#maybe ill draw them some time soon

[toxooz]

lords gon hafta drag me outa the kitchen cause im cOOKIN AGIN

[spama]

"come get some blood" damn bitch buy me a dinner first before i start crawling inside your veins- wait.

un-bloodied version under cut

[ponytailzuko]

is it ok if i draw your adrienette avatar au? (crediting you with creating it ofc)

go ahead! id love to see diff versions of my adrienette avatar au :) i would love diff interpretations and to see what people do with it. go willy nilly im honored youd even want to draw anything!!! if you do, you should totally @ me id love to see it

[anominous-user]

im so sorry for not drawing anything else But the flame-chasers I'm still hyperfixated on them even after almost a year

[draklorn]

if you ever wonder why my activity is so patchy here its not because im active on other blogs its solely because i think about putting devan in scenarios while kicking my feet and giggling and then dont do anything else

[chocum]

yea tattoo artist choso but .. what abt tattoo artist geto

congrats on 1k btw!

eee thank youuuu 🙈🙈 i’m souuurrr happy you requested geto bc i’ve been wanting to write abt other characters. AND THISS got out of hand lollll ( 1.5k ) idk what came over me i just word vomited all over my phone… & it’s unedited

— tattooartist!geto x reader // mentions of smoking, m masterbation, fleshlight, cum eating, kinda pervy geto idk he tells reader to take her shirt off when she doesn’t need to so, nipple play, v in p, mentions of overstim, creampiee

suguru geto is one of the most, if not the most popular tattoo artists in your area— hell, probably even farther than that. just to book an appointment, there’s a waitlist not including the months and months he’s already booked for. so when you finally get that confirmation email after waiting for what felt like years, you physically jump up, rushing to get ready and go to the parlor

“i don’t have anyone today under that name, sorry”

suguru pushes a strand of silk black hair behind his pierced ears, the dragon tattoo on his hand moving as he does so almost like it’s taunting you.

“what? i got an email today i just-” your hand reaches into your purse slacked over your shoulder to pull out your phone and prove your appointment was today, but when you go back to check, heat spreads across your cheeks faster than ever.

the date said next month

“ya had the right day i’ll give you that” and he’s laughing. not at you but because you’re cute, he thinks. pouting, growing hot from embarrassment. “i’ll tell you what..”

he leans in and you can smell the smoke that lingers on his breath mixing like some sort of love potion with his musky cologne, his pierced eyebrow quirking, browned eyes staring into yours with puffy lips wet from licking, “i can squeeze you in tomorrow. was supposed to have an off day but ill help a pretty girl like you out, how’s that sound?”

and you’ve never nodded faster. smile pulling at your glossed lips, drawing his to get trapped underneath his teeth.

“here i’ll give you my number, i’ll text you the time ‘n stuff later”

with that, you leave his parlor, your number scribbled on the back of some old receipt next to your name and a heart.

geto’s no better than a man. no better. he goes home that night and texts you as soon as he’s tucked into bed.

hey this is suguru btw.

your phone vibrates on your nightstand, and you smile at the notification. it almost felt unreal, someone who felt so unreachable, someone like geto in your phone, texting you first.

hey!

he catches himself smiling at the message too, his mind trailing back to seeing your pretty face when you walked into the parlor. the way you looked around doe-eyed like a little deer in headlights. looked innocent, and he liked that. maybe a little too much, his dick twitching against the fabric of his boxers.

he only talked to you for a few minutes. barely even held a conversation, but god did you look good. can’t blame him for getting like this.

what time is good for you? like i said, im supposed to be off but had no plans so any time is fine.

your thumbs dance across your keyboard as you think of what to say in response. you’re nervous. and if you knew he was jerking his cock, you’d be even more. his hand slowly .. very slowly rubbing his leaky tip, his head full, overflowing and bubbling with thoughts of you. what are you doing right now? are you in bed too? squeezing his warm balls, cupping them, teasing himself, imagining it’s your sweet little hands.

is 6 pm okay?

the little buzz drags him from his thoughts.

yea. see you then, pretty.

the simple little pet name makes you feel like you’re going to explode. so warm all over your body, and you wish you could just time travel to the next day and see him already.

geto brings the palm of his large hand to his face, lolling his tongue out to lick long stripes on it, shivering at the feeling of his own piercing before wrapping around the base of his thick cock, stroking himself only two times. this won’t do.

he reached for the pocket pussy he keeps nested deep in his drawer. leaning over to let spit fall and dribble into the clear toy before rubbing it on his tip.

groaning, “shiiiiittt” his hips bucking up as he slowly lets it sink down— body twitching at the feeling of all the little bumps and ridges massaging his sensitive cock.

“fu- fuck juuuust like that, mhhhm”

imagining he’s inside your tight little walls, squishing him like he’s meant for you, snug and tight like a puzzle piece.

his chest heaved with every snap of his wrist, spit sinking out and ringing out the base of his cock leaking down to his heavy balls, “feel so fucking good baby”

so fast he’s already shooting into the toy, whining because it’s not you. wishing it was you, your warm walls probably feel so much better. probably sound so cute taking him from behind or from the front, your eyes locked onto his.

he came so much it’s leaking all over himself. so messy and dirty and he brings the toy up and licks it all out, shoving his tongue inside the rubbery walls to flick and clean it up.

“shit”

the next day came too slowly. to you but especially to suguru. he went to the parlor an hour earlier to open and tidy up, pulling his raven locs into a ponytail, letting a few stray strands fall and frame his face, counting each and every second.

and then he hears it. the little ding as the door opens, you push it open smiling up at him as you walk through and you look even better than he remembered. and he’s trying so hard to keep his composure.

he nods at you, giving you a small smile, “so what did you want to get, and where?”

at your reply he freezes, his hands almost crumbling up the paperwork he reached for you to fill out — “my chest”

“your chest?”

he parrots you. then he repeats it in his head a few more times. picturing you pull your little top up.

he can tell you’re not wearing a bra with how your nipples perk up and poke through the flimsy, almost see-through fabric.

you nod your head, mhm sounding and bubbling past your lips.

god, you’re going to be the death of him.

after you finish with all the paperwork, he pulls you into the back making small talk asking about your day. and you indulge, asking back, finding comfort in the normality of your conversation. he’s different from what people painted him out to be and you felt relaxed in his presence.

even more when he offers you a seat, cleaning it off before slipping on some black gloves. his hands almost bulge out, his knuckles poking through the latex.

“can i see the design?”

you pull up the picture on your phone and he hums, “and you said your chest, right?”

again he repeats it, almost as if it’s a mantra he’s using to calm his nerves. calm his dick.

you just nod, “do i need to take my shirt off?”

and well no you don’t, not yet at least, but he says yes, reaching forward to do it for you because he’s just so sweet, right? so nice and caring, and welcoming.

and he only wraps his lips around your tits to soothe you, right? sucking, letting his teeth sink into the buds, the silver ball tracing over them. his other glove-clad hand cupping them.

sinks his cock into you just cause he wants to take care of you, right? he could tell you wanted it soo bad. your thighs pressing together so tightly when he pressed his lips against your chest with a soft, “suguru please”

“mhm let me take care of you, pretty girl, spread em, hold yourself open f’me— uh huh, juuust like that.”

your little arms shake and tremble, hooking around the back of your knees as he pushes into your tight cunt. and fuck, he was right. feels so much better than his toy.

“fuuuckk found your spot, baby, ‘s right there? yeah feel good right there?” he rolls his hips up, brushing against that spot, his thick tip kissing it, making your body twitch.

“yes— fuck yes feels so good”

right about you sounding so fucking good too— his cock twitching inside the solitude of your pretty slimy walls. shivering at how you suck and milk him so well, so tight and warm. so fucking warm. feels so good he’s already close, but he wants to keep making you feel good, keep hearing you, and if he was to fuck his cum into you, overstimulating his needy cock to do that, then so be it.

“inside” you whine out at how he twitches, his stokes sputtering and faltering as he languidly pushing into your sopping pussy, leaking all over him, so wet.

“ohh — fuck ohfuck” and it pushes him over the edge, bottoming out to overfill you, make you nice and creamy ‘cause you deserve it. deserve it for being so good, making him feel so good.

letting his head fall onto your shoulder sweat sprinkling his forehead as he empties himself for you. for your pretty pussy, all for you.

[aerynwrites]

Remember

Halsin x gn!Reader

A/N: thank you for the request @sabersandsnipers! I had so much fun writing this, and I hope you enjoy! See the request here.

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: kissing, love confessions, miscommunication, drunk reader, drunk confessions, morning hangovers/blurry memory, Halsin being a gentleman 🥰

The campfire burns brightly in the night, heating your already heated cheeks.

You all finally came across some good wine, pilfered from a wine cellar in a small abandoned town. Astarion practically melted as he read the labels. Practically glaring at you when you asked him what was so special.

“These are vintage darling. Practically liquid gold compared to the piss we’ve been drinking.”

Your other companions had happily helped tote crates of the stuff back to camp then, excited to finally indulge in the best, for once.

And it is the best. The best you’ve ever had for sure. At least in recent memory.

The wine is rich and decadent, passing your lips without that unpleasant burn the cheap stuff gives. It’s sweet and slides down easily - maybe a little too easily.

It turns your brain to figurative mush, your limbs starting to feel heavy despite the uncontrollable giggles slipping past your lips as Karlach acts out another one of her battle stories.

Your inhibitions have started to slip, especially those tied to your tongue. Because along with your giggles you’re unable to stop your flirtatious rambling to the druid sitting beside you at the fire. He is also taking part in the festivities, albeit more cautiously, only having had a single glass to your…

Well…you don’t know how many.

Another giggle slips past your lips as you lean into the man at your side, watching as Karlach flops down onto the ground in a reenactment of her downing an enemy. Wyll goes to help her up but is also unsteady on his feet and soon joins her in the dirt, both of them howling in laughter.

Halsin lets out a laugh of his own at their antics and you can’t stop the smile that tugs at your numb lips.

“I like your laugh,” you say, turning to look up at Halsin.

The man is taller than you even sitting down, so when he looks down to you, pieces of his hair fall forward into his face.

“My laugh?” He asks, a smile splitting his lips as he most likely finds enjoyment in your inebriated state.

You nod, leaning forward once more to rest your forehead against his chest, abandoning your goblet in favor of wrapping the man in a weak embrace.

“I just like you,” your words are slurred as you slump more into the larger man’s embrace. “And you smell good.”

Halsins chest rumbles with laughter beneath your cheek and it just further adds to the buzzing beneath your skin, even more so when you feel his hands grasp your arms gently.

Yet another thing you notice about him. His hands are calloused, roughened with years of using a weapon and tending the land and communing with nature. But he’s so…gentle. His smile, his words, his laugh, his entire being just screams safety.

It’s what draws you to him no matter how much you try to stay away. Which isn’t very much considering he has slowly started to reciprocate your attraction.

At least…you hope.

“I think it’s high time for you to get some rest,” Halsin says, moving to stand from his seat and guide you to do the same.

“What?” You ask, the world spinning slightly as you get to your feet. “But I’m having fun!”

The words are slurred as Halsin slips an arm around around your waist to steady you, slowly leading you away from the fire. You don’t miss the various whistles and hoots from your other companions as he does so.

Halsin smiles, not that you see it as you focus on putting one foot in front of the other as he leads you.

“I know you were, but it will be an ill-fated day tomorrow if you continue to drink.”

Despite your drunken state you recognize the wisdom in his words.

“You’re probably right, but -“ you pause as you struggle to take in your surroundings before you realize you’re being led away from your tent.

“Wait, my tent is that way,” you emphasize by pointing a staggering finger in the vague direction of your tent, a movement that causes your feet to twist up beneath you.

You would have fallen if it weren’t for the druid at your side stopping to catch you before opting to lift you into his arms instead.

“I know where your tent is located, but my tent is far closer.”

You hum in response, your head lolling backwards, eyes meeting the stars above you.

“I can walk, you know.”

Halsin laughs at this, shifting to support your head as he draws closer to his tent. “Your earlier attempts would disprove that statement.”

You pout your lip at him as he finally ducks into his tent. “You’re mean,” you say plainly.

“I apologize, little one.”

His words hold little apology but you don’t point it out as he finally lowers you to your feet, helping as you try to steady yourself. Only when he pulls away do you finally look up at him, and you take the moment of silence to take in the man before you.

He’s still smiling down at you, all while watching to make sure you keep your feet. His brows furrow slightly with every uneasy shift of your body, his hands tightening where they rest on your hips.

Without thinking you reach up, placing uncoordinated fingers against the scars that run over his brow. He stills at this, eyes widening for a moment before fluttering closed as you trail your fingers down. Your hand cups his cheek now, thumb running over where the scar ends just below his lips.

Lips you want nothing more than to kiss right now.

His eyes open then, as if sensing your questioning stare. You’ve both drifted closer to one another during this silent moment, your chests brushing together as you look up at him.

“Halsin?”

“Yes, my heart?”

Your breath stutters in your chest at the new nickname, and you can smell the faint scent of wine on his breath as he speaks.

“Can I kiss you?”

The words fall into silence, and you can practically feel the tension in the air dissipate as Halsin’s eyes close tightly, a sigh falling from his lips as he steps away from you slightly.

Your drunken mind moves before he speaks, making you stumble over your words.

“Oh that’s - I understand. I shouldn’t have asked, that was - I’m sorry I-“

Before you can ramble any further, Halsin has your face cradled in his hands, green eyes capturing your own.

“You misunderstand,” he tells you, thumbs brushing your cheek bones lightly. “I have wanted to kiss you, to touch you for longer than you can imagine,” he admits, eyes softening. “But I do not wish for our first kiss, our first coming together to be in the midst of a wine induced haze.”

He smiles.

“I want you to remember this, and I’m afraid in this state, you may wake tomorrow with no memory of tonight.” He moves to push a stray piece of hair from your face as one hand settles at the junction of your neck and shoulder. “I do not want to lose a moment with you.”

His words ease the anxiety roiling in your belly, and you find it in you to nod. The sentiment increases the heat in your cheeks once again.

Halsin smiles at your ascent, and gently leads you to bed. His bed roll is set up on top of a pile of furs which cradle your body perfectly where you all but flop onto it. Your earlier statement of not being tired is quickly erased as your eyelids begin to shut, sleep tugging at your mind as you settle into the soft bed.

The last thing you remember before slumber takes you is the feeling of warm hands trailing your arms before something soft covers you and one brief thought.

He feels the same.

——————

A pounding headache is what eventually wakes you from your slumber. Your mouth is dry, tongue laying thick in your mouth as you try and fail to swallow and wet your mouth. Your eyelids feel filled with sand as you peel them open, only to be met with darkness. The only light is from the sun seeping into the tent in thin slivers from the slightly parted tent flap.

You notice multiple things at once. First being that you’re not in your tent, but in Halsins. The second being the smattering of blurry memories from last night.

Oh Gods…I basically threw myself at him!

You remember that vaguely, asking to kiss him, and then the rest is…foggy. You remember him turning you down and then not much else afterwards.

Pushing yourself up on shaky arms you try to take in your surroundings, letting out a small sigh when you see Halsin isn’t in the tent with you. You can avoid embarrassment just a little longer, at least.

You quickly grab your shoes that you see at the end of the bedroll and after making sure the coast is clear you make your way across camp in the early morning light to your own tent.

The next few hours pass in a blur if periodic sleep and the eventuality of the camp stirring to life around you. A rude reminder that you can’t avoid a certain druid forever.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Karlach's voice pierces the air as she pokes her head into your tent. “Can you take firewood duty? We’re running low.”

You nod quickly. You might not be able to avoid the inevitable but…maybe a little longer.

————

The woods are quiet, this time of day, morning starting to give way to midday as you wander through the trees, gathering suitable logs for camp.

However, the tranquility of nature gives your mind time to wander back to last night, desperately trying to force memories to light. But no matter how hard you try, nothing new comes to light. Just you embarrassing yourself in front of the man who’s captured your affections.

You sigh, before gasping as the toe of your boot catches on an exposed root, your thoughts distracting you from your surroundings. The wood in your arms teeters precariously and just about falls to the forest floor before you feel two strong hands steady you.

“You look as if you could use some help,” a familiar voice says, and your stomach flips as Halsin comes to stand in front of you, smiling down at you. “Here.”

He reaches out to take the wood from you before you can protest, the pile that nearly filled your arms looking tiny against his larger frame.

You want to become defensive, but stop yourself before you can snap. Your anger is misdirected to him when you’re really upset with yourself.

You give the man a small smile. “Thank you,” you say before gesturing back towards camp. “I think that should be enough for now, we can head back.”

Halsin just nods before moving in step beside you as you both make the short trek back to camp. Neither of you speak at first - you too anxious to bring anything up and Halsin is probably too polite to do the same.

At least you thought.

“You were gone from my tent when I arrive back from a hunt this morning,” he says simply. An observation. Yet it feels like an accusation, or at least a question. But you almost feel like you can hear…disappointment in his words. Hurt.

You don’t look at him, embarrassment blooming in your chest again. You shrug. “I just…figured I’d save us both the awkward embarrassment.”

You’re at the edge of camp now, and you stop next to the dwindling wood pile and start unloading pieces from Halsin arms onto the ground.

“I’m sorry about last night,” you finally say, avoiding his gaze still. “I shouldn’t have drank so much and I definitely shouldn’t have put you on the spot and I just thought that if I left this morning it would save you from having to turn me down again and-“

The last piece of wood falls from your hands as you fumble over your words, but a steadying hand quickly reaches out to grab your own before you can move to pick it up again.

Finally, you turn to look at Halsin, and you’re taken aback to see…amusement twinkling In his eyes, his lips tugging up into a small grin.

“So you do not remember last night?” He asks, head tilting to the side slightly.

You shake your head, frowning. “I mean I don’t - I remember some of it. I remember asking to - to kiss you…” you cringe slightly at the hazy memory. “And then I remember you pulling away and-“

Before you can ramble any further, callused hands cup your cheeks and soft lips capture your own.

A memory comes to you then, as if Halsins touch alone makes it resurface. You remember what you thought was his rejection, then his confession, then his kind words after.

“I want you to remember this.”

He didn’t reject you. He returns your affections, and has for some time now it seems.

You finally kiss him back, your hands falling to his waist and gripping the fabric of his shirt in your hands. He pulls you closer then, lips moving against yours in a way that screams desperation. He’s been holding back for so long, and so have you.

But not anymore.

Yet he pulls away all too soon, leaving you breathless and wide eyed as you look up at him, still gripping onto him as if you’re afraid he’ll disappear if he steps away.

“I don’t think I could have forgotten a kiss like that,” you say, voice soft.

Halsin laughs, a quiet chuckle as his thumb runs soothingly over your cheekbone.

“I will not forget this moment either,” he assures. “But I did not want to risk losing it to the haze of last evening. These things are better enjoyed with a clear mind.”

You can’t help but laugh, despite the seriousness of his words. “You’re not wrong in that,” you say, reaching up to trace gentle fingers over the scars on his brow.

Another memory flickers to mind and you smile as you watch Halsins eyes flutter closed, just like they did last night.

“Halsin,” his name is a whisper on your lips.

He smiles, eyes blinking open once more. “Yes, my heart?”

Gods that nickname.

“Can I kiss you?”

He pulls you closer, nose brushing your own. “You never have to ask, little one. My heart is yours.”

And then his lips are on yours again, and you're silently glad he made you wait. Because he was right.

You don’t want to lose a moment with him, either.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Torn III

Kewis x Child!Reader

Summary: You're still sick

Mommy doesn't get you dressed properly the next day.

She lets you stay in your pyjamas because you're sick. She's sick too but not as sick as you.

Mom, of course, still has her hurt knee but she's the only one not sick in the entire house.

Your head pounds and your nose remains stuffy even as you play with your dinosaur toys, making them attack each other because they're in a war and that's what things do in a war. They fight.

"Open," Mommy says and you firmly clamp your teeth together," Chook, I'm not joking. Open."

She's got a syringe full of medicine in her hands and you refuse to open your mouth.

You've never had good tasting medicine before and you refuse to believe that Mommy's gone out and bought some.

You keep your mouth shut.

"Chook," She says sternly," This will make you feel better."

You sniff, wiping your nose on your shirt and shake your head. You know if you talk, Mommy's going to dose you up so you settle on just glaring, puffing out your cheeks to show her that you're wise to her tricks.

"Chook," She says again," We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Either way, you're taking your medicine."

"Chook," Mom says from the sofa," Come here."

Warily, you skirt around Mommy and run over to Mom, who lifts you up to sit next to her. Immediately, she attacks your sides with tickles and you can't keep your mouth closed anymore, opening it to let out peals of giggles.

Mommy squirts the medicine down your throat and Mom's ticklish hands disappear.

You glare, eyebrows drawing together in outrage. "That was mean!" You say," You cheated!"

Mommy laughs, ruffling your hair. "It was sneaky," She says," Not cheating. You'll feel better soon."

You huff but know she's right, shuffling off the sofa to return to your toys.

Helen joins you, curling up next to your side. Her ear flicks a few times as you continue your dino war. You have to blow your nose a few times because it gets clogged but Mommy is right because the churning of your stomach settles and your head no longer feels like it does when you bang it on a wall by accident.

"What do you want to watch?" Sam asks, channel surfing as she keeps one eye on you playing with Helen.

Kristie sighs. She doesn't look as bad as you did but it's still clear she's sick. She's got a bit of a fever and the end of her nose is all red. "Something that requires me to not think," She groans, massaging her temples to stem off the headache. She's only recently taken her own painkillers so she has a bit of wait until they kick in.

"So trash reality tv?" Sam teases and Kristie whacks her with a pillow.

You're playing nicely on the rug with Helen and your dinosaurs despite how ill you are.

Maybe eating all that dirt gave you a stronger immune system than Kristie thought.

"There's Love Island," Sam offers and you whip your head around.

"No!" You say," That's mine and Auntie Millie's show! You can't watch it! It'll spoil it!"

You sound adamant and Kristie manages to get out a laugh that could have been a cough.

"It's not a new episode, Chook," Sam assures you with her own laugh," It's last season. It's not going to spoil anything."

Your brow furrows for a moment before you're up on your feet. You've got two dinosaurs clutched in your hands as you wiggle yourself between your mothers.

They're sitting close enough that their legs are touching so you make sure to force them apart so you can be comfortable.

"Last season was okay," You tell Kristie very seriously," I will watch with you so you know what's going to happen. Mom, you need to put on Love Island."

Sam keeps laughing. "Oh? I need to, do I Chook?"

"Yes. That's what I just said. You need to, Mom."

With the other options being Deal or No Deal and Flog It, Sam's pretty sure that Love Island was truly her only option and changes the channel.

Clearly, the medicine has perked you up a bit because Kristie doesn't get a moment of respite the entire episode as you narrate what's going on during every single little moment.

Somehow, you manage to put yourself to sleep during it until you're lying draped over Sam and Kristie's laps.

"And we just let Millie watch this show with her?" Kristie asks, dumbstruck and Sam chuckles nervously.

"I didn't think she actually absorbed this much of it," Sam replies," It's like she studied it or something."

You shift a little in your sleep, death gripping your plastic dinosaurs so hard that Kristie can't pry them from your hands.

"Well," Kristie says," At least she's taking her nap without arguing."

"You mean, at least you can take your nap without her interrupting," Sam teases and Kristie rolls her eyes.

She lifts your limp body easily into her arms as she stands up. "Well, just for that. I don't think you can join us for naptime."

"Hey...Kristie! Kristie, wait! I'm sorry! Wait for me!"

Kristie doesn't wait for Sam though as she makes her way to their bedroom.

She settles you in the very middle of the bed but slipping in next to you.

You wiggle a little bit as Kristie tugs you closer, laying a protective hand over your belly just as Sam hobbles in, taking her own place in bed on your other side.

Helen joins in too, leaping up onto the bed and curling herself up around your feet.

"You have to get her to take medicine when we wake up," Kristie says, already half asleep.

"No fair! She's wise to my tricks now!"

"Not my problem, Sam."

[g-xix]

🔞AMP EATING OUT HC'S

What the AMP boys are like giving head Feat: Duke Dennis, Kai Cenat, Agent00, JiDion, Fanum

Duke Dennis -This mf is so fuckin hot it's crazyy -Presses a myriad of kisses all over your inner thigh, even leaves a hickey there just so that only he can see it, cuz he's a possessive mf -Even starts with pressing a kiss on your core, wetting his lips which he j licks off before getting in there -And he's like, 6'2 so i know DAMN WELL he's got some sexy long fingers that he's gonna be scissoring in your pussy whilst he wraps his lips 'round your clit n sucks on that -Double stimulation of your g-spot and clit has you cumming haaard -And I j get the feeling that Duke's the type that's gonna ask whether you wanna do another round after that- maybe with his cock in your hole instead, this time

Kai Cenat -I just don't think he's much of a giver 💀 -I feel like he'd rather use fingers than go down on a girlie and eat it up -Atl he's... tried before? -Sorry but I just can't imagine he'd be good at it 😭 Like he'd be narrating to himself what he's doing just to like... Affirm to himself that he's doing it right -But this is the type of guy to get the left flap confused with the clitoris -Wondering why you're not moaning or really saying nothing... Eventually just had to say "You know what, maybe this isn't for you" -sorry to the Kai girlies but I just don't think Kai's got the good head game in him 😞

Fanum -This mf loves eating, and eating you out is no exception ong fr 🙏 -I feel like he'd be so easily turned on an picks up on signals sooo easy, so best believe that after a whole night out of teasing he wouldn't be playing around -Soon as you two get a moment alone he's not even wasting a second of time to take of your clothes or nun -Pulls up your skirt, pushes your panties to the side - the one time you wore a pair of tights he ripped through them like nothing, making you gasp and hiss his name - he just hushed you with promises of ill buy you a new pair don't you worry sweetheart- -And he's a messy mf when he's going down -Lapping that shit up like a DAWG, has you cursing n squeezing his head HARD between your thighs -Honestly it's crazy how good this guy is at giving head and he's a cocky bastard because he knows it too

JiDion -I think his song Thick Chicks affirms what typ'a girl he's into -And facesitting, he's a big fan of that -He likes a girlie sitting on his face, grinding down and riding his tongue -Clamps his arms around your thighs to your your pussy flush against his mouth 

Agent -Sooo this guy could not SHUT UP about eating ass, and squid pussy during that AMP x Beta Squad vid -And I think his enthusiasm has me convinced that he is genuinely into all that... not eating squid pussy, eating ass i mean -Has you on all fours, hand pressing your upper back down so that your face and tiddies are pressed into the bed, ass arched on up  -He's got one hand 'round your thigh, rubbing up n down, occasionally his thumb curling over and pressing to your clit, drawing circles on your clit and making you arch back into his touch -and he's going between licking your pussy and eating you out there, and spreading your cheeks n eating ass -I feel like he'd have experience too, yk, like he'd be good as hell with his tongue

-------

look ik i didn't do all of AMP but ngl, im a big british youtube girlie and i don't rly know (at all) what Chris n Davis r like 😭 That being said, do lmk if the AMP girlies out there enjoyed bc this is my first ever AMP-based fic... lmk whether u wanna see more!

Hope you enjoyed reading!! Feel free to interact- whether that be a comment, vote or follow! Requests open, feel free to submit what u wanna see... Much love!!

To see more, here's my MASTERLIST

And here's my WATTPAD, with 50+ more oneshots to read

[benedictscanvas]

pretty boy, pretty girl - jamie tartt x reader

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k

a/n: okay yes. it has been six months. which is actually mad to me, but there we are - whoops! i've been off following my dream and wrote this while procrastinating an assignment, so this is by no means a return!! honestly i was just itching to write it, but i don't know how much time i have for more - enjoy nevertheless <3

warnings: just a little bit of suggestion towards the end, reader is referred to as 'pretty girl' as the title implies amongst other pet names, quite a lot of swearing (some things don't change)

---

“Hi love.”

Jamie barely murmurs it as he walks past you, can’t help himself but to drag a palm along your back, one shoulder blade to the other, as he goes. 

He knows he’s bold sometimes, but he swears it’s instinct. He glances back to see whether your expression holds any discomfort, but all he finds is your grin, a tiny wave. He continues on his path towards the canteen, knowing that your corridor conversation with Rebecca is probably important.

Somewhere between here and there, he decides to get your lunch, your usual, and sits alone on a table until you appear.

You do, three and a half minutes later. As soon as he sees you, the irrepressible urge to make you grin again is back with a vengeance. He waves you over to his table with a gesture to the food he’s got for you and- there it is again.

If he was a slightly smarter man, maybe he’d consider why all it took was the sight of him to draw your lips upwards, set your eyes alight.

“Thought I’d save y’ from the queue,” he speaks, still soft, in a tone he feels he only uses with you. You match his unnecessary low volume.

“Thanks, angel,” you say easily, and you must not see his stomach doing flips, “Too good to me, you are.”

“Shut up,” he deflects, wonders if you can see him fluster at your nickname for him, “Are you still coming tonight?”

You groan. He frowns, and you quickly correct.

“Sorry. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, you sound proper convinced, an’ all.”

You chuckle, taking a bite out of your sandwich and taking a pause to chew. Jamie eats too, content to let you think before you speak. It was slowly teaching him to do the same.

“I’m just boring, Jamie. My favourite people are all under this roof, but usually they’re sober, you know?”

He often forgets you don’t really drink. Your friendship (however sour that word feels in relation to you) usually confined to these halls, to the pitch, to various football stadiums up and down the country. When they all get a chance to let loose, you’re very quick with the excuses, but he’s believed them blindly until this moment.

“Shit, y’ don’t drink, right? I can’t imagine that’s much fun in a club. I won’t tell anyone if you happen to come down with an illness or somethin’ this afternoon.”

You’re grinning at him again, all bright and sunny. It’s downright infectious, so Jamie nudges your foot with his on purpose and then apologises like it’s an accident.

“You’re alright,” you reassure, “I will join tonight. Even if it just proves to myself I’m not missing out on anything. Maybe Colin’s not as bad a drunk as I’ve been led to believe.”

Jamie winces.

“No, he is pretty bad,” he admits and then finally comes up with something to make you more comfortable, “Hey, what about this? I won’t drink either and we can spend the evening laughin’ at everyone else.”

You poke his hand and he tries not to drop his crisp packet.

“It’s everyone’s ‘relax and recharge’ night, Ted said. We both know you relax much easier with a few drinks in you. And I’d never judge anyone for that, I really hope it doesn’t come across like I’m judging any-“

“It doesn’t, sweetness,” he cuts in, “But actually, I’ll relax better if I’m one hundred percent positive that you’re relaxing too. What better way than judgin’ everyone else, together like?”

You purse your lips thoughtfully, mid-chew. He feels like he’s holding his breath, like he’s underwater and you’re in charge of the oxygen tank.

“Well, see how you feel when we’re there. It sounds lovely but only if you’re still up for it when we’re right next to a bar,” you say, still unconvinced. He wants to convince you fully, but he can’t decide if he should argue with you or kiss you silly before you speak again, “Hey, if not, I’ll buy you a drink?”

“Pretty sure that’s my line, love.”

“I said it, I meant it. Girls can buy drinks for pretty boys, you know.”

He thinks you might have removed his oxygen tank now. There’s some cruelty in that sentence but you don’t know you’re wielding it. He wills himself to flirt back even though it’ll only make him feel sick.

“Okay, pretty girl. One passionfruit J2O, please.”

Another grin. He’s so fucking fucked.

---

He’s been waiting for you for around forty minutes. He doesn’t know if that’s the normal amount of time you take to get ready, even if he wishes he knew, so he just waits, leaning against his car.

After fifty, he decides there’s no harm in just checking you’re alright and haven’t slipped on a sparkly floor that an evening cleaner has done a number on.

You mentioned going to the kit room to get changed, and he meets Will on his way there.

“Hey mate, you seen Y/N?”

Will looks paler than he’s ever been. Guilty. Jamie narrows his eyes and waits.

“Kit room.”

It’s all that Will says. When Jamie doesn’t walk off immediately, still waiting for an explanation for Will’s strange demeanour, Will turns around and legs it all the way down the corridor, turns left at the end and never returns.

Jamie shakes his head and continues in the direction of the kit room. The closer he gets, the more he hears. Muffled banging, shouting. He picks up the pace.

“Y/N? Love?”

“Jamie! Jamie, in here!”

Your voice floats out from the kit room and he hurries over. Still very confused, Jamie turns the door handle and finds the door won’t budge, however hard he shoves his shoulder against it.

“It’s locked, babe. Did you lock it?”

He hears your exasperated sigh and feels a little embarrassed.

“No I didn’t bleeding lock it! Well, I did, when I was getting changed, but then when I unlocked it my side it had been locked from the outside.”

Jamie struggled to put the dots together. Had Will locked you in? Judging by the running, he had… and he’d done it on purpose. A spark of anger shot down Jamie’s spine but he tried to convince himself there must be a reason.

Before he could, there was a hand on his on the door, pulling him away. It was being unlocked by another hand and then he was being shoved inside, hard enough to stumble against one of the benches. A piece of paper was thrown at his face and Jamie groaned as he heard the lock click back in place.

“What the fuck?” he muttered as he stood up fully, more dazed than angry now as he stared at the locked door.

“Jesus, Jamie, are you alright? Who the fuck was that?”

“I dunno,” he says, staring at the door as if it might have answers. Your hand on his face wakes him up, his eyes shifting to yours where you look him over with concern.

“You’re alright, though?”

You ask it like you need the answer, and Jamie needs you to stop trailing a finger along his hairline either way.

“Fine, love,” he assures you, patting the juncture between your shoulder and neck gently until your hands drop to your sides. Then he raises his voice, and he’s not really talking to you anymore, “Whoever’s locked us in here as some kind of joke won’t be fuckin’ alright though!”

No answer. He picks up the small piece of paper from the floor and reads it in his head.

Tell her, you prick.

He’s actually going to hit Roy with his car. Lightly, definitely not enough to damage him, but enough to really, really piss him off.

This was all some ridiculous attempt to make him tell you how he felt about you? Absolutely not. Never. He wouldn’t be coerced into something so delicate, so important.

“What’s it say?”

You’re peering over the top of the paper, but he folds it in two before you can read anything. His chuckle comes out strained.

“It says: Get fucking pranked. Must be Roy, he’s probably scared Will into helpin’ him, the fucker. I’m afraid it’s payback for putting all his socks on the ceiling last week, babe, an’ you’ve been caught in the middle.”

You pause, staring at your shoes. For some reason, you look far more forlorn than the situation calls for, but it’s gone before he can think about it further.

“On the ceiling?”

He nods and you giggle. It’s only as you step away from him in your laughter that he realises how close you had been. He should’ve savoured it.

It’s also only as you step away that Jamie finally gets a glimpse of your outfit and nearly reaches out to the nearby bench for strength. He’s never seen you in a v-neck anything before, let alone a dress, and he thinks it might do him in.

“You look good,” he says lamely, then tries again, “Great. Fan-fuckin’-tastic, I mean.”

“I like that last one,” you smile, ducking your head. He thinks, or rather hopes, you’re a little flustered, “Fan-fuckin’-tastic happens to be what I was going for.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, words gone as soon as he’d found them. And now he was staring. Shit.

“I like your suit,” you say, maybe breathless yourself. It must be his ears. You reach up as if you might fiddle with his lapel but just point towards it before your hand drops again. You practically fall down onto the bench you’re both stood beside and he follows, ever obedient, “Shame no one else will ever see it. How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?”

The suit isn’t for anyone except you. That’s what he’d say if he had any stupid bravery. He’s an awful coward, he thinks.

“Until Roy gets bored or Keeley finds out I reckon,” Jamie guesses, “Y’ wanna play I-spy?”

You sigh, but when he peeks at you out of the corner of his eye, you’re grinning your silly, lovely grin again.

“I spy with my little eye…”

---

It is around 11pm, when Jamie has not long fallen asleep against the jacket he had scrunched behind his head, that he feels your hand on his ankle. He can tell, as he wakes without opening his eyes, that you’re not trying to rouse him. The touch is light, feathery. Maybe an accident.

No, not an accident. It wouldn’t have lasted this long, and your thumb is drawing absentminded circles into his ankle bone. You think he’s asleep and you’ve reached out to hold him anyway.

He opens his eyes but doesn’t move. His legs are stretched out on the bench in front of him and you sit upright next his sock-clad feet, one hand on his bare ankle. You’re staring at a piece of paper so intently he wonders what could possibly be so interesting.

“This doesn’t say get fucking pranked, Jamie,” you murmur, and his hand flies to his jacket pocket. It must have fallen out when he slumped into a slumber. He’s sat up in a blink, watching the hand that had been so soothing, fall back at your side suddenly.

“I’m sorry. Shit. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“No, don’t,” you insist, still staring at the piece of paper. Instead of whirling on him for answers, you reach calmly into one of the boot cubbies beside your head and pull out a piece of paper from one of the boots. You chuck it at him without looking.

He unfolds it with careful, if shaky, hands.

Tell him, you silly shit.

It takes him an absurdly long time to understand what the hell this second piece of paper means. Later, when the two of you look back on this moment (and you do so often), you’ll wonder how he could have been so dense and he’ll spin you a line about how too good to be true it all felt. But in the moment, he has no lines and no words, until your hand lands heavy on his knee this time.

“Jamie,” you say softly, through a grin that is so different from your usual that he could pass out. It’s so beautiful and so strikingly lovesick that he thinks he might actually be sick, “What do you have to tell me?”

“What?”

He feels dumber than he’s ever felt. But your hand is still on his knee and now you’re shuffling closer to him on the bench.

“What do you have to tell me?” you repeat, then you poke his chest playfully as you add, “You prick.”

He still looks confused, so you clearly decide the best way to catch him up is to kiss him.

You pull away after a moment, a moment of pure heaven, because clearly you don't want to kiss him fully until he's all clued in.

"Come on, pretty boy," you say, teasing, "Figure it out. I was going to buy you a passionfruit J2O. It's the sign of all signs."

He should be laughing at your joke, but all he really wants to do is kiss you again. And again.

Maybe again.

"Oh pretty girl," he says, and he feels the rumble of his low tone in his chest. He places a hand on your face, fingers itching at your hairline, "I'll tell you anything ya wanna hear, I swear. Anythin'."

He hears your breath hitch, but he feels it too, where the meat of his palm is covering your neck.

"Anything?" you answer back, "I could have a lot of fun with this."

You scrunch up your brow like you're thinking and he's so stupidly in love with you that he just tells you. Too-soon be damned.

"Smooth talker," you laugh, giddy, and you kiss him again. And it's so good that he doesn't even remember you didn't say it back until hours later.

(at which point, you say it back so many times and in so many ways, Jamie is certain that he's the luckiest man in the world. he might not hit Roy with his car after all)

[bbhyeoliskooks]

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 | hnk

kai thinks you deserve better... maybe someone like him.

✥ genre: bestfriend!Kai x gn reader, soft fluff and a pinch of angst, 800+ words

✥ warnings: mentions of infidelity

✥ song rec: Boyfriend -- Big Time Rush

Wrapped up in Kai's silky blue bedsheets, you were mourning the loss of your last relationship which just so happened to end the same day. Immediately after being broken up with, you asked Kai if you could stay over to be distracted; there was no way you would stay in your room, haunted by the many gifts and memories that were made. Although it was on such short notice, the boy agreed nonetheless, hoping that his presence could somehow make things better. He picked up some chicken noodle soup, a comfort meal that may not be the cure to heartbreak but could ease your heart and health a little bit.

Shivering, you cuddled up next to Kai and his many plushies. You relished in his natural warmth as though he was a teddy bear. Silently he let you lay against his arm, immediately drawing circles on the top of your head. You hummed, his presence easing the blow of the breakup from earlier. The only thing that could be heard was your breaths over the shuffling of the bedsheets, but Kai didn't mind. He liked when you cuddled, something that had come to a standstill since you started dating your horrible ex of a significant other.

Yes, Kai wasn't afraid to say it, always speaking his mind whenever your old significant other came up. From the moment you two met, he disapproved, buying into your ex's reputation more than getting to know the person themselves. Plus, he didn't appreciate that you couldn't be as close to him since it'd look weird to the outside world and your ex. Time didn't soften Kai's opposition from your significant other and he always hated them for who they seemed to be. So when you came to him, crying that your ex hadn't been faithful for a long while, he wasn't exactly surprised. But did he say that?

He was unable to criticize your choices in people as you curled closer to his chest, enjoying his comfort. He smiled quietly while you sighed, intentionally ignoring the soup that was specifically bought for you. He may have forgotten to get some food in your system but only because you were physically close to him again like one of his plushies. He also didn't care that you could possibly get sick, willing to become ill as well as long as it meant you felt better from a horrible predicament. It seemed as though you belonged right there in his lap, perfectly molded for your resting and whenever you needed him. If anything, Kai was made for you; how could you not realize that?

Your eyelashes fluttered as you looked up at him, a frown on your face. Probably delirious from the heartbreak and the new cold you were getting (your ex thought it was a good idea to break up with you as soon as possible, even if that meant in the rain), you tugged on the ends of Kai's soft blue hoodie. He looked at you very confused but attentive to whatever you needed. If you wanted him to spin 10 times even if he became dizzy, he would do it. If you wanted him to grab your favorite drink even though it was 30 minutes, he would do it. He waited for whatever you were going to say, gazing at you expectantly.

Your voice faltered as you asked softly, "am I unloveable?"

Kai, now frowning, shook his head. Rage boiled in his blood, flowing through his fingers as he stopped combing your hair. Did your ex make you feel like that? His throat felt parched, too angry that you out of anyone else would be feeling like that. No one should be feeling that, much less you, his best friend that he had come to admire so much.

"Of course not. You deserve so much better, Y/N."

Although you knew that Kai was just trying to cheer you up as your best friend, you couldn't help but feel that it was a lie. Your self-love and confidence was at an all-time low, plummeting to where you assumed it would never recover. You weren't going to pester your best friend for more reassurance though, knowing that he would probably find it annoying- your insecurity and issues that came from a relationship he never approved.

Kai, studying your crestfallen expression, wanted to do whatever to make you feel better. He thought that his words were good at the moment but of course, they were only bandages that covered deep wounds. He looked away, too embarrassed to look you in the eye. His thoughts were rather scandalous, not something that a best friend should think. All the while, he cupped your cheek gently, making you look at him.

You watched him, face heating up as he spoke quietly.

"You deserve better," he paused before rubbing his thumb delicately on your cheek, "maybe... maybe someone like me."

Released: July 6, 2024 (4:28pm CT)

Thoughts: bro I literally need hyuka to comfort me about my cheating ex 😒 I want to be wrapped up in his sheets with him holding me while his plushies watch 😭😭😭 delulu hours open it seems… ALSO LOOK AT HOW FINE HE IS IN THE PICTURES LIKE WTH HYUKA 😞

Tags:

[ussgallifrey]

Meeting Point

✦ Summary: In a world full of soulmates with destined meeting points, Steve Rogers' mark had always been a point of heartbreak. Until he woke up in the 21st Century; that's when his hope was rekindled.

✦ Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

✦ Word Count: 1,815

✦ Author's Note: Do you ever have a dream that just fully re-alters your brain chemistry? Yeah, I had a killer dream last night that sparked my love for the Soulmate AU to return. Prepare to be bombarded by soulmate stories over the next few weeks.

The mark on Steve Rogers’ wrist starts to make a lot more sense when he wakes up in the 21st century.

It came back to him, slowly at first, after he was returned to SHIELD’s headquarters. After he was subjected to a myriad of tests from doctors and a few uncomfortable conversations with an in-house counselor. When, only after Director Fury sent him upstate to a place called The Retreat - until the media attention dies down, Captain. I’m sure you understand - that Steve even had a second to think about that silly old mark on his wrist.

For the first time in five days and some technical sixty-seven years, Steve is alone. Not surrounded by agents or doctors or scientists. Not a single camera or reporter in sight. It’s just him and the cabin he was delivered to.

When he pulls off his jacket and finally catches a glimpse at the familiar black marking there. That’s when he allows himself a second to actually slow down and think about it. The chaotic world of the twenty-first century finally fades away from the edges of his peripheral, and he sees the one grounding thing that still remains in his life.

There, in elegant script reads a simple date:

06. 29. 2019

And for the first time in hours, days, years, Steve can feel the hint of a smile trying to turn up his chapped lips.

He could have never imagined. Not all those years ago, back in Brooklyn. There was an honest-to-God chance now. 

So, he draws his fingers along the familiar trace of numbers and sets to work.

Back when those numbers first appeared, Steve had only felt immediate heartbreak. His Ma’s pitying eyes had been the only thing keeping his chin up at that point. At least he had someone out there, even if he would only get to spend a short time with them. And maybe that was what kept his head above water through all of his childhood illnesses and bouts. The fact that he would survive this hell because it was literally destined that he would live to 100.

Oh sure, the other kids on his street had the normal marks.

Six years more, three weeks, two days. That was the typical lay of the land. So, when kids started asking about his date, his numbers, Steve would just curl up his wrist and clamp his right hand down over the text. It was no one’s business but his own.

But now that date finally made sense. He was only twenty-six, no matter what his actual birthdate was. He was physically still just a young man. He wasn’t going to meet the love of his life on his deathbed. Maybe this was just the universe’s way of apologizing to him; for making him lose everything else, but in return he would get the one thing anyone ever really wanted.

Seven years. He could wait seven years.

It’s a sick sort of relief when he sees those numbers still engraved on his wrist after the Snap. He’s not entirely sure if he expected them to fade away when half of the universe was turned to dust, but it’s probably the only bit of hope that’s keeping him from drowning under the guilt and sorrow that the rest of the team is.

Never one to stand down, to give up the fight, Steve keeps himself going in whatever way he can. Whether the people still want Captain America’s help is another story. But he finds different ways to assist, to be a help, to make up for the wrongs.

And soon the calendar months are passing by and life continues on within the aftermath of near-total destruction.

Only Natasha and him remain behind in the old compound. The others have moved to make their own paths in the new world marred by their own collective failures. He stares at the desktop calendar in front of him as Nat wraps up another weekly virtual conference with the team outside of New York.

Okoye, Rhodes, and Danvers disappear in a shimmer of cascading blue light. Nat’s too focused on writing down notes to notice that Nebula remains silent, stoic, observing them both.

Steve sits up, “Was there something else?”

The assassin beside him looks up, finally noticing the alien.

She raises her chin, “We’ll be returning soon. Within the week. He says he found something of value, worth looking into anyway.”

He glances over at Nat, who merely nods, “Okay. We’ll plan for that then.”

And then she’s gone, stepping away from the camera as the lights dim and the two are drenched back into the light of the otherwise empty compound.

Natasha clicks the pen against the table a few times before she merely rolls it away from her notebook, settling back into her chair with crossed arms.

Steve rubs at his left wrist.

Nebula and Rocket arrive late Friday night. Steve’s only just gotten back to the compound - fresh out of a shower after removing shards of glass from his bicep. While half of the population had disappeared a year ago, crime hadn’t gone away. Hell, it probably got worse, in all honesty. And Steve had the nasty habit of throwing himself into everything and anything without backup around these days.

Tonight had been no different. Another wannabe small-time crime lord in the making, building an empire through the streets of New York. Steve liked to remind them that there was still at least one person on the planet who noticed.

He should have taken it a little easier on himself though, with tomorrow drawing near. That was the day, the destined date of his meeting. And he probably shouldn’t look like a complete mess on the day he’s set to meet his soulmate. His other half.

As he flexes his knuckles, peering down at the bits of dried blood under his nail beds that hadn’t come clean in the shower, the entire compound begins to quake. He looks at his reflection  in the mirror above the sink, a familiar sinking feeling settling deep into his stomach as he recalls the night Tony and Nebula came to Earth.

Without a second thought, he nabs his shirt from the edge of the sink and takes off toward the courtyard. Their ship is already parked there, with Rocket on the ramp and Nebla looking up toward the stars with Nat. Steve slows his pace as he moves to join them, staring up in slight wonder at the yellow and blue ship descending above them.

The seven wings of the ship spread out in a pattern that looks almost star-like against the deep black background of the night sky. The wheels settle into the grass as the engines hum into powering down.

“ - in the Draconis Sector,” Nebula continues whatever it was she was previously saying to Nat. “Only Star Blaster in sight.”

Steve stares up at the impressive ship. The wings give it an added height over the Benatar that’s parked next to it. It takes a minute for the pilot, the person they told them would be coming along with them, the person that could be of use, to exit the ship.

He straightens up as the armored figure comes into view. Royal blue and gold metal, with radiant lights that remind him of the Arc Reactor, light up the space around them all as the person draws near.

“Hey, pipsqueak,” comes the slightly muffled voice.

Rocket sneers in return, Nebula looks surprisingly amused as the woman moves to grab hold of the alien’s hand.

“Not a bad place,” she then addresses Natasha.

And then her helmeted face turns to assess the supersoldier. She takes a step forward, then another while Steve settles his hands on his belt.

Grabbing hold of her matching blue and gold helmet, she pulls it free from her head. Steve can feel an actual breath escape his lips.

“And you must be…?”

He swallows, extends his hand, “Steve.”

Her smile wanes and her grasp on his hand loosens to the point that she merely drops her hand back to her side. Steve wonders if he’s made some kind of faux pas as she tucks her helmet against her left hip.

“You know…” she shakes her head, a smile beginning to reform, “I was really wondering when I’d get around to meeting you.”

She looks up at him with playful eyes as she begins pulling back the sleeve on her left hand.

“Rogers, right? Steven Grant Rogers?”

He kind of gapes before forcing himself to nod as his eyes travel down to her now-exposed wrist. She twists it around for him to see, and sure enough, there in a familiar scrawl of handwriting sits his name.

His own left wrist itches in anticipation as he wordlessly lifts it up for her to see the date of their meeting - now sometime after midnight on the 29th.

“Huh,” she quips, dropping her hand in favor of taking hold of his as she peers at the numbers. “Must be a fluke - different world, different systems. Alien names.”

He just nods, again, as all words have seemingly escaped his reach. And then he looks over at the others, Rocket with a tilted head and Nat with her knowing smirk.

But you’re not plexed, as you continue to investigate the date - your fingers tracing the lines of each number, “When you grow up on a world full of Kerlaans and Vastalls, Steven’s kind of out there, you know?”

Then you drop your hand after suddenly taking stock of the captive audience around you. Steve craves the ghost of your touch as soon as it’s gone.

“Sorry,” you sheepishly smile, rubbing at the back of your neck with your free hand. “I’m Velariun Kaal, ex-Centurion of the Nova Corps. And… I’m just here to help in whatever way I can really. Meeting you was just the bonus,” you finish with a wink.

“It’s good to finally meet you too,” he finally says at last, eyes drifting across the soft features of your face.

“So,” you smile, gently moving away from the others - toward the compound. Steve’s in step with you just a beat later. “How long have you had those numbers there?”

He can’t help but chuckle, the first real laugh in nearly a year. “You honestly don’t even want to know.”

“There’s a story there,” your eyes find his in the darkness of night. Glistening starlight illuminates your irises, like swirling galaxies.

He nods, “There is.”

“Worth the wait though?” you ask, with a clinch of hope in your voice.

Steve stops where he is.

You fall back a step to meet him.

He reaches his hand down, slowly entwining your hands together. He can feel the warmth of your skin, the slow and steady pulse of your beating heart.

“Definitely worth the wait,” he murmurs.

[nthspecialll]

John couldn't have been sure to make it to Copperhead landing to meet his family after departing from Arthur. The girls weren't waiting for a big boat that only left once a day, they weren't sticking around, they were running with all they had to a rowboat and getting out of there as soon as they could and he was hours behind, if he was too slow he would miss them.

If he didn't sprint every second, he would lose them, there was no time for hesitation, yet at the same time he had to process the betrayal of his father leaving him, his son, his wife and his brother to fate, one of which just sacrificed himself for John who was wounded, tired and conflicted running through the forest, trying not to get caught by the law, detectives, his old family and other gangs all trying to kill him.

There has to be at least a second when John stopped and looked back, feeling his heart plummet as he stood between the impossible situation of his wife and child or his brother whom he logically knew would die on that mountain where they had split, yet there have to have been some hope as well, hope that maybe, just maybe Arthur would be right behind him and join them.

I imagine he asked the girls to wait because "maybe he will be here" just like Abigail probably did for John, both refusing to believe that their loved one had passed.

The only difference is that one lived through the night and the other died drawing in frantic breaths as the sun rose and his body gave in to fatigue, a long battle of illness and a hard beating.

[ask4mycashapp]

fangs r hot

?

warnings: biting, blood, hickeys, licking, fingering, monster cock (?), riding, mirror sex, choking, begging, groping, teasing, pet names: bunny, bun, pretty, dolly, sweets.

?

you always knew your boyfriend had fangs, but you never really thought about them in depth.

now theyre the only thing you could think about, specifically howd they feel on your neck. youre surprised that youve never thought about them before, especially considering the fact they make lilia look awfully hotter. they add to his aesthetic, his charm.

you would be lying if you said they didnt put some... inappropriate... thoughts in your head.

as these unholy fantasies occupied your mind your boyfriend lilia stopped his rant, noticing you werent exactly listening. what lilia also noticed was your gaze, which wasnt on his eyes as it usually was, rather on his... mouth?

...oh he gets it.

youre looking at his teeth, arent you...?

instead of being scared like a normal human, instead of being scared as he thought youd be, you look to be aroused.

he wanted to laugh, youre aroused. any other human would run frightened and youre sitting pretty with your thighs clenched, trying your best to relieve the ache between your legs without him noticing.

this is why lilia chose you, youre so unpredictable. it makes you interesting, fun to play with.

but unfortunately for you, your boyfriend pays too much attention to you to not notice something like that.

"fascinated by my fangs, hm? bet you want me to bite you sooo bad, dont you bunny?"

"maybe i do, is it that obvious?"

"mhm, but dont worry ill take real good care of you, bun <3."

with that he kissed your lips before placing you onto his lap, pulling a creak from the bed. lilia positioned your back to his chest, making sure you could see the both of you in the full length mirror propped on the wall infront of you.

lilia brings his mouth down to your neck before shifting his eyes to stare at yours through the mirror, lilia smiles and bites down into your neck.

you frown at the contact, lilia treats you as if youre so fragile, youre not. so you decide to poke the bat bear,

"aww that was barely a graze, lilia. are you underestimating my strength or perhaps, losing your own?"

"thosell be your famous last words, sweets."

lilias grins goes wide as he bites again this time drawing blood, as well as a loud moan from you, followed by you grinding down hard on lilias thigh.

lilia continues his assault on your neck, though.

he bites, licks, and sucks, leaving strings of hickeys in his stead along with trickles of blood. and once theres no more room left on your neck he moves to take your shirt off and picking up where he left off. lilia gropes and pinches your tits too, he always makes sure to overstimulate you.

"mmph.. lilia i need you now," you whined out, "need your cock to stretch me out."

"patience, dolly. ill fuck you soon, need to prep ya first, mkay?"

"but i need you now-"

youre cut off by the feeling of lilias fingers slipping up your uniform skirt, into your panties and into your pretty cunt. lilia continues to thrust his fingers into you, gradually increasing his pace, while he releases his cock from the confines of his pants.

lilias cock alway makes you see stars.

his cock is a blushy pink color with black and pink scales instead of hair. its abnormally thick too, as well as being long. for comparison, when you give him handjobs your hand cant even wrap around it entirely. its a struggle to fit all 8 inches of him into you, as well.

after stretching you out, lilia never does stretch you enough so you can feel him stretch you with his cock ;), he positions you ontop of his dick and slams you down.

you scream, starting to cry and lilia relishes in every second of it. lilia coos at you, trying to distract you as he builds speed.

and it works.

your head slowly goes blank and all you can think about is lilia, his cock and how good you feel. your eyes are spun back in your head, letting the pleasure wash over you, fully entrusting yourself to your boyfriend.

lilia takes real good care of you too, just like he promised. he makes sure to hit your spongey spots in the best ways possible. he plays with your clit with one hand while the other squeezes on your throat. lilia tightens the knot in your stomach so nicely that you dont even have the chance to tell him before it snaps.

he feels your walls spasming on his dick, pushing him over the edge himself. he slams you down one more time, throwing his head back.

both of you enjoy your highs and come back down to reality. you give eachother one last passionate kiss before seperating your most intimate parts to go clean yourselves up <3.

?

idk if this is good or not 🤷‍♀️ just have it ig 🤲🏼.

everything ?

[be-good-to-bugs]

if ur an artist with younger siblings who have ocs you HAVE to draw them. its a requirement.

[fairyniceyeah]

⌛🐿️🧸 Day 16: Toxin/Poison

@sicktember

Summary: “Are you feeling okay, Jongho?” Jongho wondered what prompted the question. Hadn’t he just established that he was fine and enjoying the tour a lot?

CW: emeto, diarrhea in the context of illness

Sickie(s): Hongjoong + Jongho  Caretaker(s): Seonghwa + Yeosang

“Are you feeling okay, Jongho?”, Hongjoong asked as they entered the hotel again.

As tradition dictated Hongjoong would invite a member to dinner each week in order to give them some captain-member bonding time and the possibility to just speak as two individuals not members of the same group. It was greatly appreciated by all of them and tradition was never broken - not even on tours. So Jongho counted himself very lucky that it was his week when they were in LA of all places and Hongjoong had chosen a really good seafood restaurant.

Jongho wondered what prompted the question. Hadn’t he just established that he was fine and enjoying the tour a lot?

“I’m fine, hyung”, he replied, “just tired. You know how it is.”

“That is true”, Hongjoong said, interrupting himself half-way through the sentence with a yawn. “Well, see you tomorrow, I guess. Sleep well, good night.” 

“Good night, hyung. Rest”, Jongho replied and trudged to the next room, the one he shared with Seonghwa. For a moment he watched as Hongjoong fumbled with the keycard reader, the captain known for losing his card or generally always having issues with it, but he got into the room he shared with Yeosang easily. Jongho waved and entered his room.

Seonghwa was sitting on his bed, freshly showered and hair still dripping a bit, reading on his phone. 

“Hey, Jongho-yah, how was dinner?”

“Very good”, Jongho said, “you done in the bathroom? I want to take a shower too.”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Once Jongho had cleaned up himself he fell into bed easily. He was exhausted, so much was true. Concert tours were always draining, like he had told Hongjoong earlier. Going to sleep early wasn’t a luxury they had on most days and so, after talking quietly with his oldest hyung for a bit, Jongho dropped off into sleep easily.

⌛

Sleep didn’t hold for long. A glance on his phone revealed that it was only two hours he had slept. As he became more aware he noticed that Seonghwa was talking rapidly on the phone with somebody. 

Jongho was about to tell his hyung where he could stick the device in the middle of the night, when Seonghwa ended the call with a concerned: “Don’t worry, Sang-ah. I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Wha’ ‘s go’n on?”, Jongho slurred, body more asleep than brain.

“Hongjoong isn’t feeling well, Yeosang just called me”, Seonghwa explained, running his hand through his hair, silhouette barely visible in the low light coming in through the curtains. “I’m gonna go see how I can help. Go back to sleep.”

“Hm, okay”, Jongho said, turning onto his other side. Maybe he should be a bit more worried about his captain and hyung but as he had pointed out earlier, tours were draining. He was so tired and he certainly didn’t want to get up if Seonghwa and Yeosang had it under control. 

Seonghwa slipped out of the room soon after and Jongho tried to fall back asleep. Now, however, as the opportunity presented itself, he couldn’t. He was so hot. Sweat was making the sheets cling to his body. Damn him for drawing Seonghwa as his roommate - his mat-hyung was a cool roommate normally but he was well known for liking warm temperatures. Why had he turned the A/C off? They were in California after all. 

The maknae fumbled a bit to stick his legs out under the blanket, hoping that like turning his pillow around, it would cool him down. It did. He shivered. Great. He just wanted to be comfortable, damn it.

Jongho had nearly fallen back asleep, already barely awake, when the door opened again.

“Hyung?”, Jongho asked.

“Hi, Jongho-yah”, Yeosang greeted with a sigh, “sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay”, Jongho assured him, now wide-awake again, and turned onto his back. “I wasn’t asleep, I think. What are you doing here? How is hyung?”

“Hongjoong-hyung said he felt nauseous earlier and went to sit in the bathroom just in case. He really didn’t look good, I have never seen him that pale. Told me to stay away and wouldn’t let me come in or call anybody for help”, Yeosang explained, sounding exhausted. “Next thing I know I am waking up to the lovely sound of puking. He refused to let me in, so I called Hwa-hyung to deal with him.”

“Oh, damn.” Illnesses on tours were always the worst. Jongho still had vivid nightmares of the time Yunho had the stomach flu in Madrid. That had not been fun at all with the heat, the older feeling like he had been dying. Jongho had been quarantined with his then-roommate, trying to help him and yet wishing he was with all the other members chilling at the pool during the day. He wished that fate on nobody, least of all on his hard-working captain.

“Yeah. Are you feeling okay? You were out eating with him, if this is food poisoning…”

Oh, please. No. It would however explain why Hongjoong had asked earlier how Jongho was feeling. Maybe he had already been feeling off back then. Jongho didn’t though, so he was fine.

Jongho felt fine, didn’t he? A bit hot but that was to be expected if one shared rooms with Park Seonghwa.

“I feel fine”, he assured Yeosang. 

“That’s good”.

Considering the time of day (or well, night), Yeosang slipped under the covers of Seonghwa’s bed and just fell back asleep. Jongho was a bit envious. He had now been awake for over half-an-hour and he was so exhausted. Yet sleep didn’t come.

Now that he wasn’t distracted by talking with his hyungs, Jongho was for the first time realizing that the A/C was indeed whirring in the warm room and considering how Yeosang, who like Jongho liked it cool, had still buried himself under the blankets he started to assume that maybe the room was indeed cold.

With the realization also came the first agonizing cramp in his stomach that had the maknae nearly whimpering in pain. He curled into himself, pressing his hands to his aching abdomen. It hurt so badly, leaving him breathless. He tried to breathe through the pain anyways, but it didn’t do much.

It was then that Jongho started to wonder if maybe he was experiencing food poisoning, considering that Hongjoong was sick as well. It would make a sick (pun not intended) form of sense. God, he hoped not.

Yet, as if understanding the situation gave his stomach permission to worsen everything, he felt a pressure deep down that he did not ever want to experience. His brow slick with sweat, Jongho groaned, cursing their food choices. Then, a wave of nausea hit, nearly making him throw up then and there.

Jongho barely had any time to wonder if the pain and his messed up bowels were causing the nausea or if he was nauseous from the food itself, before he had to fling himself from the bed and rush to the bathroom.

Though he was embarrassed knowing that Yeosang would be able to hear everything if he woke up (the hotel was fancy, the sound-proofing was not), he had no time to lose or any caution for silence to spare.

He barely managed to close the bathroom door behind himself and sit down on the toilet before everything decided to leave him at once. Jongho quickly had to understand that his nausea did indeed come from an upset stomach and not just the pain. He felt himself sweat badly, body expelling itself violently and loudly. Yet Jongho didn’t have the time to feel embarrassed before his stomach decided that down was not the only way his food wanted to come out.

Jongho gagged violently, leaning over sideways to throw up in the bathtub that was luckily directly next to the toilet. His stomach cramped anew at the terrible position he was in but at least he wasn’t throwing up on the floor. 

It was truly disgusting, seeing the waves of pale yellow and chunky vomit splatter onto the previously clean porcelain. Honestly, all of Jongho felt disgusting. 

To make matters worse, there was a knock on the bathroom door and then Yeosang’s voice asking if he could come in.

If he didn’t die of this illness Jongho was sure he was going to die of humiliation.

“No”, he yelled between gags, hoping his hyung would respect his wishes. He didn’t think he could ever look Yeosang into the eyes again, if he saw Jongho this way: Pale and sweaty on the toilet, his body evacuating from both ends at the same time. No, he would not survive that.

“If you need help, yell”, Yeosang said and hopefully left to go somewhere far away. Deep down, Jongho knew that Yeosang would never leave when his maknae was this obviously, this violently sick, but he could dream.

Another wave of vomit splashed into the disgusting puddle in the tub but then luckily it stopped. Everything stopped. All Jongho was left with was awful cramps and a still very nauseous feeling in his stomach. Plus a very terrible clean-up.

Just standing up was a problem, his abused stomach muscles hurting and pulling at every movement. In the end, Jongho barely managed to clean himself up, flush and wash out the tub with water. Though he didn’t want to face Yeosang, he knew he had no choice. All he wanted was to sleep this off.

When he exited the bathroom, he saw Yeosang sitting crosslegged on Seonghwa’s bed, typing or playing on his phone. He looked up as he heard the hesitant steps coming towards the second bed, mustering Jongho up and down. 

“How are you feeling?”, the dancer asked, his tone carefully void of emotion. Jongho had expected him to sound a bit more worried, if he was honest, and even if he didn’t want any fuss it was suddenly weird. He flushed, looking down.

“Awful. My stomach really hurts”, he admitted, curling into himself.

“I can imagine”, Yeosang mumbled and stood up, reaching up to feel Jongho’s forehead. “You’re really clammy.” And then. “You said you were fine.”

“Cleary I lied”, Jongho snapped. He was in pain and sick and confused and whatever game Yeosang was playing he was rapidly losing.

Yeosang sighed, moving his hand to Jongho’s nape.

“Sorry”, he apologized, “I’m so worried about you, maknae-yah. Why didn’t you say you felt sick too, especially after it was clear that hyung was unwell?”

“It all happened so quickly. I’m sorry.”

⌛

Earlier:

“Sorry, I didn’t know what else to do”, Yeosang said, wringing his hands. “He told me to go to bed but I was on my phone and I got worried when he didn’t come out, so I asked if he was okay. He said he was really nauseous and wanted to stay in the bathroom just in case but he didn’t want my help but now he is throwing up and …”

“Breathe”, Seonghwa interrupted the rambling, wrapping his arms around his shaking dongsaeng. “I got him. Joongie is probably not keen on anybody seeing him like this anyways.”

“You’re probably the only one who can get through to Hongjoong-hyung at this point”, Yeosang admitted, gesturing helplessly at the closed bathroom door.

“Go sleep in my bed”, Seonghwa suggested, running his hand through his hair, “no use in staying awake here.”

“I will. Thanks, hyung”, Yeosang replied, “I’m sorry, I wish I could be of more help.”

“You called me, that’s help enough”, Seonghwa assured, “if Jongho is still awake, ask him how he feels, please. I’m not sure if I want this to be food poisoning but that’s better than a stomach bug.”

“Yes, hyung.”

Once Yeosang had left, Seonghwa dared knock on the bathroom door. “Joongie? It’s me. Can I come in?”

“Hwa?”, Hongjoong asked, his voice raspy. Likely from getting sick, Seonghwa mused. He really didn’t sound good. “I…”

Hongjoong stopped talking then and for a moment Seonghwa was incredibly worried but then the lock turned. When Seonghwa opened the door, he found Hongjoong curled up on the floor, only a towel keeping him from laying on the tiles. The stench of vomit nearly made Seonghwa gag but he knew he needed to focus on Hongjoong.

The captain was incredibly pale and there was vomit drying around his mouth and on the toilet seat. Seonghwa wouldn’t be surprised if anybody looked up the definition of sick and found a picture of the young rapper there. 

“Hey there”, he whispered, kneeling down by Hongjoong’s side, brushing hair out of his face. He suppressed a shudder as he realized that Hongjoong even had vomit caking in his hair. The poor man was really sick.

“Hwa”, Hongjoong repeated his hyung’s name, moving one hand from the tight grip he had on his stomach to reach out for him. Seonghwa grasped his hand gently, knowing that any disgust he felt was nothing in comparison to how awful Hongjoong must be feeling. There were deep lines of pain on his face. “Jongho-yah … is he okay?”

How typical, always worried about the maknae - or any other member than himself - first. 

“I’m more worried about you right now”, Seonghwa said, “if Jongho is sick, which I didn’t notice when I just spoke to him, he has Sangie with him. Do you wanna get cleaned up?”

“Not sure if that would make a difference right now”, Hongjoong muttered bitterly.

“Feeling nauseous again?”

“Never stopped.” Hongjoong moaned in pain. “But yeah, uh … help me up?”

In one swift motion Seonghwa managed to hold Hongjoong over the toilet just in time for a wave of vomit to spill into the murky water below. Clearly Hongjoong had been too ill to even flush.

Hongjoong seemed to be mostly empty, barely anything coming up. He shook violently in Seonghwa’s arms and the older was sure he would be crying if he could produce tears.

Seonghwa tore a bit of toilet paper off, wiping Hongjoong’s mouth, then taking new pieces to wipe his whole face. Gently he leaned Hongjoong against the tub, where the leader pulled his knees to his chest, hugging himself. 

“Let me just clean up a bit, okay?”, Seonghwa explained. “Then we can see about getting you back to bed with a bucket.”

Hongjoong nodded tiredly.

Seonghwa had barely managed to clean the splatters of puke from the seat and thrown the paper into the toilet to be flushed with everything else, when Hongjoong whimpered in pain. As he turned around, the oldest saw the deep pain on his face and the way Hongjoong was fighting against the cramps assaulting him.

“Are you …?”

“Get out!”, Hongjoong pressed out, teeth clenched.

“What?”

“Out.”

Understanding dawned on Seonghwa and he rushed out, not wanting to make Hongjoong feel any more humiliated than he probably already did.

He blocked out the sounds of Hongjoong facing a very different problem now and texted Hongjoong’s manager. Considering how sick Hongjoong was, they would need medicine or a doctor soon. Then he texted Yeosang asking for updates, receiving an immediate reply:

Maknae is sick too.

Shit. Great.

“Hyung?”, Hongjoong called weakly. Seonghwa felt his heart break - Hongjoong only called him hyung when he was feeling particularly vulnerable and in need of comfort. “Can you bring me new pajamas?”

“Sure”, he called back, feeling awful for the younger. He didn’t want to imagine how embarrassed Hongjoong must have been to ask the question.

He grabbed a pair of comfy clothes from Hongjoong’s suitcase and knocked on the door. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Hongjoong had wrapped a towel around his lower self, shaking in the cold. His trousers lay abandoned, wet from a poor attempt at cleaning, in the tub.

Seonghwa rushed over to Hongjoong, handing the fresh clothes over, looking away but holding onto Hongjoong’s shoulder to help his balance as he changed.

“I’m sorry”, Hongjoong whimpered once he was changed.

Seonghwa shook his head and pulled him against his chest, feeling Hongjoong take shuddering breaths. “There is nothing to be sorry about. You’re sick.”

“I mean, I … Hwa, I’m dizzy.” Hongjoong interrupted himself, a wave of panic in his voice and clutching Seonghwa's shirt frantically.

Seonghwa held him more tightly, knowing that Hongjoong was prone to fainting and that the best way to help him was to lie down flat. But it was too late. As he laid Hongjoong on his back, feet propped up against the tub, the captain’s eyes fluttered shut and he went limp.

They needed a doctor now.

⌛

Now:

Their conversation was interrupted as Yeosang’s phone began to ring. Jongho managed to catch a glimpse of Hongjoong’s manager’s name before Yeosang lifted the phone to his ear.

“Yes. Yes. Yes, alright. Be there soon.” Yeosang hung up.

“Hongjoong-hyung fainted. They are taking him to the ER to get some meds and fluids. The manager wants you to go too before anything happens.”

Jongho felt his eyes fill with tears against his will. He didn’t want to go to the hospital. All he wanted was sleep. But he knew to not challenge a manager’s decision in the middle of the night, especially since he had no good defense for himself. So he just nodded, resigned.

“It’s probably for the better”, Yeosang comforted, wrapping the overwhelmed maknae in his arms. “You’ll feel better with some fluids and meds.”

The ride to the ER was more than unpleasant. Jongho had given up on sitting straight within a minute and had slumped into Yeosang’s side. The only thing that kept the maknae sane was his hyung’s embrace, he was sure otherwise he would have freaked out with his symptoms in an enclosed space with no bathroom near.

Hongjoong, while he had woken up, was incredibly sluggish. He was laying stretched out in the backseat, head on Seonghwa’s lap. 

By the time they pulled into the parking lot, Jongho was in extreme pain again, holding back barely an option. Yeosang pulled him into the building and to the nearest bathroom with only seconds to spare. Red-faced and humiliated in Jongho’s case and very worried in Yeosang’s, they reunited with the manager twenty minutes later.

“They already took Joongie to a room to give him meds and fluids”, the manager explained, sighing. “Seonghwa-yah is with him. I’m going to get a nurse, you’ll be admitted too, Jongho-yah.”

Jongho bit his lip, turning his face into Yeosang’s shoulder to hide. He didn’t want to be prodded by nurses and doctor’s all night, he just wanted to sleep. He didn’t know how to deal with the situation anymore but cry in his hyung’s arms.

“Do they know what is wrong?”, he heard Yeosang ask. The older was tenderly stroking Jongho’s hair, seemingly very aware that he was the only thing keeping the maknae from breaking down.

“Diarrhetic shellfish poisoning”, the manager replied, “apparently they have been getting cases all evening and night. A batch at the seafood restaurant they were at must have accidentally been contaminated.”

That was when the tears started to flow.

⌛

Getting an IV took ages, despite a doctor being available immediately after the manager had gotten a nurse. They had led Jongho into a private waiting room but with the overwhelming situation, Jongho was barely able to sit still for longer than a few minutes before having to rush back to a bathroom. With how badly he was dehydrated it was difficult to find a vein for the IV.

It hurt and Jongho had given up on being embarrassed by the time he was crying on Yeosang’s lap while the young doctor carefully spoke to him while placing the IV, chatting to keep Jongho distracted. 

By the time Jongho was wheeled into a private hospital room, hiding his face in the pillows and clutching Yeosang’s hand as the bed he was laying on was pushed through the vast hospital halls, Jongho felt emotionally numb.

He looked up when he felt another familiar hand hold his other one in theirs.

“Hwa-hyung?”, Jongho asked quietly, blinking up at their eldest. His brain was too foggy to even question why Seonghwa was suddenly there.

“Hi, baby”, Seonghwa greeted him, placing a kiss against Jongho’s forehead. Normally Jongho would have hated it but right now it was the most comforting feeling ever. “How are you feeling?”

“Awful”, Jongho whispered, “tired.”

“Sleep.”

⌛

Hongjoong couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this sore when he woke up. His stomach hurt and his head was pounding in time with his heart. 

“Good morning, Hongjoong-ssi”, a woman’s voice greeted him. He blinked open his eyes, wincing at the bright light, to look up to what appeared to be a nurse. “My name is Nali, I’m a nurse here.”

Hongjoong was still incredibly sleepy, his head filled with what felt like cotton, so he was glad the nurse was speaking Korean. They were in LA, weren’t they? He truly was in luck, except for, you know, the whole hospital thing.

“Good morning. Where are …?”

“Your manager drove your friends back to the hotel, he should be back soon”, the nurse explained, “Jongho-ssi is asleep next to you.” She gestured to the other side of the room where Hongjoong could spot his maknae curled up under the covers, face slack in sleep and still very pale.

“How is he? What…?”

“You’re both still a bit dehydrated and might experience some slight nausea and diarrhea the next few days”, the nurse explained. “Let me take your vitals and then we can see about waking Jongho-ssi up.”

Numbly, Hongjoong nodded. The nurse seemed happy enough with his vitals, blood pressure a bit low but not as bad as he had experienced in the past. Indeed did he feel a bit nauseous still and he was glad for the kidney dish resting on the bedside table even though he didn’t feel like he would be sick in the close future.

“Can I wake Jongho-yah?”, Hongjoong asked just before the nurse turned to the still knocked-out maknae. “He isn’t really a fan of strangers … no offense.”

“No, of course. Go ahead. Just take it slow.”

Hongjoong slowly sat up, breathing through the slight vertigo he felt. He slipped down from the bed and, clutching the IV stand for support, wobbled over to Jongho. He was grateful for the chair at his bedside, sinking into it with a sigh. He was much more exhausted than he would have imagined from the barely five steps he had taken. 

“Maknae-yah”, he whispered, “wake up, baby.” He ran his hand over Jongho’s upper arm, hoping the stimulation would help. Jongho looked so young in his sleep and yet, so exhausted. 

It took some time until he woke up but then Jongho mumbled a sleepy: “Hyung?”

“Hey”, Hongjoong replied, “try to wake up a bit, hm? You’re in the hospital and a nice nurse wants to take your vitals.”

Jongho yawned and slowly opened his eyes. 

Hongjoong gestured at the nurse to start looking him over. If they waited until Jongho was really awake, they might sit there awhile. He always needed a bit extra help waking up when he was not feeling well.

By the time Jongho seemed truly able to understand where he was, the nurse was mostly done.

“What happened?”, Jongho asked, sounding painfully confused, “I remember feeling awful but … where are Sangie-hyung and Hwa-hyung? Aren’t you also sick, Joong-hyung?”

“Manager-hyung drove them back to the hotel”, Hongjoong explained patiently, intertwining their hands, “I feel much better than last night. How about you?”

“My stomach hurts”, Jongho mumbled, “what made us this sick?”

Right, that Hongjoong didn’t know yet either. He turned to the nurse expectantly.

“You both have Diarrhetic Shellfish poisoning. A seafood restaurant uptown apparently got a tainted batch.”

Hongjoong felt horror was over himself. He had chosen the restaurant.

“God, I’m so sorry, Jongho-yah”, he apologized, feeling even more terrible as he saw how long it took the younger one to puzzle the information together.

“Not your fault”, Jongho finally said, “you didn’t know and the food tasted good. I thought you chose it very well.”

“He’s right”, the nurse said, “nobody could have known. The restaurant didn’t either until the first cases started to come in. Just focus on resting. Do you want help getting back to your own bed?”

Hongjoong was about to nod, knowing he was never going to make it on his own, but then Jongho scooted a bit away from him. “Stay, hyung. Cuddles.”

It was so un-Jongho-like that Hongjoong for a moment wondered if he wasn’t hallucinating it all, but the honest and yearning look in Jongho’s eyes decided for him. Jongho hated hospitals and strangers and sickness, and Hongjoong couldn’t fault him for wanting to be close to his hyung when he was still obviously feeling so bad.

So, until the manager came back with Yunho and San to take them home, Hongjoong and Jongho stayed cuddled up on the bed together asleep, the maknae resting his head on his hyung’s chest. 

Masterlist links: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's Sicktember 2024