… he hoped.

“Right, well… Ruby I think you’re insanely attractive, I actually thought I’d be having sex with you first.”  He couldn’t help but scratch the back of his head as Ruby turned her attention back to him, her eyes widening at the sudden realization.

Gone were her previous fears, the strange sensation she felt in her belly from watching her wife being bred by a man… by her best friend, instead a new strange flitty feeling filled her.  She felt a little woozy as she began to finally take in Jaune’s form for the first time.  She’d known he’d gotten rather muscular back during their adventures but… looking at him now well… she liked what she saw.  And when her eyes fell a little lower?  She found she REALLY liked what she saw.  So much so she had to fight back the urge that pulled her towards reaching out and stroking it, all on her own.  

“Jaune?”  

“Yeah?”  

“Can you… can you go slow?”  

Then he smiled at her, and this time, instead of the rotten feeling that had overwhelmed her earlier, she felt a genuine sense of warmth fill her.  

“Of course Crater Face.”  

“Hah, thanks Vomit Boy.”  

She allowed his fingers to run through her body, gently coasting down her back and curling at the soft swells of her rear.  A small shudder ran through her spine, and a soft gasp escaped through her lips.  A sudden lightness filled her as he drew close, the edge of his p...dick pressed against her already moist sex.  “You sure you want this?”  

“Ye...yes please.”  

“Alright.”  

Her lower body tensed as the sharp pain struck from her crotch, her tight slit began to unfold before the firm strength of his shaft pressing further inside of her.  “O...Oww…”  

“I can stop.”  

“N...no keep going…”  

She did her best to ignore the cheers coming from the side, Penny obviously fully in the mood.  Or the snide smile coming from Weiss as she watched her ‘man’ have his way with another woman.  She knew her friend meant well… but she wasn’t going to concentrate on her wife or Weiss at the moment.  

She wanted to concentrate on the fullness running through her.  Through his hands gently running against the back of her head, stroking through her dark locks.  She wanted to concentrate on the sudden bulge in her belly that slowly rose to the top of her stomach and the new sensation of the tip pushing against her cervix.  She felt fuller than she’d ever felt, her body, finally easing into a pleasurable sensation.  “Oooph~  Okay, I think… I think I’m good.”  

“You sure?”  

“Yeah.”  

She nodded back to Jaune, who pressed forward, his body suddenly towering on top of her.  Her body began to sink into her mattress as he applied all his weight down upon her.  Her legs pulled back as he shifted his thighs to pry them forward.  She… she’d looked it up before, but she realized this was a mating press.  “Sorry Rubes, I may get a little crazy but I re-”

“He wants to breed you so badly Ruby~  He wouldn’t shut up about it all the way here.”  

“Weiss!”  He hissed at his wife.

A fiery blush kissed Ruby’s cheeks as she realized both Weiss and Penny were now surrounding her.  “Nope~  I’m going to tell her all about it… besides, it's not like you can do anything, you’re cocks all nice and warm inside her tight little cunt, you probably don’t want to pull out huh?”  

She looked back upon him, her silver eyes scanning his suddenly reddening chest.  She felt a mighty feed of satisfaction fill her as he simply began to gyrate his hips, grinding their crotches together as he buried his cock deep inside of her tight little hole.  Her pussy tingled, the brustling of his pubic hairs scritching at her entrance was doing funny things to her, and she really liked it.

“Did you know Ruby?  That he used to have a crush on you at Beacon.”

“Wei-s.”  She felt him try to pull out, her body wanting more of him instinctively reached out, her arms wrapping around the tall of his back, her legs tightly winding around his hips pulling him down.  Besides… she kind of wanted to hear the story.  

“Well~  You see, he would tell me about what he thought about you… especially when you wore those cute little pajamas, the ones that hugged your tush.”  

“Wei-”  

Weiss ignored him,  “He’d tell me about how he used to imagine, pushing you down, taking you away, dragging you to some closet far away where Yang couldn’t get to you.  To pull your clothes down, sliding his big ol cock into your cute little slit.  How he wanted to breed that cute little pussy of yours, you REALLY turned him on, you know that?”  

“Re...Really?”  

“Ye...yes…”  She could tell he tried not to admit it, but the twitch inside of her sent little happy feelings through her.  

“Not… not Yang?”

“No…”  

“Yep~  He wanted YOU, wanted to breed you, to pump you full of his seed.  He’d tell me about how many times he just imagined putting a baby into lil old you back in Beacon.”  

“Weis-”  

“Tut tut tut~  Not done.”  

She felt a low growl erupting from within Jaune, his chest vibrating as he suddenly pulled up and then THUMP she felt the air knock from her lungs as he rose up and slammed his massive cock inside of her.  Her body suddenly aching for an all new reason as her insides were split apart, her womb shifting upwards against her stomach.  She felt him pull back again as he prepared to lunge back in once more.  

“You know~  He used to tell me, that when RNJR went out, you guys had food problems sometimes, and well you were a growing girl so-”

“Weiss stop!”  

“He would sometimes cum in your soup, you needed protein after all… that of course didn’t stop even as we went on… sometimes I would help pump his cock, make sure you had all the energy a growing girl needed.”  

She felt REALLY hot all of a sudden, all those tasty meals she had… that salty sweet flavor she used to love… it all made sense, and… and she tried to look back at Jaune, but then his chest pushed down on her, his hips reeled back and- THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP. 

Like a wild beast he’d lost control, his hips now jackhammering into her.  Any and all resistance proved futile against his powerful strikes, her rear bounced off the bed, as his heavy balls smashed right into her plump ass.  Her cheeks turned a bright red as the heavy set orbs smashed into her with every lunging thrust.

Her insides churned, and her womb began to beg for more!  A new experience began to overwhelm her.  His arms tightly wrapped around her back, draping downwards as his fingers sunk into her fatty ass.  She gasped again, biting into his musculature as he continued his relentless pace.  

She couldn’t keep a hold of herself anymore, even more so when Weiss began talking again.  “You remember how a few of your panties went missing?” 

 THUD

He slammed into her again forcing her further into her bed, his thrusts having enough force that she was afraid he’d break it!  Or worse, break her at this rate!  

“Well~  He has a collection at home, most of them were used of course.”  

THUD THUD THUD

“AAAAH!”  

She screamed out in pleasure, as he violated her insides, her cervix turning black and blue from the relentless beating he placed upon her.  His nails started to carve into the soft round curves of her bottom, digging into her fleshy exterior as he tried to practically fuse the two of them together.  

She wanted to cry out, a mixture of pleasured pain swirling inside of her.  She wanted to say something, but her throat burned, his aura seeping into her body sending violent chills throughout.  She received no warning as he pushed himself down, pressing ALL of his weight down on her small sleek figure.  She couldn’t tell what was happening at first, her pussy numbed from the sheer force of their sexual escapades, but when her womb began to fill her ovaries hungrily drinking the new found liquid spreading within her.  She knew he’d cum inside, that the reason he was clinging to her so tightly was to make sure that not. A . single. Drip. would. Spill. Out.

Her toes curled as SPLURT SPLURT SPLURT SPLURT SPLURT He unloaded gallons of spunk within her.  Her body shook to its core as a powerful orgasm filled her, the new sensation of being filled, the womanly parts of her finally over joyed to have fulfilled their mission.  She lost it.  “AaaHhHahaha!”  She held on, her fingers sinking into his back, clawing against the strong musculature, holding onto dear life all while her eyes rolled back, her tongue hung out and her everything started to collapse.  

“Oh dear~  She couldn’t handle it…”  

“Ah… dang… damn it Weiss why’d you have to say that.”  

“Oh please!  You WANTED to do that.”  

Jaune rolled his eyes again at his wife, though he didn’t deny her claim.

“Sorry Penny, we may have to wait ti-”

“Breed her more!”

“But sh-”

“She’s stuck to you!  Make sure she’s all nice and knocked up!  Do it!  Do it!”  

Jaune felt a new found fear for the plucky Orangette… maybe there was something up with the color Orange.  

“Fine.”  

Well, he felt bad for Ruby, but he DID have a job to do.  “I’ll go again.”  

THUD THUD THUD 

And so he refused to let up, even as Ruby hung tightly to him on nothing but instinct, her senses frayed and broken.  He’d have to make sure she was nice and knocked up, after all an Arc always kept their promises.

[1plus1kiyoomi]

Chapter 9: Fried

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You groan as you look around your room, scattered paperwork and schoolwork all over the place. You have so much to do but you don’t know where to start. Out of frustration, you breakdown. Rice hears your sobs so he runs to you, and licks your arms. You take him into your arms, hugging him. He starts barking, worried about you.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong with Rice?” You hear Kita ask from outside of your room, causing you to cry harder.

The two of you haven’t been in touch lately since you’re trying so hard to distant yourself from him. You’ve always reasoned to him that you were busy, because you were, and you still are. But you’d be lying if you say that he isn’t one of the reasons of your breakdown.

You miss him so much. You want to cling to him like always. But you also seek reassurance from him. You need a label to your relationship. You’re afraid that he’s just leading you on because of his ex. What if he hasn’t moved on from her? Moving on from 7-year relationship is not easy, and from his friends’ words, he loved her a lot. Maybe he still loves her.

“I’m coming in,” Kita says and slides the door open. You grab a pillow and cover your face with it. You hear him sigh, and go around the room, probably picking up the pieces of paper. You feel him sit in front of you, so you jump in your mattress and hide under the blanket. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just tired,” you say in between your sobs. Rice jumps on top of your covered face, making you pull the blanket down so the dog can see you. He gives you a puppy look, whimpering. You cry again, burying your face on Rice’s fur.

Kita stands from where he was sitting, then leaves the room. A few minutes later, he comes back with a tray of food. “Eat first, then get some rest.”

“I’m really fine,” you assure him, wiping the tears off your cheeks. He sets the tray down on the floor and you hold Rice tightly, not wanting him to devour the food. He takes a spoonful of rice with a piece of beef on top, then feeds you. “Thank you. I can feed myself.”

“No. It’s fine. You seem really busy nowadays. This is the least I can do.” He feeds you soup this time, which you reluctantly accept. You feel like you’re being babied and you feel a little bit of ease. “I know you have a lot on your plate right now, but you shouldn’t forget that you’re the most important dish on your plate.”

The metaphor he used makes you chuckle, completely stopping your eyes from tearing up. You nod enthusiastically, taking another spoonful of what he’s feeding you. The three of you stay silent as he feeds you and sometimes Rice. The silence is comforting. You can even say that it’s helping calm you down.

Finally finishing your dinner, Kita tucks you in bed. “Rice, let’s get out. Let your mom rest.” Kita orders the dog, but you and your furry son look up to him with pleading eyes, begging him to let Rice stay in your room. “Fine. Just for tonight.” Kita gives in, ruffling the tops of your heads.

Kita heads to the kitchen to the kitchen, leaving the dishes by the sink. He takes a seat on one of the cushions, then says his thanks before he starts eating. It has been exactly 10 days. 10 days since he last ate dinner with you. If it weren’t for Rice, he would have eaten alone.

Knowing that you’re busy, Kita doesn’t push you to eat dinner with him. He sometimes feels lonely, but you should prioritize your work. He admits that he misses you clinging to him and you annoying him every chance you get. He wants to tell you that he wants to share your burden with you, but it seems like you don’t give him the chance to talk.

Kita isn’t stupid. Aside from your busyness with the shelter and school, he’s aware that you’re avoiding him. You aren’t so subtle about it. Who stays at school until midnight? He also knows you’re purposely coming home after his bedtime. He waits for you every night just to make sure you come home safe.

Confusion is what he feels. He knows what you’re doing, but he doesn’t understand why you’re doing it.

After eating, Kita does the dishes then heads to your room. He checks you and Rice, and the two of you are sleeping soundly. He picks up your schoolwork, then decides to do them for you. It’s a little thing he can do to help you ease your stress.

“I’ll start with this,” Kita quietly says, taking your worksheet for Engineering Math. He takes his phone out and looks for a Youtube tutorial on how to do the topic you’re assigned to.

The next morning, you wake up without Rice around anymore. “He and Kita must have gone to the fields already.” You stretch your arms and see your schoolwork and paperwork arranged and in order. A note is on top of your binder so you read it.

(Y/N)

I finished doing your tasks for school. I also wrote some notes for your Systems Software class. I read that you have a test on it. I’ve also highlighted important notes in your other classes in case you have a surprise quiz.

Don’t forget to eat breakfast. I prepared a bento box for your lunch. Make you eat it. I will check later. Take a break, too. Stop overworking yourself. If you need help, I’m just there.

Rice and I are off to work. I hope to see you at dinner.

I miss you.

- Shinsuke

Tears come out of your eyes as you read his note. “What am I even doing? Why am I aimlessly avoiding him? He must have spent all night doing these.” You take your phone to check the time and you see that it’s almost lunch, which means all your morning classes are finished. “Kita is going to kill me.”

After a long day at school, you head home. You look for an easy recipe online, in hopes that you can make a decent dish for Kita. It’s your first cooking. You don’t even know why you thought of making him dinner as an apology gift. The kitchen is one of the places you’re forbidden to go to but here you are.

“Is 2 tablespoon really enough?” You ask yourself. You shrug, then pour more soy sauce. You forget about the recipe and make the dish using your instinct. If it’s meant to taste good, it’ll taste good.

“I’m home!” You hear Kita from the front door. Rice comes running to you at the kitchen, excitedly jumping on your legs.

“Hello, little boy. How was the fields today? Did you miss mom?” You coo at him, lifting him from the ground.

“You’re actually here,” you hear Kita say, making you look up towards him. Putting Rice down, you go to him. You wrap your arms around his waist, smiling at him with your signature grin. He missed that smile.

“Well, of course, baby. You said you miss me so I’m here,” you tell him, snuggling your face on his chest.

Kita hugs you back, placing his chin on your shoulder. The two of you stand like that for a minute. You realized that last night, it wasn’t the silence that was comforting you. It was Kita. His presence is enough to make you feel less stressed. He gives you a light squeeze before pulling away from you. You look up to him and see that his eyes are on the dining table.

“I made dinner. Look at my rice! It’s perfect!” You proudly say, pulling him to the dining area. He stares at the food you made, and you nervously wait for his comment. He takes a spoon and tastes the supposedly curry dish. “How does it taste?”

Kita doesn’t answer you but looks at you emotionlessly. “It doesn’t taste that bad. It’s edible.” You sulk but start eating anyway. “How was your quiz?”

“I got a perfect score thanks to your notes. You’re really smart! Were you in the top of your class in high school?” You compliment him.

“I had a scholarship,” Kita answers and your jaw drops. How can he be so perfect at everything? He’s athletic, he’s handsome, he’s talented, he’s smart, he’s well-mannered, his soft spoken. He has probably not sin. But he has to be bad at something. But what? Is he a virgin? Is he bad in bed? He seems like the type to wait after marriage. So you’ll have to marry him to find out. Your cheeks heat up just from the thought.

Due to your daydreaming, you don’t hear Kita talking. “Hmmm? What did you say baby?”

“I said I like my eggs fried in the morning,” he repeats in his usual nonchalant voice. His words cause you to short circuit, unsure of what you heard.

“Why are you suddenly saying that?” You hide your face in embarrassment, flustered by his words. Rice is at side, staring at you as if he’s judging you. He probably is.

“You asked 3 months ago,” Kita explains, eating as if didn’t say anything.

“I know I did! But why say it now?” You glare at him. He puts his chopsticks down and bore his eyes at yours.

“Because I like you back now.”

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Facts:

Resting is very very important. No matter how busy you are, please spare some time to rest. Staying hydrated is as important. Don’t forget to drink your liquids. <3

Sleep is important in processing and committing new information to memory through a process known as memory consolidation. So pulling an all-nighter for a quiz isn’t really the best thing to do.

Sleep is important to overall well-being and mood. Sleep deprivation can often cause irritability, impatience, inability to concentrate, and moodiness.

Rest does not only involve physical relaxation, but mental as well. Mental exertion can also affect your body’s ability to cope or keep up and can cause you to feel overwhelmed and physically exhausted.

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[nastybuckybarnes]

Monsters  -  Three

Pairing: Dark!Bucky X Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes is a man who just wants to do better. But he can’t stop the monster from coming out every now and then. As a last and hopeless attempt at calming The Winter Soldier, SHIELD finds him something they figured would help. An innocent young woman with not a lot going for her. Or, The Winter Soldiers newest victim.

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Language, Injuries, INTENSE SMUT (NONCON), GUNPLAY, HUMILIATION, DEGRADATION, NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART, Major MENTAL HEALTH TRIGGER, 

Word Count: 3.5K

A/n: Oof sorry. This is dark as fuck. it’s really triggering. If you complain I will block you because I have many warnings in place. This is a very triggering chapter that involves very sensitive and triggering topics so read at your own damn risk!

THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!!

~

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER!! READ AT OWN RISK!!

~*~

He doesn’t look at you the next morning.

You’re thankful for that because you don’t think you’d be able to withstand seeing him without crying.

Your neck is dark and covered in bruises, and your wrists look no better, the skin discoloured to a near-black colour. It hurts to breathe, to walk. Your lower regions burning with each step you take. You’re part glad he doesn’t look at you, but you’re also frustrated.

He said he wasn’t a monster and yet look what he’s done to you. Your body is broken and bruised and beat badly, and he doesn’t even have the stomach to look at the damage he’s caused.

You stay in your room for most of the day anyway, in far too much pain to venture anywhere except the kitchen for a glass of water which does little to soothe the burn in your throat.

As you sit there, alone on the mattress that holds disgusting memories, you ponder what Fury said yesterday about the fine print in the email. Surely you would have seen any more writing. You wouldn’t have just accepted the position without being properly informed of everything that you were going to have to do.

But it seems to be too late. If last night was any indication of your fate, you almost understand why they gave you little to no warning.

He was barbaric. Brutally taking advantage of your body, and thwarting your attempts to get him to be gentler.

A knock on your door startles you from your thoughts. It opens quietly and the man who’s been occupying your thoughts walks in with his head down.

“I uh... I brought you some soup. You haven’t eaten all day.” You stare at the steaming bowl held in his metal hand. The same hand that crushed your wrists.

“I’m not hungry,” you tell him, voice barely above a whisper. He looks up at you and swallows hard, eyes zeroing in on the dark marks on your neck. He lets out a shuddering breath and nods.

He opens his mouth to speak but snaps it closed again, setting the bowl down on the dresser then leaving the room.

The soldier doesn’t come to you that night.

Or the night after.

On the fourth day, three nights of him not coming to you, you finally venture out of your room. You nearly run right into his chest as he opens the door to talk to you. He grabs your waist to stop you from toppling over then pulls back as if you’ve scalded him.

“I’ve got a mission briefing to go to. I’ll be gone for most of the day,” he informs you, voice hard and emotionless. You simply nod and watch as he leaves the house in a hurry. When you’re sure he’s gone, you creep down the stairs and into the kitchen, stomach cramping for food.

You find a few pieces of bread and some crackers on the counter, along with a note that says ‘Dinner will be ready shortly after I get home.” You take the crackers and shovel them into your mouth, not caring about how much they dry your throat. They go down like sandpaper, and you wash them down with a glass of water, finally silencing your growling stomach.

With the house to yourself, you explore, your feet taking you to another bedroom upstairs.

It must be his, you realize, eyes finding a small, leather-bound notebook. You look around the room quickly then snatch the book up and sit down on his bed, eyes devouring the words scrawled carelessly on the pages.

Horror fills you as you read, each page giving detailed descriptions of the horrible things this man has done.

You find yourself terrified for your life once more as you realize just how quickly he could end it. It would simply be another life to him, nothing he cares about considering how many he’s taken already.

You put the book back and leave the room, running to the front door and banging on it mercilessly, hoping to catch the attention of someone passing by.

~*~

“Tincan!” Bucky groans and looks up as Tony walks to him. “Relax. I’ve got a gift for you.” He hands over a tablet and Bucky furrows his brows in confusion.

“So you can watch your little pet. I hooked it up to all the cameras in your house, so you can keep tabs on her. Before you ask, Fury’s not all that good at keeping secrets.” Bucky makes a mental note to talk to Fury about keeping this off the radar, but for now, he’s curious to see what you’re doing.

He accepts the tablet with a soft ‘thank you’ then quickly turns it on, flipping through the different camera feeds until he finds you.

You’re banging a lamp from your bedside table against a window in your room, tears on your cheeks. You look hopeless.

He toys around with the tablet for a while until he finds a rewind button, wanting to know what has you so desperately wanting to escape.

He stops it from rewinding when he sees you sitting on his bed, his journal in your lap.

The pieces click into place and he shakes his head, angry that you would invade his privacy like that and pissed at himself for not putting it away.

“Listen Stark, I’ll come back later to be briefed. I’ve gotta go... deal with something.” Tony nods and watches as Bucky walks away, his heart aching for you but he knows that there’s nothing he can do to help you.

Bucky pulls up to the house and throws the front door open, the ride over giving him plenty of time to stew in his anger.

He slams the door shut behind himself and stomps up the stairs to your room, kicking the door open and staring at you. You hold the lamp tightly in your grasp and turn to him slowly, terrified at the dark look in his eyes.

“You need to learn some respect!” He spits the word and marches over to you, grabbing the lamp with his left hand when you swing it at him. He throws it to the ground and grabs you by the jaw, tossing you onto the bed. You crawl backwards, shaking your head at him desperately.

He grabs your ankle and yanks you down the bed, then flips you onto your stomach. He tears your pants and panties down your legs and starts slapping your ass. Hard.

You scream in pain as he punishes you, slapping again and again and again, each one being harder than the last.

By the time he finally lets up, your ass is on fire, skin bruised and burning. He grabs you by the hair and tugs, forcing you up onto your hands and knees.

You’re trembling on the bed, terrified of what he’s going to do to you.

“You’ve been bad,” he whispers, dragging something cool across the skin of your ass. You subconsciously lean into the soothing touch and he chuckles.

“You read something you weren’t supposed to. You went snooping into my business.” He rips you up by your hair so that you’re right beside him, head leaning back on his shoulder. “Don't you ever fucking touch my stuff again.” The words are whispered but the threat is shouted, and you find yourself nodding quickly. He shoves you back down onto the bed but keeps your hips raised.

Something cool and blunt is pressing against your entrance and you jolt away, yelping when he smacks your ass again.

“You’re gonna fuck yourself on my gun, or I’m gonna make you wish you were dead, understood?” You feel absolutely humiliated, blood running cold as he presses the gun into your cunt, your warm walls clinging to the metal as he slowly pumps it in and out of you. He stops for a moment and you hear the weapon click.

“Safety’s off. Now fuck yourself on it. And then maybe I won’t hurt you.” You jump on the opportunity of not getting hurt anymore and start slowly thrusting your hips backwards. You hate it. You hate how good it feels. You hate how he’s humiliating you and you’re enjoying it. Your body betrays you with each thrust of your hips. Slick gathers between your thighs and drips down onto the mattress while you fuck yourself on his gun.

“Such a fucking whore. Fucking yourself of my Glock. Gettin’ all messy and wet. So fucking desperate for something to fill that cunt of yours that you’ll fuck anything.” His words crack your pride, tears stinging your eyes as you continue to rock your hips.

“Fuck yourself faster, slut. I wanna watch you cum.” That’s what makes you start to sob. The fact that not only is he watching you fuck yourself on his weapon of choice, but he’s going to force you to make yourself cum while doing so.

You rock your hips faster, squeezing your eyes shut as broken sobs leave your lips, the mortification nearly too much to bear. You just want to cum and have this all be over with.

Your clit brushes against the trigger guard and you jolt away from it before repeating the action. “Look at that. Such a stupid mindless slut, fucking yourself on a gun. You’re such a pathetic whore.” You hate it. You hate the names, the fact that he’s saying it out loud, bringing light to what you’re doing.

You risk a glance over your shoulder and feel the blood leave your face. If you weren’t appalled before, you certainly are now. He’s got his phone camera pointing at your most intimate area, filming you fucking yourself on his gun.

You hiccup a sob and press your face into the pillow, rocking your hips faster, hoping to get this over with.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, his hand already covered in your slick. You ignore him, rubbing your clit on the metal hard, toes curling as your orgasm approaches fast.

With a sound that’s half a moan and half a sob, you cum, cunt clenching hard on the metal.

He groans, watching as you lose your dignity on camera.

When your cunt stops pulsing, he pulls the gun out and slaps your ass.

“Face me,” he orders. You comply, eyes red and puffy, snot dripping from your nose and tears falling down your cheeks.

“You’re gonna suck this gun clean. If you leave one drop on here I’ll make you regret it.” You open your mouth and suck on it, licking off the taste of metal and your essence, trying not to cringe at how embarrassing it is.

Bucky holds the camera up to your face, and what little dignity you had left is crushed.

“Look at how worthless you are. Such a pathetic slut.” You suck harder, wanting to get the gun clean so you can end this torture. You’d rather have him physically hurt you. This... this mental abuse? It’s far worse.

He pulls the gun out of your mouth and nods, shedding himself of his pants and boxers then sitting on the bed, his back against the headboard. He motions with the gun to his cock and you sniffle, climbing onto his lap. You slowly lower yourself onto him and he moans, aiming the camera at where your abused pussy is taking every inch of him.

“You’re gonna fuck yourself on my cock just like you did on my gun. Understand?” he presses the barrel of the gun to your temple and your bottom lip wobbles.

“Cry all you want, skank. As long as you make me cum.” You squeeze your eyes shut tightly and raise yourself off of his cock, only to drop down on him again. He groans and watches through hooded eyes as you ride him, darkness filling his eyes as he presses the gun harder into your head, finger hovering over the trigger.

“Faster!” He shouts, grinning at the way you flinch. You start bouncing up and down on his lap, the squelching sound of his cock in your soaked pussy making you burn with shame.

Your legs ache, your injured thigh on fire as you continue to use it in a way that you really shouldn't. You fuck him hard and fast, praying to any and every god available that this ends soon.

He moans loudly, thrusting up to meet you, and you cry out in pain. The tears won't stop, they drip down your face and splatter onto his chest, but he doesn't seem to mind. In fact, it spurs him on. He brings the camera up and focuses on your face, watching the way you sob and cry, humiliation clear as day on your face.

“Oh fuck!” His thrusts stutter before he stills, and you follow, staying seated on his cock as loud sobs tear out of your chest.

“Get off and lay on your stomach, ass up. I wanna see how wrecked you look.” You do as he says, nearly choking on your own snot as you press your face into the bed again.

“Look at that,” he whispers, the camera zooming in to capture the way he’s abused you. Your cunt is swollen, all puffy and red, and cum oozes out and over your engorged clit. He tosses the gun aside and smacks you hard, right on your centre.

You jump away from the pain, but he doesn't stop. He slaps your pussy over and over again, catching your clit and sending you spiralling in pain. He doesn’t stop until your shrieking and your cunt looks as abused as your ass.

“Have you learned your lesson?” He asks, the camera staying on your pussy as it flutters and clenches, clit throbbing almost visibly.

“Yes,” you whisper. He slaps your cunt again and you scream.

“Yes what?” He demands. This is new. You’re not quite sure what to call him, but another harsh slap against your clit has you screaming the first thing that comes to mind.

“Yes sir!” He seems to like that.

“Good. Now fucking clean yourself before I make you dirtier.” You don’t wanna know what he means by that, and he doesn't give you a chance to think too hard on it before he’s leaving the room, stopping the gun off the ground and flicking the safety back on.

You hear him stomp out of the house, the door slamming hard enough to shake the whole house. Your heart races and your tears don’t stop. The humiliation and mental abuse that he just put you through has you trembling, anxiety skyrocketing.

You haul yourself off of the bed and stumble to the shower, turning the water on as hot as you can handle, then hotter still, determined to burn the feeling of his hands off of your skin.

You stand sobbing under the spray for a long time, long enough for his seed to drip down your leg and get washed down the drain. The thought of having any part of him in your body makes you feel sick, and you grab the showerhead. You switch the setting to a more powerful one then press it to your core, determined to wash him out of you.

The heat of the water scalds you, and it burns like a bitch, but you don’t care. You’ll endure any pain to get the feeling of him out of you.

Finally, after nearly ten minutes of washing yourself out, you switch the setting back to normal and stand under the spray, shivering despite the hot water.

You feel hopeless. And absolutely terrified. He hurt you. Mentally and physically. There’s no escape. Nothing for you to do. You’re stuck here. Trapped. Just like Fury said. THere’s no way they’ll let you out now, not with the way he’s treated you. You’re sure of it.

An idea pops into your head and you slowly open your eyes.

Maybe you’re not as trapped as you thought.

You hobble out of the shower and into your bedroom, grabbing the glass of water off of your bedside table.

When you’re back in the bathroom, you smash the glass against the counter, tears continuing to fall silently, although you feel less overwhelmed now that you have a plan.

You grab a large shard of glass then get into the shower, sitting down in the corner under the warm spray of water.

With two deep breaths, you press the glass to the inside of your wrist, wincing as you push down against your bruises. You drag the sharp shard up towards your elbow, closing your eyes for a moment as blood spills out quickly. You slice another, cleaner line, up from your wrist to your elbow, then repeat the process on your other arm.

You lean your head back against the tiled wall and let out a few shuddering breaths, basking in the warm water as your body slowly starts to get colder.

~

Bucky sits in the briefing room, feeling guilty about what he did to you. He had a point to prove, but he thinks he took it a tad too far.

If the dead look in your eyes is anything to go by, then he absolutely took it too far.

On the drive to the compound, he found it nearly impossible to keep his eyes off of the tablet, hungry to see what you would do and how you would react. He’s disappointed but not surprised at the fact that you tried to wash your body clean of him, inside and out.

But now in the briefing room, Steve drones on and on about a potential threat and yada yada ya. Bucky just wants to check on you, make sure you’re not hurt too bad. See how you’re reacting to his... extreme punishment.

With a glance down, he pulls the tablet out of his jacket and holds it under the table, eyes looking up to see if anyone’s noticed. They’re all focused on their captain, the same way he should be. But he’s not. He can’t help the gnawing feeling in his gut that he needs to check on you. He flicks through the cameras, stopping when he gets to the one in the shower.

He tries to be inconspicuous about it, but he struggles when he sees you sitting in the corner, not moving. After a closer look, he sees the puddle of red that’s slowly seeping down the drain.

Blood. And lot’s of it.

He stands up abruptly and all eyes turn to him.

“I’ve gotta go,” he mumbles, shoving the tablet back into his jacket then running out of the room. He drives fast. Fast and reckless, but he’s afraid. Why? Because if you die, it’s his fault.

He doesn’t know where the blood is coming from, but he hopes to god it’s not anything he physically inflicted.

He takes the stairs three at a time, shoving open the bathroom door in your room and ripping open the shower door. You’re sitting there, skin dull and eyes closed while red pumps from your arms.

“Fuck,” he whispers, grabbing your arms and pulling you out of the shower. You whimper, eyes moving slowly beneath closed lids.  

He grabs a towel and presses it to your arms, then digs through the cabinets in search of a first aid kit.

His hands shake just the slightest bit as he wraps your arms tightly in gauze, slowing the blood flow. His heart clenches as he sees the bruises on your wrists, the ones he gave you.

Maybe he is a monster.

“Hmm... no...” you whisper, pushing against him weakly. He looks down and finds your eyes staring up at him, slightly glazed over.

“No,” you whisper again, this time stronger.

“No!” You shout, struggling out of his lap.

“How could you?! Why?! Why couldn't you just let me die?! Haven't you hurt me enough?!” He swallows hard and holds your arms tightly, stopping you from hurting yourself more.

“Calm down. Please. I’m gonna dry you off and put you to bed. I won’t hurt you, I promise.” You shake your head then instantly regret it, feeling dizzy and weak.

He scoops you up in his arms and carries you into your bedroom, stopping when he sees the wrecked sheets. He glances at you and your trembling body then brings you into his bedroom. He sets you down on the bed then runs and gets a towel, drying you off quickly. Your teeth continue to chatter even after he’s dressed you in a sweatshirt of his and a pair of sweatpants.

He tucks you under the blankets then scoots in bed next to you, hoping the high temperature of his body does something to warm you up.

You fall asleep rather quickly, body and mind exhausted from the traumatic events of the day, and Bucky feels himself being quickly overcome with guilt.

He did this to you. He let himself go, far too much. The monster within clawed it’s way out. He took out his aggression and anger on you when he should’ve just punished you lightly. He broke you, right down to your soul. And he’s not sure how or if he can fix you.

~*~

[couchpotatoaniki]

One Year ❣︎ Seven: Never Ask Friends for Help

Chapter Summary: As San expected, he caught a cold after your little prance through the storm in Hallim Park the previous day. Luckily, you're fine, which gives you the wonderful opportunity to look after him and the even more wonderful opportunity to let your chaotic nature shine.

Pairing: Mafia!San x Fem!Reader Genre: Mafia AU, fluff, angst, eventual smut, lotta crack and stupid shit ngl Chapter warnings: swearing, (this chapter is pure fluff and crack) Word count: 3.2k+ A 365 Days parody

Previous: Chapter Six For the rest of the series, click here

Speech in bold means they’re talking in Korean

Speech in italics is whatever the reader wants their native langue to be that’s not Korean or English

Speech without either means they’re talking in English

Silence filled your room when you woke up the next morning. It was strange, since San had said he would be waking you up, and there you were, still lying in bed by the time noon rolled around.

It wasn’t as if you were waiting for him to come and get you, but you just wanted to take advantage of the time in such a warm blanket. Yeosang often joked about how you became a cold-blooded reptile whenever you felt sleepy, body temperature dropping and your tongue sharp like that of a snake.

Basically, it was his long-winded way of calling you a cranky, heat-stealing bitch.

Not that you minded at all, since Yeosang was a cranky bitch himself when sleepy.

But then half an hour passed, and there was still no sign of San. Throwing the blanket off your form, you slipped on a pair of slippers and got ready for the day, finding him becoming the very next thing on your agenda.

And the state you found him in was certainly laughable--to you anyway.

“Did you seriously get sick after a little storm?” you chuckled, eyes taking in San wrapped in the covers as if he was a baby, sniffling every few seconds.

“Oh, shut it,” he glared at you, speaking with a nasally voice.

You took a step into his room, one looking fairly similar to yours, with little pictures or much personalisation in general. Must not have stayed here often then, or had many memories he wanted to keep.

That thought... it made you feel a little sad.

Once you reached the edge of his bed, you sat down beside him, noticing just how sickly-looking he was. Skin paler, hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat, flush cheeks and nose, uneven breathing, soft whimpering.

Your smile faded slightly. “How long have you been like this?”

“Since last night,” he coughed, brushing away your hand as you reached out to check his temperature. “Don’t touch me, I don’t want you to catch whatever this is.”

Clicked your tongue at his response and did so anyway. “Holy shit, you’re burning up. More than you should be. Has anyone seen to you yet?” Instantly, you brushed the hair from his eyes, simultaneously wiping away the sweat. Was pretty gross, but you didn’t mind at all.

San relaxed under your gentle touch, finding it cool and soothing against his muddled senses. “N-No. I texted Hongjoong to tell everyone to leave me alone. Clearly didn’t do a good enough job if you’re here.”

Lightly hitting his chest over the blanket, you scoffed. “You’re happy I’m here, don’t lie.”

Grinning, he sighed. “Can’t hide anything from you, now can I, Hun?”

“Nope,” you huffed as you got up. “Now, I’m going to prepare something for you to eat since you probably haven’t had anything since yesterday.” On cue, his stomach grumbled painfully loudly, making the man visibly cringe as he was about to decline your offer so you would stay with him for a little bit longer. “Looks like Mister Tummy’s already answered for you.”

“Mister Tummy doesn’t know shit.”

“Mister Tummy knows more shit than you do. In fact, it processes all of your shit for you.”

“Gross.”

“I know. Mister Tummy’s gross. But full of wisdom.”

“You know what, just go. Leave me be for a bit.”

Evil chuckling reached his ears. “Now that you’ve said it, I’ll just be here to annoy you as much as I can. But before we do that, keep yourself bundled up and make sure you’re sweating buckets. It’s the most effective way to break a nasty fever like that.” You began wrapping him up in the thick blanket like he was a burrito.

With that, you left for the kitchen, calling Seonghwa’s number. As the ringing continued, you looked around, noticing how there were few guards and servants around the place. Not even Wooyoung, Jongho, or Hongjoong could be seen in your trek to make food.

“What do you want, troll?”

“You’ve got to stop calling me that. Whatever happened to ‘hello’? Too mainstream for you?”

“...Hello, troll. What do you want?”

Narrowing your eyes ahead of you, smirk pressing against your lips, you tried to look around for the chef. Not there either. “Much better. Now, can you give me a recipe for that soup with ‘magical healing properties’ you used to give me?”

“Bone broth?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m on adventure to nurse a sociopathic cuddle-demon back to health, now are you going to give me the recipe or am I going to get Yunho to drag it out of you? Because I know very well that he will.”

Seonghwa’s sigh was loud enough to be audible through the phone.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Just text me the recipe, thank you, love you, byeeeeee.” Immediately ended the call, looking in all the cupboards, the pantry, the fridge, and the freezer. This place was stocked to the brim.

Shortly after, your phone began buzzing, Seonghwa requesting to video call you. Swiping the green button, you were met with a (slightly laggy) picture of Seonghwa’s chin, hearing him yell off screen. “--UNHO. MINGI. I SWEAR TO GOD, YOU BETTER PUT THAT DOWN BEFORE I SHOVE IT UP BOTH YOUR ASSES.”

You could make out the response, “Hehe, kinky.” Most likely Mingi from the very nature of the comment.

“What do you want, troll?” you echoed his words back to him, catching his attention--the other boys most likely long gone into the depth of the house.

“Well, well, well, how the tables have turned,” he smirked, moving the camera so you could see him better.

“It’s ‘how the turntables’.”

He looked at you with an unimpressed expression, not pleased with your Office reference, and carried on to ignore it. “So there is no way in hell I’m sending you the recipe through text, since people can easily hack that--”

“And by people, you mean--”

“Yeosang, yes, who else? Little rat bastard keeps trying to steal my recipes.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him you said that.”

“As if he hasn’t heard it already about a million times.”

You chuckled in response, knowing how true it was. “Fair enough. Now spill your secrets and bless me with the ability to cook.”

One word to describe the last hour of your life would be... Well, you couldn’t really think of a word. It was purely of Seonghwa screaming over the phone and you screaming back. And panicking. Both of you definitely panicked.

But all in all, the bone broth was made and tasted fairly decent--a worry you had after fucking up so many times in making a simple recipe.

With a pale and dreary look upon his face, Seonghwa looked at you through the phone, narrowing his eyes on you pouring some of the hot mixture in to a bowl. “You’re actually gonna feed him that? Sure you’re trying to nurse him, or was this a master plan to kill him after that ordeal? Because if it’s the latter, then there were much easier ways of doing so.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled, whispering prayers in your head that it would actually help San’s fever. “And goodbye.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Is that it? You’re gonna use me and then lea--”

You hand pulled away from the phone screen, after having pressed the red button. Chuckled to yourself with your comedic timing, completely forgetting the earful you’d get of the elder the next time you call him.

Gathering a tray, you placed the bowl of bone broth on top of it, as well as a packet of painkillers, a glass of water, and some turmeric tea; why San has it, you have no idea, since he seems to be a hot coffee-kind of person.

Would’ve added a flower, because you felt like being extra, but that would seem more like a romantic thing than a... well, whatever the hell you two were right now.

This situation wasn’t exactly common enough for it to be given a name.

Wafting away the thought, you grabbed the tray and walked quickly to the mobster’s bedroom. Didn’t need to worry about any spillage since you’ve had years of practice being quick and precise with movement.

Holding one hand beneath the tray (feeling a little heavy, but again, you’ve had practice), you used the other to open the door, finding San still swaddled in his blanket, sweating like a pig.

“Y/N...” he whimpered, an eye opening at the sound of you entering. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state was different to how he usually was--and you weren’t sure if you liked it.

“I’m right here, San,” you replied in a soft tone, brushing back his hair once more as soon as you placed the tray on the bedside-table beside you. “Brought you some food too. Can you sit up for me?”

Letting out soft whines, he tried to lift his body up, but was too weak and too caged in to get his back even a centimetre off the mattress. You saw the issue, and pulled the covers apart slightly so he could move a little more, both hands pulling gently at his shoulders so he could sit up properly.

Never had you seen someone this unwell from a simple fever. Sure, you’ve felt like shit before, but San’s condition was a little worrying. “Is there some private doctor I can call?”

“What,” he huffed, a smile etching onto his face as he looked into your eyes, “makes you think I have a private doctor?”

“Oh, I dunno, you’re a rich asshole?”

Chuckling, he let his head flop to the side, neck suddenly too weak to hold it up properly. “You’re beautiful, you know that? Annoying, but funny, but sarcastic, but beautiful.”

“Okay, do you wanna continue with that word vomit or are you gonna eat?” You cocked your brow, head tilting to match his posture. “Also, you’re not gonna flatter me by calling me beautiful. That shit doesn’t work on me anymore.”

It had slightly upset San knowing that you had said ‘anymore’--upset him knowing that there were others complimenting what his. But he couldn’t blame them. You really were beautiful in his eyes, even if he hadn’t thought so when he initially laid eyes on you.

“Don’t wanna eat.”

Sighing, you fixed yourself and picked up the bowl, mixing it as you blew to cool it down a little. “You’re not well, you gotta.”

He looked at you with big wide eyes and a small pout--and you couldn’t help but think it was a little cute. “Don’t wanna... unless you feed me?”

Okay, maybe it was a little less cute.

You exhaled, still stirring. “If I do, then you’ll have it all?” He put his hand over his heart, nodding with a sincere look on his face. “Fine then.” You lifted a spoon full of the bone broth to his lips, which he look into his mouth promptly--eyes glued to yours as he did so.

San hummed earnestly. “It’s...actually pretty good.”

Eye twitching, you lightly pushed him. “Why? Did you expect it to be shit?”

“I mean, I heard faint screaming and what I assume was swearing, which could have only come from you because I let everyone have a day off for today. So, yes, forgive my assumption that it would murder me,” he chuckled, opening his mouth once more, in which you carefully put more broth in.

“Be happy that I’m doing this much for you.”

“Because you feel guilty for getting me ill?” 

“No, it was your fault for not taking a hot shower when we came back, like I told you to--and your immune system for being so shit.”

“Okay, first of all, I can’t help it if my immune system wants to act out. I usually don’t get this ill.” You sent him a ludicrous look, continuing to feed him. “What? I really don’t!”

“Tell that to the rain.”

“I-- nevermind. But the second thing is that I offered to take a shower, but you said no!”

“That’s because you wanted to shower with me. No way in hell I was gonna let that happen!”

“You have the shower room for it!”

″Yeah, and I've already passed on my grievances to you yesterday about that hell-room!”

“Well, at least with me with you, you don’t have to worry about--what did you call it? Oh yeah--’Casper the fuckin’ Perverted Ghost’.”

“I’d take a ghost over you any day.”

“You won’t be saying that in a year.”

“Bold of you to assume that I won’t be choosing Casper over you. After all, I’ll be spending time with him as well.”

San scoffed, slightly amused but annoyed at the same time. “Are you actually trying to get me jealous of something that doesn’t exist?”

“Who said Casper doesn’t exist?”

“‘Cause ghosts don’t exist.”

“Tell that to Casper. You’ll find him in my shower room.”

Amidst the conversation, neither of you had noticed how the bowl and cup was now empty, their contents now residing in San’s stomach. But when you did, you got up--ready to walk to the kitchen and put everything away--until his very warm hands wrapped around your elbow gently.

“Please don’t go. You can put all that stuff away later. Just... stay with me.”

Sighing, you decided to listen to him for once an put the tray down before tightening the covers around him again--making him whine. “Noooooo, I wanna hold you.”

“What happened to not wanting me to get sick?”

“I’m ill, stop taking my muddled brain so seriously.”

Your brow cocked up, amused while you looked over his flushed face. “So you’d be willing get me sick too?”

Another pout formed on his face. “Of course not,” he mumbled. “You know what, you’re right. You can go.”

He avoided looking at you, instead fixing his saddened gaze at the window. Your natural scepticism told you that he was just faking it, only putting on an act to get your attention and affection. Yet, for the first time in a while, doubt began to seep in.

Maybe... maybe you could give in. Just this once.

Sighing, you slipped off your slippers and lay down beside him, an arm and leg wrapping around his body to bring him closer to you. A stronger tint of red covered his face as he looked at you, flabbergasted, as he tried to wriggle out of your touch. “What are you doing, you’ll get sick--”

“My immune system is much stronger than yours, I’ll live. Besides, you look cosy,” you muttered, nestling your face into the soft blanket. Even his blanket smelled like a garden in the rain, despite the amount of sweat that’s probably seeped into it.

Truly, he did, and you couldn’t deny that you wanted to hug the human burrito.

San had, instead, found you cute, cheek squished against the fabric surrounding him. Let his mind wonder to the image of you pressed against him--without the covers coming between you two.

Again.

Would you look this peaceful, sleeping on his chest, on a regular day--he thought.

“Are you just going to stare at me or are you gonna get some rest?” San could feel your voice vibrating through the covers despite the thickness of it.

“Hard not to stare at you, ya know?” he relaxed himself, despite feeling like he was baking beneath the blanket, and let his head rest on the pillow, cheek pressed against your forehead.

“Goddamn, you’re hot. Did you take any medicine while I was cooking?”

“Oh, Hun, there’s no cure for sexiness,” he coughed, a smirk pulling at his lips from the joke he made.

Another sigh was pulled from your throat as you got up to look for any painkillers he could take. Sane began to whine once more, rolling over since he could barely had enough energy to move with his arms when he was this tired--a full belly of warm broth and tea not helping what so ever.

“No--wait. Come back...”

“You need painkillers.”

With a straight face, he stared deep into your eyes, slightly glossy and sparkling under the dim sunlight coming into the room. “But you’re my painkiller.”

“Yeah, I’m going to get you some meds,” you deadpanned, scooping up the tray to leave the grown-ass mafia boss whining and rolling around, throwing a tantrum.

After some hard thinking and remembering that Wooyoung had given you his number, you called him up as you stood in the doorway, looking at San’s calm state of sleeping.

“My dear sister,” you heard a voice finally say over the phone, “what requires my assistance?”

“...Wooyoung?”

“Yes, dear sister?”

“What in the world has possessed you call me your ‘dear sister’?”

“Because you’re gonna be my friend’s wife some day, so I need to get used to seeing you as my sister-from-another-mister.”

Rubbing the bridge of your nose, you decided to not comment on his outlandish claims. “San’s not feeling well.”

“Is that why he sent us all away?” he laughed, somehow finding this situation amusing--since this is what his best friend tends to do; finds his weakened state as vulnerability, and if there was one thing San hated, it was feeling vulnerable.

But if he truly hated that, then why pursue this why you--when he know that it would force him to bring his guard down?

“I think so. No one was here when I came out of my room. Not the cooks or the maids or even the guards,” you said, taking another gander as if there might be someone roaming the halls to disprove your statement.

There wasn’t.

“Okay then. You want me to give you our private doctor’s number?”

Chuckling to yourself because you knew you were right (immediately confusing Wooyoung), you hummed, “yeah, that would be great.”

“O-Okay. Lemme text it to you. But do you need anything else? I know from experience San can get a little clingy when he’s not in his right mind,” he said, a boisterous giggle passing his lips.

“Nah, it’s fine.” You let your gaze brush over your captor’s figure. “Just send me the number and I’ll take it from there.”

“Okie dokie then, dear sister. I’ll leave you to deal with that enigma.”

“Alright, Wooyoung. See you tomorrow?”

“Call me ‘dear brother’, then maybe I’ll hang u--”

You shoved your phone into your back pocket after ending the call, thinking that it would take him a few minutes. Proving you wrong, the phone buzzes to life within the next ten seconds, Wooyoung sending you a couple of messages.

Wooyoung: Well that was a rude Wooyoung: No matter, I still love ya, dear sister Wooyoung: Probs should clarify that it’s platonic in case San sees it and gets all jelly Wooyoung: Anyway, here’s the number Wooyoung: XXXXXXXXXX

Y/N: Thanks, bro

Wooyoung: 🥺🥺 You called me ‘bro’

Smiling a little, you called the number--which had indeed taken you to a doctor’s clinic. After hearing of his exact temperature and other symptoms, the woman over the phone had concluded that it was as you first suspected--the common cold.

She told you to keep giving him painkillers and he should be fine within the week. Ending the call with a polite ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’, you left to get San more broth and medication, and hopefully you’d lay down with him again.

Which is exactly what you did for the rest of the day, opting to stay with him for the night too in order to make sure he really was okay. Thankfully, the worst of his fever had passed by the time morning came around and he was feeling much better.

You, however, were exhausted after looking after him, deep in your slumber as you shifted closer to San, who had broken free of his blanket prison and wrapped it around the two of you. The sunlight peeking through the window paled in comparison to the faint smile of glee San had adorned when he saw you.

Cheeked pressed up against his shoulder, and arm and a leg draped over his body like a koala clinging to a tree.

Just like he had thought the day before.

☕︎ Tag list: @little-precious-baby​​​​ , @sparklychangbin​​​​ , @shawkneecaps​ If you wanna be tagged, feel free to ask!

[burnedbyshoto]

disconnected

— Kirishima answers a phone call that wasn’t intended for him, and of course he can’t help but be interested in the beautiful voice and soul that angrily began to rant about their day. —

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pairing: kirishima eijirou x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, lil angst (lol sorry), cursing

word count: 7,786

a/n: this was a stupid thought that slammed into my mind, and here it is!!!! now I have a calc midterm tomorrow that I did not look at because why think about double derivatives and integrals when I can think about kirishima????

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It was eleven at night when Kirishima strolled out of his bathroom, ready to go to bed. After a rather long day, he was looking forward to sleeping and not having to wake up at the crack of dawn. Tomorrow for the very first day in a very long time, he wouldn’t have to work at the local coffee shop he was hired at. It was a job he had acquired with his good friends on the promise of it being a manageable job on top of his college work, and of course, the pretty girls who would go in.

From what Kirishima had gathered from the four months working there was that there were a lot of pretty girls who entered the coffee shop — most of which were focused on the angry ash-blond friend of his — and that it was so unnecessarily stressful. 

Some days he was up at four in the morning to open at six for the morning regulars, then he’d go to his afternoon classes, only to return for a two-hour shift in the middle of rush hour, and would leave while trying to keep the peace between a certain ash-blond and two new hires. To say the least, it was hell on Earth at times. 

Regardless, he didn’t have to open tomorrow morning, so he was content! On top of not having classes tomorrow, Kirishima was excited to sleep in.

Falling on his bed with a massive sigh, Kirishima snuggled his face into his pillow, rejoicing in the way that the laundry detergent still clung to the fabric and relaxed.

Sleep sounded so—

RIIING.

RIIING.

Kirishima’s eyes slammed open, his head snapping to see his illuminating phone on his nightstand. He had no idea who the hell was calling this late. There was no way it was Bakugou; he was asleep already at this point. Sero had broken his phone two days ago during a failed stunt and wouldn’t be able to get a new phone until the weekend. Kaminari only called him when there was a bug in his apartment, but he was currently closing… maybe it was Mina? Kirishima shook his head, no, he hadn’t spoken to Mina in ages.

Grabbing the phone, he didn’t bother to look at the caller ID and answered.

“Hello—?”

“Oh my god, I am fucking raging! You can’t believe what kind of fuckery I just went through tonight!” a voice shouted into the receiver, and Kirishima flinched a bit at the loud and angry voice. “So you know how I wasn’t supposed to work today, right? Because my coworker had sex with her ex-boyfriend like an idiot, and I owed her for covering my shift three months ago, but anyways irrelevant. I’m taking the order of this one group of adults. That’s right, A-D-U-L-T-S, adults! They are completely staring at my tits the entire time, and not my face. At first, I thought maybe you know, I had spilled something on my tits earlier, no. No! NOTHING! So I call them out on it, and they say something along the lines of ‘you could be a camgirl with that body, but like not in a sex sort of way’ I’m sorry, WHAT?! Like yes, continue sexually harassing your server who is a college student and therefore has no will to live, so will gladly beat your Gucci belt wearing ass into a bloody pulp! What they gonna do? Sue me? I have one dollar to my name, fucking take it, I don’t care, I’ll find another dollar in the sewer after I beat their asses up!

“But you know, I’m saying all this in my head because I’m broke and can’t afford to be fired from this place because the tips are hella good here. But they continue saying dumb shit, and then the obvious ringleader — I know he was the ring leader because his beard looks like it was the first picture printed on a new ink cartridge and his manspread was ten times wider than all of theirs — have the fucking audacity to slip his number while only tipping TEN DOLLARS ON A TWO HUNDRED DOLLAR TAB!!!!” Kirishima doesn’t know what to say, his jaw on his mattress, breathing having stopped while your voice wheezes from your lack of air. He makes a croaking noise, wanting to speak up and apologize for what had happened and for not being the person you thought it was, but it seemed that you weren’t over. “AND DON’T GET ME STARTED ON THAT FUCKING KAREN!!! ‘I didn’t like the way you looked at me so I won’t be tipping you tonight!’ yeah, well maybe if you didn’t order enough FOOD TO FEED AN ARMY AND KEPT SENDING IT BACK I WOULDN’T BE LOOKING AT YOU LIKE THAT!!!”

There was a pause, and Kirishima, while feeling entirely sorry for you, finally spoke, “Fuck, that sounds... horrible.”

“Damn right, it was horri— wait, who the fuck is this?” your voice squeaked, and Kirishima almost started to laugh at the difference in the tone your voice took. Once so loud, angry, and entirely ‘fuck the world,’ had changed into a meek and embarrassed voice.

“Um, this is Kirishima. Kirishima Eijiriou?”

“This isn’t Hagakure?” you moaned into the phone. “03-9082-2395? That isn’t this number?”

“2-2-9-5,” Kirishima repeated his own number back, a small smile overcame his features knowing that you had accidentally misdialed a number.

“Fuck my fat fingers,” you cursed, and Kirishima chuckled lightly at the mutterings that were poorly picked up. “Well, um, I am so sorry for calling you and dumping that unnecessary bullshit on you—”

“No, no,” Kirishima interrupted, rolling onto his back, staring up at the dimly lit ceiling. “It’s totally okay! You seem less stressed out now too, and it really isn’t a big deal!”

“You are very kind, Kirishima Eijirou,” you laugh, and Kirishima can’t help but imagine a figure curled up on a couch.

“Thank you!” he beamed, a hand threading through his hair, “um, but what happened with the Karen? And why were you typing in your friend’s phone number?”

“Do you really want to know?” you ask after a fit of bubbling laughter; it seemed that you were not at all convinced.

“I work at a coffee shop for one, so I totally understand the Karen situations! Secondly, all my contacts are on my phone, I don’t have a single one of them memorized!”

“Okay, okay, okay, I do not have this number memorized! Hagakure is my roommate, and she has a new number that she left posted on our fridge and because Mr. Sprinkles left in the middle of my rant, I called her to finish it!” you explain in what Kirishima could only consider being childlike glee. “And a coffee shop? Oof, Kirishima, you might have it just as bad as I do then.”

“Ever had a boiling cup of coffee thrown back at your face?”

“Shut. Up.”

“I wish I was joking!”

“The nastiest thing I’ve ever been put through is a highschool couple breaking up in the middle of the restaurant, and a bowl of cold soup and milkshake were thrown at me! And I had to work for another five hours!”

“That… that beat mine by a long shot…”

“Okay, but like, it was cold. If you hadn’t dodged, you’d be dead!”

As time passed Kirishima soon found himself sitting up on his bed, his back pressed against the headboard, a lamp on so that he wasn’t in the dark while he talked to you. Somehow conversation flowed so perfectly between the two of you, so smoothly, so naturally. You had extremely compelling energy and a pretty bright one at that as well. Your stories were exceedingly extravagant, most derailing into hundreds of side stories before making its way back to the main point, but he didn’t mind. Though there was no proof, he imagined that your arms were swinging around while you talked, a bright smile on your face, and lights shining in your eyes.

“So anyway, I had to beg my professor to let me remake this exam because, for some reason, my brain would not switch back to Japanese. I almost cried because I was only speaking in English, and I think because I am an amazing person, my professor let me do that!” you laughed after explaining an issue with being fluent in a third language. 

“My English skills deteriorated after leaving high school, I’m rather jealous you can speak three languages,” Kirishima admitted, his head falling back onto the cold wall. “My Japanese professors probably think my Japanese sucks too.”

“Just because I am amazing and can speak three languages doesn’t mean I’m perfect at it,” you laugh, obviously trying to make him feel better about himself.

“Mm, I don’t know, you’re painting yourself as a pretty perfect person,” Kirishima sighed. “Or you have an enormous ego…”

A loud scoff came from your end of the phone, and Kirishima waited for your verbal retaliation but was met with a moment of silence.

“Oh! Welcome home!” you called out, and Kirishima quickly put together that your roommate Hagakure was home. “Yeah, no, I’m talking to someone right now! ...who? Oh, um, a friend! ...no, I tried to call you when I got home but misdialed your number and got him instead! NO! You’re not going to get a pic of him! Wait, it’s what time?!”

Kirishima’s eyes fell over to his alarm clock and saw in the dim red light that it was 04:57. 

His jaw dropped.

“Well, um, Kirishima, it seems that our call is going to end,” you whisper into the phone, and Kirishima lets out a breathless chuckle, sudden sleepiness creeping into him. “It was pretty fun chatting with you stranger, thanks for putting up with that ranting in the beginning! Most normal people wouldn’t have picked up or let me rant like that!”

“It’s no problem,” Kirishima smiled softly, his fingers stretching out to turn off the light. He licked his lips, five hours on a phone call with an absolute stranger, and he didn’t have your name, and better yet, a part of him wanted to ask if it was okay to be friends. You were magnetic to him, and he wanted to know more about you, even if this was this weird modern and accidental penpal thing. “I didn’t have anything to do today, and you were fun talking to!”

“Aww, thank you!”

Silence.

Ask, he thought, his teeth biting down onto his bottom lip. Ask!

“Um, I know this is weird and all, but do you think I can keep your number?” you ask, your voice almost timid and meek.

Kirishima’s heart rate spikes at those words, he very much wanted that, but his mouth had a mind of its own it seemed. “Why?”

“Wha— well, I just had a lot of fun talking with you! It was fun, and I don’t know, you seem like a pretty chill guy!”

His fingers gripped his phone, a warmth spreading through him when he relaxed under his sheets. “On one condition.”

“Oof, if you’re going to ask to decide between Crimson Riot or All Might you’re going to be—”

“No, no,” Kirishima lets out a snort, his shoulders rolling while he imagines the curious look coming over your face. “I would like to know your name?”

“My name? Why would you want— HOLY SHIT! I never gave you—” there was a loud noise on your end of the call, and Kirishima heard you apologize profusely before returning in a hushed whisper. “Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t give you my name?!”

“No,” he laughed loudly, one that was pushed from his belly, spreading warmth through his body. “You never did, but I did learn every name of every person you’ve ever talked with!”

“God,” you groan, a small whine emitted from you. “I’m an idiot, I’m so sorry! Y/l/n y/n at your service!”

Y/l/n y/n, that’s a pretty name, he thought while imagining just what you could look like. 

“Well, goodnight y/l/n, I’ll save your number, and we’ll see if you still would like to be friends when you wake up?”

There was a small noise of agreement, “I’m like a drug, Kirishima, you’ll be back for more.”

“Okay, okay, goodnight…”

“Goodnight, sweet dreams!”

“Sweet dreams.”

Kirishima listened to the line ending, and he pulled his phone away from his ear and no sooner did he do that, a text came in at what he believed to be your number:

don’t let the bed bugs bite! 🕷😱‼️

He snorted and replied back before eventually letting sleep consume him.

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“You’ll never believe what just happened!” you squealed into the phone, and Kirishima laughed while wiping his sweaty face with a white towel. You had called thirty minutes earlier than usual and had caught him leaving the gym.

It had been a bit over two months since your misdial, and things with you had been going pretty well for strangers. The two of you didn’t talk every day, most weeks going by with just a single call, but they were always delightful talks. You worked most nights, and he most mornings, the two of you discovered. So most calls took place the night he didn’t have to work the following morning. 

“You got a customer who complained that there was too much salt in their meal that had no salt in it?” he asked, pulling a random story of something that had happened at his own coffee shop today. You let out an amused snort, a clear indicator that he was wrong, but found his guess to be amusing at the very least.

“No, but oddly enough, someone did ask for an insane amount of salt on their food and hated it!” you sang, clearly happy with how you found their distress to be funny.

“Close enough!” Kirishima laughed, but he was straight out of guesses, so he stopped. “So, what happened?”

“I tried coffee for the first time ever today!” you squealed loudly, and Kirishima cheered happily.

Through these two months, there were some hard facts that Kirishima had learned about you. One, you were living in the same city as him. Two, you worked at a semi-classy restaurant. Three, you had two roommates named Hagakure and Jirou. Four, you were twenty, just like him. And five, you were a child who only drank hot chocolate and tea because you were afraid of coffee.

~

“Caffeine is a drug you know,” you had snarkily teased him one night when he said he was going to make a cup of coffee. “Nice to know I’m friends with an addict!”

“If drugs were as amazing as coffee, I’d be an addict!”

“You know…” your voice whispered, your voice suddenly taking a guilty approach. “I’ve never actually tried coffee…”

“WHAT?!”

~

“Wow, look at you, becoming an old woman in front of my own eyes!” Kirishima chuckled, starting his walk back home. 

His fingers pushed the headphones to be more secure over his ears, hopeful that there it wouldn’t pick up too heavily on the wind of the outside world. 

“To be honest, it wasn’t that good, your taste buds are just tarnished from drinking that bitter crap all day!” you huff and he half imagined you turning your nose up.

“Okay, okay,” Kirishima laughed, a warmth flooding in his chest at the sounds of your muffled laughter. A visible indicator that you were also amused at this. “I hated coffee until I started working at a coffee shop, and that was because I needed to know my shit.”

“Wow, you only got that job while not being a coffee addict?” you tease. “Seems like a fake barista to me.”

“It’s pretty hard to believe, I know,” Kirishima stated his tone one of fake melancholy. “I’m so sorry for deceiving you, and honestly, I am a shit barista.”

“Aww, don’t say that!” you exclaim, and it seems like you’re ready to fight him. “I bet you put all those fancy TikTok baristas to shame!”

“TikTok?” he laughed, his pace speeding up just a bit so he would get home faster. “Wow, I am honored you think that!”

The light conversation continued, nothing too deep or too intense, just chatter about today's shifts and classes. Eventually, Kirishima made it back into his apartment complex, and stumbled into his room, collapsing onto his bed. 

“Can I ask something?” you ask suddenly, and Kirishima lets out a small hum.

“Yeah, of course, what’s up?”

“What do you look like?” you asked softly as if you were curled up in bed, seconds from letting sleep consume you. “I haven’t come up with a mental image that I like, and well, I want some hints.”

“I can just send you a picture of me,” Kirishima smiles, his eyes closing. “It would be much easier than me trying to explain to you what I look like.”

“No!” you disagree, and there's a long sigh from your end of the phone. “I’m not ready for that kind of information yet, Kiri. I just… I can’t accept a pic of you without sending one back, and I’m not mentally ready for that yet…”

“Don’t tell me the big fat Gucci bougie you is shy?!” Kirishima exclaimed, humor drowning his words as he referenced you to something you had called yourself one drunken night weeks ago.

“Not shy!” you bemoan, your voice muffling out at the end of it. “I’m more scared you’ll find me ugly and ghost me…”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Kirishima interjected, his voice stable and confident.

“Which part?”

“Both parts.”

“How do you know that? You don’t know what I look like…”

“...call it… Kirishima’s intuition,” Kirishima slowly stated, his eyebrows furrowing. “I find your voice and your personality to be attractive on their own, so I would never ghost you. And of course, appearance isn’t anything; plus, there’s no way you’re not gorgeous.”

He says these words with honest truth, and a part of him fears he overstepped and made you wildly uncomfortable with the amount of silence that is heard from your end of the line. But finally, as Kirishima is ready to apologize to you, a soft exhale is heard.

“You’re a dork,” you whisper, and a soft grin spreads on his own face. “Anyways, I’ll ask questions, you answer them first, and then I’ll do the same.”

“Sounds good!”

“Hair color?”

“Black, but I dye it red.”

“Mm, edgy teenager, I like it, and also knew that because you complained about your stained sheets! Eye color?”

“Red.”

“Oh, am I sensing a theme? How tall are you?”

“I’m… a bit over six feet?”

The list went on, most questions becoming more of a joke than anything else, but he was glad that you were asking these things because now he had an insight on how you looked too. You had told him your eye color, your hair color, how tall you were, and a whole bunch of trivial things he would have never thought to ask about to begin with.

“Okay, last question!” you cheered, happy to have finally included Kirishima into your inside joke that revolved around your eyebrows. “Do you have any distinguishing features?”

“Well, I don’t actually...” Kirishima admitted, his fingers brushing against the scar on his eye, and then it hit him. That was one! “Oh, wait—” CRASH. A loud crashing noise emitted from your side of the call.

“Shit, hold on!” you curse and Kirishima can only remain silent while he hears you yelling in the background, it was too far away for him to quite understand, but it was enough to know that it didn’t sound okay. 

Kirishima sat on his side of the call, the phone pressed to his ear while he tried to strip his gross and sweaty shirt from his body. His teeth bit into his lip, his canine pressing into the permanent indent of his lip, an indicator of how anxious he used to be. 

“Fuck, Kiri?” your voice suddenly snapped back onto the call, your tone frantic and quick.

“Everything okay?”

“No, Hagakure showed up drunker than… a drunken drunk, I don’t know expressions, ANYWAYS I know tonight is our unofficial official call night, but anyway I can get a rain check?”

There was guilt that swallowed your voice, a pang of guilt that made Kirishima warm a bit because it showed that you valued these calls, just like him. 

“Of course, I don’t have class or work Friday morning this time around, so Thursday night?”

“That works perfectly,” you sigh, gratitude. “I owe you, text you later if you don’t fall asleep! Goodnight, sweet dreams, love ya!”

Kirishima couldn’t repeat the whole statement before you hastily hung up, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face the entire time he showered. The shower didn’t take too long, and by the time he emerged from the shower, towel around his neck and his waist, he had a text message. 

sero - hey bro!!! i can’t pick up my morning shift tomorrow i know you have tonight to speak w y/n but todoroki and bakugou can’t cover it!

Kirishima sighed, he definitely didn’t have anything tomorrow anyways, he could manage with going in for an extra shift to help a friend.

kirishima - yeah sure what time?

sero - youre a life saver T-T im covering 8 am - 3 pm!!!

Kirishima sent a simple affirmative emoji before finishing up his nightly routine. 

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Kirishima looked at his apron while he was assembling himself in the backroom. The aroma of roasted coffee beans and pastries was almost pungent in the back, and he was eager to get out of there. As per employee regulations, he was to wear a black apron, a name tag, and something to hold his hair because it was a bit too long, for that, he wore a white bandana around his forehead.

“Wait, where’s my name tag?” Kirishima called out, his eyebrows furrowing when he turned out to Kaminari, who was currently in the back with him.

The blond froze and scratched the back of his neck, laughing awkwardly, “About that…”

So Kirishima was in the front of the store with a shiny silver name tag that read Hanta Sero. Because Kaminari was the best barista they had on hand currently, he was busy teaching Midoriya — their newest hire — around the bar. For now, Todoroki was nowhere to be found, and Kirishima was handling the cash register. 

Today was a slow morning, most people had their day off today, so morning coffee rush wasn’t in existence. Sure, there were a few outliers, but it was never chaotic. 

The gentle bell of the front door rang, and Kirishima automatically called out.

“Welcome!”

You had walked into the store, your eyebrows furrowed while you prayed that this was the coffee shop your roommates had been raving about. You’d never been here before, but it was the closest coffee shop available that wasn’t something generic and basic like Starbucks. You looked up from your phone at the voice, a thank you automatically being repeated while you neared the register.

You froze when you saw the red hair and the red eyes of the handsome man at the register. A careless thought entered your mind, Kirishima said he had red hair and red eyes… but he said he didn’t work today… 

A kind smile sat on his face, his eyes taking you in, waiting for you to approach him. 

This couldn’t be him, right?

The last time you had assumed a redhead working in a coffee shop was Kirishima, it had ended embarrassingly. 

“Um, hi,” you drawled out, your eyes reading the board to figure out your own order. 

Kirishima couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, you were exactly what you had described to him, but he wouldn’t ask until he was sure. He would ask you for your name after collecting your order for either tea or hot chocolate, and if it was you, he’d reveal that he was Kirishima. But he didn’t want to be wrong; he didn’t want to pin any other person as you, after all.

“I’ve never been here before,” you confess, your hand rubbing the back of your head. You were transfixed on the caramel macchiato that was spelled in the prettiest font, though, plus Hagakure promised all their coffee was good. 

“Oh, well, welcome! If you need any recommendations or have anything else to order, I can put those through while you look?”

His smile was kind, and you felt blood rush to your face, something you desperately tried to fight off by thinking of anything you didn’t like. 

“Oh! I do have two orders, though! There’s going to be one chai tea latte with three pumps of vanilla, and a lavender tea with a splash of oat milk.”

Kirishima nodded his head, “Will this be for here, or to go?”

His voice sounds so similar to Kirishima, you hoped, studying his face. While you answered that it was to go, you saw a distinctive scar on his right eye. Kirishima had said he didn’t have any distinguishing features… 

“What are your favorites here?” you ask, your eyebrows scrunched in confusion, your thoughts very evident in your face.

Kirishima couldn’t help but find hope bubbling up in his chest, there was always the possibility that you two lived in the same city-based off the same area code, and with what seemed like an incomplete knowledge in coffee, maybe…

Kirishima rambled off about the different seasonal drinks right now, his recommendations leaning towards the teas and non-coffee things primarily after his general and basic list. You seemed to take every word out of his lip like gospel, agreeing and nodding when appropriate, and his lips stretched into a grin when you bluntly exclaimed your ill knowledge of this all.

“To be honest, I only step into coffee shops to take a cute pic and then leave,” you laugh, pressing your hands against your lips and screaming a bit in your throat. 

Kirishima laughed, more confidence blooming through his body over the hope that this was you. It had to be you.

Your eyes then found the nametag on his apron, and like a sinking ship, you read Sero.

Not Kirishima.

“And for you?”

“I’ll have the caramel macchiato,” you decide, a grateful smile on your face while he looks down and writes the orders.

“A name?”

“Penny,” came your automatic response.

You never used your real name in coffee shops.

Kirishima suppressed the way that his mouth wanted to drop into a sad smile, and like two rejected teenagers, the money was exchanged. Before Kirishima could attempt to calm his disappointed soul, you walked out of the shop with the coffees and tea in hand.

“What was that about?” Kaminari asked, his eyes wide. “There was so much flirting and then poof, gone from both sides. Come on, dude, it’s my job to fail at flirting, not yours!”

Kirishima laughed, ignoring the way that his three friends looked at him with concern and curiosity. “Nothing, I just… the customer looked like how y/n described herself to be…”

“Oh… sorry, bro.”

“Nah, it’s all good,” Kirishima waved it off, and without so much as another slap on the back, he went back to work.

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“What the hell are you doing?”

Kirishima looked up from his phone, his fingers mid-type pausing only for a millisecond before continuing to text blindly. 

“Oh, hey, Bakubro, what’s up?” he cheerfully spoke, ignorant to the controller in the ash blond’s hand. 

“It’s your turn, shitty hair, pay fucking attention!” Bakugou barked, tossing the plastic controller into his chest. Kirishima grunted, the feeling of the plastic slamming against his chest was less than ideal, but the smile on his face didn’t waiver while he offered his best friend the controller back.

“It’s all good, you can have another turn, I can handle being out this round!”

“Kiri, that’s six rounds in a row,” Kaminari spoke up, his face in a teasing smirk.

It was then that Kirishima’s face turned approximately the same color as his hair. “I didn’t—”

“Awww, Eijirou has a little crush on y/n!!!” Kaminari sang, resulting in agreeing with noises from Sero and Midoriya. Only Bakugou and Todoroki remained silent. 

Kirishima only laughed, he knew he couldn’t deny that fact, but he wouldn’t say it aloud — especially because Bakugou seemed to hate you. It had been now four months since the two of you had ‘meet,’ and while he still had no face to imagine you with, things had taken a slightly flirty route between the two of you.

Calls were much more frequent, nearly all nights the two of you would speak, even if it was just a measly summary of the day and a ‘sweet dreams’ and a ‘goodnight’ and an ‘I love you.’ It always happened nowadays.

Tonight was an exception, of course, because he was out with his friends, and apparently, you were doing the same. 

“You can’t be fucking serious?” Bakugou spat, a laugh spluttering from his lips, but it was cold and held no humor. “You caught feelings for a person who’s too much of a fucking coward to reveal a picture of themselves?”

“That’s not fair; besides, it's not about physical appearance!” Kirishima waved him off, pressing send to his text message.

have fun tonight! text me when u get back home if ur able to!

“Just how naive can you be?” Bakugou sneered, his hand taking the phone from Kirishima's side. “Six months of talking every week, texting every day, and this y/n still hasn’t trusted you with a single picture of them? I know you said that she told you how she looked, and all that shit, but let's be real, it’s so easy to lie about how you look like when you don’t have to provide a picture. What y/n say? Big tits? Big ass? Small waist? What about her did she say that made you so fucking insane over her?”

“N-Nothing! We didn’t talk about our body types!” Kirishima’s eyes widened significantly, the once comfortable atmosphere of the room wholly gone while Bakugou’s vermillion eyes seethed silently. “None of that matters! I told you the truth! I like y/n because of her personality, she’s manly, and I like that a lot! It’s not about her appearance, how pessimistic can you get, bro! I promise you, she’s trustworthy!”

“Is she really?”

“What?”

“How can you be in love with someone who you trust entirely, but doesn’t trust you at all? You said that y/n won’t show you a picture of herself because she’s scared you won’t like her? How is that trusting you? How is that fucking fair? To me, that sounds like some fucked up catfishing thing.”

“We talk on the phone, dude,” Kirishima said softly, but those thoughts were invading his mind. Did you not trust him? He knew he wasn’t the best option in the world, and he had accepted that in time and by improving on what he thought he was best at. But did you, after all this time, really not believe him when he claimed nothing would change when he saw you? “Catfishes don’t even do that… besides, the first call was by accident, why would someone—”

“Dunce face, what’s that one fucking idiotic thing you do for fun?” Bakugou snapped at the blond, not even bothering to look at him.

“Well, there’s a lot of things I do that you—” Kaminari laughed awkwardly, his smile tight and awkward.

“Kaminari.”

“I call… random numbers… pretending to have a big issue to see how they react…” he admitted, and Kirishima’s stomach clenched.

“And?” Bakugou snarled.

“I pretend to be a girl…”

“Don’t be stupid, Bakugou, this is more than one time!” Kirishima groaned.

“It's a voice that you can’t attach a face to, who knows if this is a person you can trust! People with voice acting exist in this world, how the hell do you possibly know that they’re not one of them?! Be fucking real, if ‘y/n’ trusted you, if that’s even their name, they wouldn’t be hiding their face from you.”

Kirishima didn’t say anything else, the acid piling in his throat was too much for him to even look at his friend. The night didn’t really recover from that conversation, and Kirishima eventually found himself back home.

He sat at the edge of his bed, his phone in his hands, waiting for a message from you. He couldn’t sleep, and even though he had work tomorrow morning, he found himself wide awake, unable to let sleep consume.

It was three in the morning when you sent a text, his eyes still wide awake, and with shaky fingers, he read the message.

i just got home can you believe that i drank three cups of wine and didnt get tipsy??????? thats on being a raging alcoholic ;D

Kirishima wanted to laugh; on god, he would’ve found this beyond delightful to read because he knew you couldn’t handle your liquor, but that bitter stream of acid destroyed the humor in his thoughts.

Were you really telling the truth? Was this all a lie?

He didn’t text back; instead, his finger pressed the call button, and he held his breath.

“Helloooo?” a voice picked up on the second ring, but it wasn’t your voice. It was a voice he didn’t recognize at all.

‘Voice actors,’ Bakugou’s voice reentered his thoughts, and the phone in his hand nearly dropped.

“Sorry, hello?” the voice he knew as you finally came through, and Kirishima let out a shallow breath, one so small, so mediocrely weak it burned his lungs.

“Do you trust me?” he asked softly, maybe too softly because you asked with a strained laugh for him to repeat his words. “Do you trust me, y/n?”

There was a pause on your end, too long a beat for Kirishima to be comfortable with.

“Of course I trust you, Ei, are you okay?”

“Do you actually trust me, or are you lying?”

“Woah there,” you said a small laugh on your tongue, but there was only confusion in it, not your contagious sound. “Did you drink? It’s a work night, you never do that!”

“Answer the question,” Kirishima spoke with finality, his shoulders tense, tears pushing past his eyes while he struggled to maintain composure.

Prove Bakugou wrong, please, prove Bakugou wrong.

“Of course I do,” you spoke with genuine clarity, but still, Kirishima was rattled, his confidence blown. “What’s going on?”

Did he want to confess to his insecurities? Was it worth it? His breathing became frantic, almost as if he was going insane just thinking about where his thoughts were. But Kirishima was never good at hiding things, no he was as open as a book.

“Why won’t you let me see you… we’ve been friends for six months, and the only thing I know about you is your eye color and your hair color. It’s so insanely generic that I can’t… I can’t do this.”

“What are you trying to say?” you ask, your voice small, almost a whisper of all the energy one could have at this time of night.

“I can’t be friends with someone who doesn’t trust me, who’s using me,” he spoke with perfect clarity that hid away his insecurities about this all. “For all, I know nothing about you is real, that this is all just some ploy to hurt me in the end. Six months and you can’t trust me with a single meet up or even a picture? I just… has this been a game for you, y/n? Or is that even your name.”

The call ended and a single message held on his screen, this call has been dropped, but you didn’t seem to want to call him back.

Kirishima didn’t sleep a wink that night, his words coming back to bite him in the throat each and every time he thought he was close enough to sleep. Insecurities riled up in him, consuming him entirely.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

He tried to call back.

For fourteen straight days, Kirishima attempted to call you back.

Every time he called you, he would always hang up before he could take back his words. But each call, after he had prematurely hung up, he would recant his mean words to the unresponsive phone. He did trust you, he was weak, he was unmanly to assume those things. You could take, however long it took to finally trust him again because he would wait for you no matter what. He apologized again and again until the very last one he broke down into silent tears, a single message of ‘I hope one day you’ll forgive me’ hung weakly on his voice and put his phone away. 

It was sixteen days since he had spoken those cruel words to you, and in that time, he didn’t regret finally talking about his ill feelings towards wanting to reveal yourself to him. But he did regret the way it came out; instead of it being a deep and personal conversation, it came out as bitter and one-sided. The two of you were disconnected, and he felt empty.

But he couldn’t focus on it, not today, after all, it was Bakugou’s birthday, and everyone was gathering at the local fancy restaurant to celebrate. 

Kirishima dressed up presentable, wearing a navy blue button-up, and dark slacks. He walked towards the entrance of the restaurant where Kaminari, Sero, and Midoriya were eagerly leading the group of them into the building. Typically Kirishima would’ve been with them in terms of spirit, but he felt energyless at the moment.

With the moon high in the sky, Kirishima stilled when Bakugou called out his name.

He stared at his best friend, the ash blond’s lip curled into a sneer while he huffed, “Listen, Kirishima, I’m sorry for what I said that night.”

“What? Oh, no, it’s okay, Bakugou!” Kirishima laughed, his hand slapping to the back of his neck. “You weren’t wrong.”

“I never said I was wrong,” Bakugou grunted, his eyes locked on Kirishima’s while he shoved his hands into his pockets. Kirishima stilled, unsure as to where this would be leading. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. I know that Mina hurt you badly, and you’re too big of an idiot to not see when things arise. Maybe y/n is genuine, but if you aren’t fucking honest with her about your own feelings about how she’s so secretive, it’s not going to work.”

Kirishima smiled softly, a weak shrug moving through him, “I know, thanks, man.”

Bakugou nodded, and without a word, he continued on ahead where Midoriya was yelling at them to hurry up and come so they could be seated. 

Kirishima sighed, rolling out his shoulders before following afterward.

Kirishima followed after the hostess, smiling at her gratefully when she sat the group into their own private room and left. 

“Bakugou’s paying, right?” Kaminari stage whispered to Midoriya while staring at the prices on the menu.

“Eat shit, dunce face, learn how to save up your fucking money the next time you offer to come to this fucking place!” Bakugou roared, hearing the whisper.

“I’ll be covering the bill,” Todoroki informed with a smirk on his face. Kirishima laughed, looking at the prices and indeed agreeing with Kaminari’s statement. Having a wealthy friend was very convenient at times like this.

“Hi, welcome to Eiko, I’ll be your waitress today!” a voice chirped from the entrance of the room, and Kirishima froze, he recognized that voice and face.

It was the person he had mistaken for you all those months ago.

By the smile on your face, it seemed that you recognized them all too.

“And what is your name,” Sero winked, his eyes captivated by you.

“Oh, haha, sorry, my name is y/n,” you smiled, moving the menus you held in your hand to show the silver nametag on your uniform.

“Oh, like Kirishima’s y/n,” Kaminari laughed, pointing a finger at Kirishima, not at all being as quiet as he probably thought himself to be. But it seemed that he wasn’t the only one who thought that because while Kirishima was staring at your face, embarrassingly taking you in, you followed Kaminari’s finger.

Your sight sat on the redhead in the middle whose name was Kirishima, and you straightened up in what felt like panic. 

“You’re Kirishima?” you asked quietly, your finger grasping the menus so tightly, your knuckles turned white. “Kirishima Eijirou.”

“The one and only,” Kaminari voiced for him, his arm thrown over Kirishima’s shoulder while he nodded like a scholar. “And why do you ask?”

“Shut the fuck up, dunce face.” Bakugou hissed.

Kirishima continued to stare at you, a million words running through his head, yet not a single one being translated on his tongue. You were beautiful.

What should he say?

What could he say?

Your lips pursed, and you shook your head, a smile of disbelief spreading across your face, “Unbelievable.”

“Y/n—”

“Be quiet,” you snap, your tone angry, but your eyes beyond hurt. “What can I get you guys to drink?”

Dinner wasn’t exactly a pleasant time, you came in and left faster than anyone could blink, and yet none of their drinks went empty, nor did they really have a problem. Much quicker than Kirishima would’ve liked, they were done and were soon piling out of the restaurant after Kirishima decided to leave a very, very generous tip.

“I’m going to stay until I can speak to y/n,” Kirishima said, waving off his friends who were expecting him to follow. But he couldn’t, not when he felt like the world's biggest ass for what he did to you.

“Good luck,” they all wished him well before eventually leaving, knowing better than to stick around.

So there at the outside bench, Kirishima waited.

Two hours he sat there until you emerged from the front door, your hair was no longer put back, you held your apron in your hand, and your purse on your shoulder.

“Y/n!” he called out, his feet no longer cemented into place; he strode after you.

You didn’t seem to pick up the pace, nor did you slow down. You were focused on your car that sat at the edge of the parking lot, and you ignored his calls.

It wasn’t until his hand touched your shoulder, and he appeared before you did Kirishima freeze again. Angry hot tears slid down your face, your face screwed up, your shoulders stiff.

“What do you want, Kirishima?” you spat, but there was only exhaustion in your voice, nothing bitter, nothing at all what Kirishima deserved from you.

“I want to apologize,” Kirishima whispered, his hands struggling to reach out and wipe your tears away. You were crying because of him, he did this to you. “I was a dick, I was… beyond unmanly to you, and I’m so sorry! I just let Bakugou get into my head, and I’ve never been a secure person because, well, I’m just… fuck, I don’t even know, but all I know is that you didn’t deserve this. And I like you so much, but I didn’t — I don’t know what to do?!”

Your eyes stared up at him, they were bright with tears, wounded beyond anything Kirishima could hope to fix.

“That night, you said if I didn’t trust you, but I did trust you! I’ve always trusted you—” your finger jabbed his chest— “but it was you who didn’t trust me! I get that it’s hard to not have a picture of someone you care about after a long length of time, but we were always fine for a while! It was going to happen, but while I trusted you, I didn’t trust myself, okay?! I couldn’t trust myself to see that if you were so much more handsome than me that I couldn’t be confident enough to let myself be friends with you! I constantly fuck up relationships when I have crushes on people because… I don’t know, I just do! But you were someone with no risk and the highest risk, and I wanted to be sure in my own feelings before giving you a picture of me! But… fuck, Kirishima, you didn’t trust me!”

Kirishima’s throat tightened, the tears on your face a guilty reminder that this was because of him. But how could he fix this?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his hands grabbing onto your arms just above the elbow, and his head hung by your forehead, not quite touching you, but just enough that his spiked hair teased the atoms between you. You were taller than he expected, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t deal with, no, not at all. “You’re right, I didn’t trust you, and you didn’t deserve that. I don’t think there’s anything that I can say, or do for that matter, to change your mind, and I’m sorry. I just panicked because who gets into this type of situation, how do I tell my phone friend that I have feelings for her? I was weak, and I am so fucking pathetic, and I just want to make things better. If you’ll let me be your friend again…”

He slowly looked back up at you, and you were frozen in your place, tears falling down your face still.

“I don’t think we can be friends,” you confessed, and Kirishima’s heart broke in two, his hands dropping from your arms in his embarrassment and humiliation.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry still, um… maybe I’ll see you again?” Kirishima smiled despite it all, he kept smiling despite the crack in his chest and his soul.

“You will,” you murmured, and before Kirishima could blink, your fists wrapped in his collar, and you brought him down for an ardent kiss that he was not quick to respond to. It took three seconds for him to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you in, kissing you again and again and again.

It didn’t seem to matter to either one of you that you were both now kissing without a care in the world in the middle of a parking lot, because you both had your emotions exposed to the other, and you didn’t want to be friends. At least not when the man who held your heart confessed that you held his in yours. 

The two of you weren’t truly disconnected, it was just a little lost moment in your call.

[awhitehead17]

100 ways to say I love you - TimKon edition:

Number 40: “I made this for you.” 

Enjoy! :D 

Considering that Kon practically has the powers of a god, how is it that a stupid cold can wipe him off his feet for several days? He swears that the symptoms of the cold is almost on par with the feelings of being in proximity of kryptonite. It’s awful.

His head is pounding, his nose is bunged up making smelling and even tasting things non-existent, his body is aching like he’s worked out non-stop for five days straight and he’s tired as hell. This is all because he’s somehow caught the flu bug going around!

He wants to blame Tim. It has to be his boyfriend’s fault right? After all Tim had come down with a cold the previous week and despite him being ill Kon had stayed with him and now Kon is ill. Somehow Tim must have passed it on to him.

Kon lets out a miserable groan, basically feeling sorry for himself. He feels like shit, it probably hasn’t helped that he hasn’t gotten out of bed all day but he finds he just doesn’t have the energy to actually get out of bed and change location. He shifts on the mattress, moving from lying on his side to being sprawled out on his back. The new position doesn’t do much to ease any of his symptoms and he groans again.

He doesn’t know how long he lies there for but at some point he closed his eyes because the next thing he’s aware of is reopening them and finding Tim’s face hovering above his own. Kon blinks at his boyfriend for a moment as his mind tries to catch up with what is going on. It only takes a second and then he’s remembering how shit he feels.

Tim’s face disappears from his view for a moment before it returns. His boyfriend looks amused as he looks down at Kon. “You look like shit.”

Kon narrows his eyes at Tim, feeling offended. “I look how I feel then.”

Tim makes a face. “Damn, you even sound awful. How are you feeling, it seems like it’s only gotten worse as the day’s progressed.”

Instead of responding, Kon tiredly sighs and chucks an arm over his eyes. Maybe if he falls asleep, he’ll wake up feeling better. It turns out that he won’t get the chance to find out because seconds after he closes his eyes there’s a hand on his body lightly shaking him. The shaking doesn’t stop until he’s opened his eyes up and is glaring at the ceiling above him.

“C’mon Kon, don’t fall asleep on me yet. I’ve got something for you.”

That gets Kon’s attention. He tiredly glances to the side to find Tim standing by the bed carrying a tray in his arms. Tim wordlessly places it down at the foot of the bed and Kon catches a glimpse of a bowl and spoon. Did Tim bring him soup?

“I did yeah. Not only have I brought it to you, but in fact, I made this for you.” Tim beams down at him and even through the tired haze clouding his mind Kon could see how proud Tim was of himself and how selfless he’s being. “Now I would greatly appreciate it if you sat up and ate it, then after that you can go back to sleep.”

Kon’s initial reaction is to refuse, he’s not hungry he feels kind of sick but Tim’s hopeful expression has him pausing, it’s only a second later he's nodding.

Tim moves over to him and helps him to sit up and lean against the headboard. The blanket piles at his waist, leaving his top half exposed to the cold air of the bedroom, while his legs are stretched out in front of him as he’s propped up by many pillows behind his back.

Once comfy Tim picks up the tray and places it over his lap, Kon watches with mild amusement and fascination as little folded legs are revealed from underneath the tray that sit either side of Kon’s thighs. It turns the tray into a mini table across Kon’s lap.

Now Kon finally gets a good look at the tray’s contents. There's a bowl of soup, he thinks it’s chicken but it’s not like he can even smell it to be certain, there’s a spoon, a bottle of water and a couple slices of bread.

Kon reaches out to grab the spoon, knowing that Tim wouldn’t let him go back to sleep unless he’s had some of it, but before he could grasp it Tim quickly plucks it off the tray and keeps hold of it. Kon shoots him a look as his boyfriend settles down next to his side facing him.

Silently Tim picks up a piece of bread, tears it in half before dunking one bit into the soup and holding it out to Kon. Kon shoots him an unimpressed look but takes the offered slice to him anyway. Tim beams at him like he’s won the lottery and Kon couldn’t ignore the way his heart flutters at seeing the happiness on Tim’s face.

They sit in silence as Kon works his way through eating the bread slices dipped in the soup. He wishes he could taste it but with his senses blocked he doesn’t even get a hint of it.

Once the bread was devoured they move onto the soup itself, this is where Kon puts his foot down and demands that he feeds himself. Despite Tim’s protests Kon holds his ground and Tim reluctantly passes the spoon over, he hovers closely however making sure Kon’s hand is steady and that he doesn’t spill anything. As he eats the soup Tim tells him about it.

“So I made this, I even managed to get the recipe off Ma Kent. Once I told her you were under the weather she said this usually picks you up back at the farm sometimes. I thought I would surprise you with it.”

Kon’s insides grow warmer, though that could be either of the warm soup he’s eating or maybe because of Tim’s thoughtful actions, he’s going to say the latter just because he can. Between bites, Kon smiles at him.

“I really appreciate it Tim. I have to admit I am surprised and I love it. I just wished I could properly taste it.”

Tim sends him a sympathetic look, understanding what Kon means. “I can always make it another time when you’re much better.”

They share another smile before falling into the same comfortable silence as before. Though it’s not too much longer before Kon is putting down the spoon, having had enough of the soup. He had eaten about three quarters of it, so that’s something, that and the bread too. Either way Tim seems happy with it and wordlessly stands up to move the tray away from him.

Once the tray has been moved Kon slumps against the headboard more than before, he knows he needs to stay up a little longer to let the food go down. In front of him, Tim returns and starts fussing with the blanket, making sure it’s covering him and double checking that he’s comfy. Kon rolls his eyes fondly at the mother-henning but feels warm affection nonetheless.

After fussing Tim hovers at the bedside seeming unsure on what to do with himself now Kon had been taken care of. Rolling his eyes yet again Kon wrestles an arm free from the blanket and extends it out to Tim who instantly takes hold of his hand. Kon uses what little strength he’s got to tug Tim back onto the bed with him.

“Stay, please.” He mumbles. Tim huffs at the action but gets comfy next to him without a word. Kon turns onto his side, wraps his arms around Tim and buries his face into Tim’s t-shirt, letting out a content sigh once he’s satisfied.

Tim’s arms rest on top of Kon and suddenly everything is perfect. For the first time since becoming ill Kon actually feels happy and comfortable. He soon finds his eyes drifting shut as he allows his mind to drift off, thankfully sleep comes easy and quickly this time round.