#soft!sunday

[sharkiethrts]

prompt: meeting highschool sweetheart! sunday for the first time. oh, just how charming he tried to be

relations: sunday x reader

notes: this is modern au! with little relation to the actual story. There are NO YANDERE THEMES in this particular work, I'm more focused on picturing the human side of Sunday (without the detrimental effects of the dream master's manipulations).

warnings: none.

He talks a lot. Though you find that every word he says tend to fill with immense knowledge that seemed to peruse all the right places that clicked all the content your teacher had tried to impart upon the class. At this point, he made the teachers' comments seem more like an add on to his lessons. A rendition, almost.

He doesn't seem to have ever possessed a single vacuous thought in his life.

He's resplendent, too. Which added onto the charm, even if the classmate had found the subject particularly boring, they'd have to focus their gaze on him at least. If his charms hadn't worked (how, even), then his commanding presence should do the trick. Even when he wasn't speaking, you found that your gaze often found their way so incredibly naturally to him.

You think he knows of his charm. Otherwise, why would he be so confident in offering to relay the summary of Kafka's 'metamorphosis' so eagerly to you as an accompaniment to your reading.

"Kafka's self esteem has essentially pledged itself upon the approval of his family, which led to the derelict condition of his heart at the post-climax of the story..."

His voice is nice too. If the noises of the library are a cacophony of miserable sounds, his seems to have conducted all of it into an irie melody. You find yourself wondering whether his interactions with you have been a combination of polite passes and a shackled formality to maintain with another. You aren't an idiot, though you can be rather forgiving to details, you certainly haven't missed the unctuous smile and words he gifts to another.

You'd like to think that you'd be able to catch it when his facade starts showing but with the way his golden eyes introduce you to a drowning reverie, you start to doubt it.

It's not your first interaction, since his eager summarisation of Great Expectations two months ago, he hasn't stopped approaching you.

A part of you start to suspect that he had planned this. Every Friday, twelve forty-five, at the fiction corner.

You'd once change your schedule, moving it an hour later and happened upon Sunday impatiently waiting by the non-fiction corner, just two steps away from the fiction corner. When your eyes met, you think you saw a hint of splendor relief. You had quickly turned away. So you missed the rest.

"Are you perhaps tired?" His questions brings you back to reality, your eyes blinking furiously from how dry it had gotten by the past minute of you completing gazing off, "I understand that you had biology just prior to this, so I'd understand if you'd prefer to talk about something... easier to swallow... Macbeth, perhaps?"

There it is again. His not-so-subtle-now-that-you've-caught-on way of leading your time together to become a plethora of unending adventures. He doesn't offer to walk away but rather, a simple remedy of a new book. Sometimes a longer one, he had tried to sneak Harry Potter in once. Sneaky boy.

Seriously though? Macbeth for an 'easier-to-swallow' alternative? Now he's getting sloppy.

You test him.

"How about we part ways for now?" His eyes turned cautious. You decide to push it further, "I don't wish to burden your... already crowded responsibilities," you're certainly aware of his role as the golden boy of the Oak family, "Nor do I wish to force more ingratiating words out of you," You're certainly aware of his hidden affections for you by now, "Now that I think of it, haven't this been going on for... three months? That doesn't sound too fair to you-"

"-Two months," He cuts you off, his eyes now looking slightly strained. His posture taut, "You shouldn't be worrying of anything of the sorts, I'm completely happy to revise any type of stories you're interested in..."

That reminds you, your lie of being interested in Metamorphosis. You're sure that he hasn't read of it, yet, with his superb recounting of it to you? He must have spent his week revising.

"You don't need to be so... genteel," You smile, knowing exactly what a fool you're making of him, "I'm not exactly the most exciting conversation partner."

"Nonsense!" He cuts you off again, suddenly forgetting his manners, "You make me feel excitable things, I can assure you-" His cheeks suddenly turn red. His mouth closes. Then opens. And shuts again.

You let out the cheekiest smile you can possibly muster, "... Excitable, you say?"

You watch his neatly folded collar wrinkle for the first time.

"Nothing scandalous!"

You weren't thinking of such but now you're certainly curious, "I'm not quite sure I believe you."

Oh, did his tie loosen? A new sight to behold indeed.

Best to come at twelve forty-five sharp next week then.

[peachsukii]

In an attempt to swing back into writing...

For softie Sunday, I'm thinking about Bakugo and reader dating casually in their mid 20s - they both have been through past relationship bullshit and are hoping that this time, it would be different with one another.

It's been a few months, nothing crazy, but he's been working nonstop. Like, three to four days of back to back rescues, emergencies, and normal patrols that have him exhausted beyond belief. You two haven't had a lot of time to spend together recently, and he hates it. Running out the door in the middle of dinner dates or movie nights at your apartment, it ate away at him that his relationship was taking a backseat in his life. That’s how his last one ended, and he was goddamn determined to not let it happen again.

You had tried to tell him to go home and rest, but his stubborn nature kicks in and refuses. He tells you he'll be at your place by seven and that he'll just shower at your place to save time. Bakugo arrives at your apartment and the exhaustion is evident in his demeanor. He greets you with a gruff "hey" before coming inside, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before unloading all of his stuff to the floor. Your apartment is cozy as always, feeling like a second home to him in such a short amount of time. As you ask him about his day, he just grumbles something under his breath and shakes his head. “Be done in 15. Go pick a movie.”

Bakugo’s walking down the hall to your bathroom with his bag over his shoulder, and the way his body looks too heavy for him weighs on your heart. He works so hard, and yet, refuses to have anyone help him in return. It’s a bit impulsive, but you follow behind him. He hears your footsteps and shoots a glance over his shoulder at you.

“What’re ya doin’?” He asks curiously.

You take another step toward him and smile, a hand resting on his back. “Let me help you.”

He’s too tired to protest, to sleep deprived to use any of his default defensive mechanisms to shoo you away. He thinks for a second and sighs. “Alright.”

And it’s not like you two haven’t seen each other naked before — hell no. You do that any chance you get. But this? It’s different. It’s a new kind of intimacy being explored. The two of you strip down and jump in the shower together, and you can tell immediately that Bakugo’s unsure what exactly you’re doing in there with him. That is, until you reach around him and grab some of your vanilla scented body wash, lathering it in your hands and start to rub his shoulders. The emotion hits him like a truck in his exhausted state, fight or flight kicking in to run from this…but he doesn’t. Instead, he lets you massage the soap all over his body for him, eyes closed and the tension melting away as your hands explore every aching muscle.

Just when he thinks you’re done, you start washing his hair for him, too. A wave of unfamiliar affection drowns out his urge to swat your hands away as he focuses on the softness of your hands, how gently you scratch at his scalp and that it feels goddamn fantastic to be taken care of like this. It flips a switch in him, finally relaxing under your touch. Bakugo doesn’t even realize when you’re done until you’re titling his head back under the stream of hot water to rinse it out for him.

He’s not sure what good deed he’s done to deserve you, but he’s not letting it slip through his fingers this time. And who knows? Maybe he is learning how to love, and be loved, again.

[kirbyfigure]

“i’m a top” “i’m a bottom” okay? is darkness equal to daylight?? are sinners equal to the righteous??? if you are born weak, which god should you turn to for solace?????

[aventurineswife]

Sunday had always carried himself with an air of calm detachment, but tonight, in the quiet stillness of the Astral Express, there was something different in his demeanor. The weight he usually bore with stoic grace seemed to dissolve, leaving only a man—flawed, yearning, and far too human.

The private quarters were dimly lit, the golden glow of his halo casting shifting shadows on the walls. You stood before him, uncertain but unable to look away as his gaze—those irises marked by navy pupils—lingered on you with a rare intensity. His wings twitched, feathers ruffling slightly, betraying the emotions he fought to contain.

“You don’t have to stay,” he murmured, his voice low and soft, like a breeze carrying secrets. But even as he said it, his hand lingered at your wrist, his thumb brushing against your pulse.

“And leave you like this?” you whispered, tilting your head. “Sunday… I want to stay.”

His composure faltered, and for a moment, the mask slipped. His lips parted as if to protest, but the words died before they could form. Instead, he took a slow step closer, the soft fabric of his scarf brushing against you as his proximity stole the air between you both.

“Then let me be selfish,” he said, the words trembling on the edge of a plea.

His hands cupped your face with a tenderness that felt almost reverent, his touch as light as the flutter of his wings. When his lips met yours, it was hesitant at first, like a man unsure if he deserved this solace. But as you leaned into him, matching his hesitance with quiet assurance, the kiss deepened, blossoming into something neither of you could deny.

The warmth of his body pressed against yours, the energy of his halo crackling faintly in the charged air. His gloves were cast aside, and the bare touch of his hands trailing down your sides sent a shiver through you. Each caress felt deliberate, a silent promise carried in every movement.

“Tell me,” he whispered against your lips, his breath mingling with yours. “Tell me this is real. That I’m not lost in a dream again.”

“It’s real,” you assured him, your fingers tangling in his hair. “I’m here, and so are you.”

His forehead rested against yours, golden eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt. Finding none, he exhaled, his tension melting into something softer, more vulnerable. He guided you to the bed with a gentleness that spoke of a man afraid to break something precious, every touch imbued with a care that made your heart ache.

Under his touch, the world fell away, leaving only the two of you—no past, no guilt, no lingering pain. Just Sunday, unguarded and whole, and you, willing to show him he could be loved not as a symbol or savior but as himself.

And in that quiet night, amid whispered confessions and shared warmth, Sunday allowed himself to believe it.

Please don't check the tags, I'm too embarrassed at myself... 🧍‍♀️😔🙏

[annqer]

show of admiration for the most handsome man in penacony~

[merakiui]

do we think sunday plays peek-a-boo with his wings instead of his hands when he's trying to make his child laugh.........

OR!!!!! yan sunday who always does things that infantilize you, as he believes you truly can't exist on your own without him and for that reason you need him and his guidance to keep you safe and happy. hehe maybe getting into a spat with sunday and you're so frustrated you're crying, and he's infuriatingly patient with you. what annoys you even more is when he covers his face with his wings as if playing peek-a-boo with a child. as if that'll cheer you up. as if hearing him go "oh! where did my darling go? [wings pull away so he can see you] ah. there you are! :D" will put a smile on your face and make you forget all about what a horrible person he is.

the tragedy in yan sunday is that he really doesn't mean to be harmful to you and has the foundations of good intentions, but by trying to do what he thinks is the right thing it inevitably causes you pain. he has the right idea (wanting to provide for you and make you happy and ensure you'll never know a day of suffering), but he goes about it entirely wrong and takes things to extremes (confinement, control, coercion, etc).

[saydesole]

My Sunday 🫶🏽🤎

IG:saydesole

How is your Sunday going?

I'm catching up on season six Love is Blind

[dragon-spaghetti]

So @albobeati7 made huskerdust twins and to say we've been going mental in DMs is an understatement, have a family photo 🥹💖

(Please click for better quality!!)

[sharkiethrts]

hi! speaking of ur modern sunday…i’d like to request sunday x reader, where reader is absent because they’re sick and sunday just spends the entire day trying not to mope before he visits them. just smth rlly silly where he’s on student council etc having to try to subtly text his s/o.

robin is kind of over him but who cares‼️

prompt: highschool!au reader is sick and responsibility ridden Sunday must ensure that the assembly goes on without a hitch, despite his worries for her.

warning: none.

relationships: modern!sunday x gender neutral!reader (highschool!au)

author’s note: so sorry for the late response! I was eagerly awaiting for the day when I can finally work on this! :) (Two more exams to go, exams should end by Friday. Wish me luck!)

This is also not reread and is posted late at night, so do forgive me for any type of grammatical or spelling mistakes or if the pacing of the story is too rushed!

- Highschool au! Sunday is so obviously the president of the student council

- He is popular among everyone and when it was announced that he was running for president, everyone accepted defeat and simply resorted for vice presidents and secretaries roles instead (the surplus of people that signed up for vice presidents that year were daunting, hoping for a chance to work closely alongside him)

- Prior to his appointment as president (which he was rightfully confident in winning), he had always made sure to spend time with you after school (even going as far as to not sign up to any clubs for the michaelmas term after you jokingly chastised him for ‘prioritising Mrs Burns, TA of the reading club’ instead of you)

- However, post appointment Sunday found it difficult to make compromises like so, much to his chagrin- with the added rewards, the necessary expectations would naturally accompany and hence his dilemma:

- Oh, how the thought of you ailed with a cold squeezes his heart so, his hand itching towards his phone every second

- He’s sure that his composure will fall soon and that it’d only be a matter of time

“Please ensure that the seventh up until the twentieth seats are marked, it’s reserved for the parents visiting today,” Sunday reminds the flushed boy, clearly not used to the responsibility he is expected to conform to and although Sunday attempts to maintain a composed facade throughout, it’d be a lie to say that he isn’t positively frustrated by how incredibly slow he is. Seriously, the drink aisle should clearly be placed inside the auditorium, not outside. It’s summer for goodness sake, by the time the guests arrive, the drinks will be diluted with ice and the honey would have been completely dissipated.

Speaking of honey, perhaps he should consider saving some for you. The Manuka honey booked specially for this occasion is known for doing wonders for your throat. Perhaps he should ask kitchen staff to pack a bottle or two for him? They quite adore him so, it shouldn’t be difficult for him to ask for a favour or two of this size. Interrupting his train of thought, it seems that the incompetent boy couldn’t stand having a supervising eye off him for even a second. Sunday watched in controlled horror as he dropped a tray or two, effectively denting the sides of the perfect sliver.

“Miss Amelie,” Sunday calls, his hand reaching for the back of the boy’s waist, helping him up, “Help him with relocating the treats, we can’t have dented sliver wares front and centre in the room.”

The said girl quickly arrives, her head down and stressed, “I’ll tell him what to do, don’t worry-“

“-I should hope that this predicament ends soon, I do have quite a few appointments to attend to,” Sunday cuts her off coldly, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. It’s not uncommon for Sunday to become cold at times, if not outright off putting. With uneducated rumours of his OCD and what not. However, it seems that this doesn’t seem to be one of his tangents, rather, he seems… occupied.

Sunday mulls over the thought of your upset face, further dampening his mood. How incredibly horrible of him, despite his previous talks of marriage with you during your late night calls- he only feels more incompetent and ineligible for the title of husband. He’s not only inattentive but outright unsupportive. What type of boyfriend who asks for your hand in marriage would leave you all alone in your bed fighting a cold alone? His frown deepens and he catches a few of the volunteers flinch due to it, clearly worried that they may have triggered him somehow.

He flashes them a friendly smile, to which he sees them relax slightly to before tending to their duties quickly.

While making haste with the decorations and reading over the script he had prepared for the following speech (god forbid he reads off a script, it’s one his many pet peeves and he is not willing to entertain the thought of slacking off in his chase for perfection), he thinks of your voice when you had greeted him this morning via phone call. Despite your obviously tired disposition, you had taken the initiative to call him to motivate him for the following day, you seem to know him well enough to realise his unending infatuation with your voice (how embarrassing for him but he’s far too touched to care for it for now).

Despite your well wishes and intentions, the phone call left him with more guilt and worries than assurance.

‘I’m fine’, you had insisted, saying that you had managed to snack on cut apples for breakfast.

By the moment Sunday snaps out of his thoughts, he notices a crinkle at the side of the paper where his thumb laid.

He’s not composed at all.

“ Sunday?”

By the time the clock struck ten and the assembly had concluded, Sunday took it upon himself to rent a bike at a nearby bus stop rather than waiting for his driver, hoping to make a quick detour to your house instead (his adoptive father would never have allowed him to do so). He had recognised your address from your first date, where he dropped you off by your neighbour’s house to prevent you from getting teased by your parents (you had insisted and he obliged). Your mother was there to greet him by the door, clearly whiplashed by the sight of a disconcerted, red faced handsome boy standing at her front door. She quickly flashes him a look of familiarity, to which he feels happy at (you must have shown your mother pictures of him, his ears redden at the thought).

He could only hope that you showed her the good ones and that despite your mischievous peculiarity, you’d care enough to help him make a good impression.

“You look much handsome in real life,” Your mother comments when he enters.

Never-mind. You definitely took it upon yourself to show her the worst ones. He could only pray that they don’t include his baby features, where his bangs were chopped short, “I apologise for coming so late, I came as soon as the assembly had finished-“

“- I understand,” Your mother chuckles, “I’m more impressed that a teenage boy would make so much effort to care for a partner with a flu when it’s so close to midnight,” She hands him a glass of warm water, urging him to walk up the stairs to your room, “They’d heal in no time after all.”

He shakes his head decisively, “That’d be an unfitting behaviour for a husband.”

The once vibrant mood turned quiet in no time and realising what he had said, his cheeks flushed a vibrant red and his ears burned incessantly.

Your mother watches him with shell shocked expression, thankfully the glass had been on Sunday’s hand at this point, judging by how her hand had loosened immediately he had blurted the words out, the glass would have been on the floor otherwise. Which would have been unsightly for a first impression.

“SUNDAY!”

He hears your familiar yell, clearly happening upon his arrival and his words.

He had planned to scold you for your misdemeanours (showing your mother terrible pictures of him) but it seems that he had committed a far graver crime than you did: an impromptu proposal at hours so close to midnight.

“… I sincerely apologise. Please pretend you didn’t hear anything.”

Sunday wishes for the concrete floors to eat him alive.

[peachsukii]

— emergency contact

it’s been two years since you’ve seen your ex-boyfriend, and didn’t plan on changing that anytime soon. a nasty villain fight lands you in the hospital during an overnight patrol and leaves you unable to tell the doctors who to call in your dazed state.

✮ content. late 20s. ex-boyfriend bakugo, hospitalization, sappy confessions & second chances. distance makes the heart grow fonder kind of deal.

『 #reis softie sundays 』

Sharp, shooting pain down your back and a desperate cry from your partner ⎯ that was the only thing you remember from the last…four hours? Time is becoming illusive at this point, blending together with how fast everything unraveled around you.

Were you injured on patrol? Did that villain slip through your fingers and escape? Where was your partner in all this chaos?

“Doctor, she’s waking up,” you hear in the distance, muffled but clear enough to understand. A nurse walks into your blurred vision, a soft smile on her lips. “Hi hon, you’re in the hospital. We’re taking you to your room now, hang tight.”

All you can manage to do is nod in acknowledgement, the world spinning on its axis and making you extremely dizzy. Your eyes fall closed, a hazy sleep welcoming you in seconds.

When you wake next, you're not quite sure how much time has passed. The room sits in darkness, the only sources of light coming from the moon outside the window and the various machines chirping around you. There's a static in your head, as if you're stuck on a radio frequency that hasn't been adjusted to the correct channel. Even with all the noise in your head, a familiar voice can be heard outside in the hallway, one you'd never mistake for anyone else.

"It's late," a nurse says, presumably trying to convince him to go home. "Are you sure you want to stay? We can try her other contacts again in a few hours."

"M'sure. Do I need'ta sign in or whatever?"

"No, that's alright. I'll notate it on her chart and let the front desk know. I'll be back in a bit and we can talk more about treatment."

The door slides open to prove you're not imagining things ⎯ your ex isn't a manifestation of your delirious state. Bakugo's standing in the dim light of the hallway, tip toeing inside and shutting the door as quietly as possible. When his eyes fall upon your hospital bed, he notices that you're awake and sighs. "Been awhile."

You don't have the energy to do this dance with him, to go back and forth with lightheartedness like old times. "Why are you here?"

His lips press into a straight line, jaw clenched tight as he seems to silently ask himself the same question. He makes his way over to the bed, taking a seat at the edge by your feet. "I'm still one of your emergency contacts in your hero file."

Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. There's no way you haven't updated your database profile in two years...right? Bakugo catches onto your confusion and explains before you have a chance to press him further on the matter. "M'the only one who answered."

What time was it, anyways? Your eyes bounce around the room swiftly to find a wall clock. You squint a bit to read it, finally making out the numbers. 4:30...am?

"What did they call you for?" you yawn, rubbing the exhaustion out of your eyes. "I don't even know what happened."

He takes a deep breath as a large hand finds your thigh, resting atop the thin blanket. His touch makes you want to melt into a puddle, memories of your past relationship coming back in waves.

"They didn't tell me much, only that it was life or death. Thankfully, your ass chose life." He shakes his head, a quiet huff escaping him. "Somethin' about a villain's poison quirk. Ya got hit in the spine and it paralyzed you temporarily, an' you fell from someplace high up. Your partner caught ya and the paramedics got to you just in time."

Oh. Well, that explains the pain from earlier.

"But why did you answer their call, Baku⎯" you cut yourself off to correct his name as it leaves your lips. "Katsuki?"

"I'm not heartless, just 'cause we haven't talked in ages doesn't mean I don't care about ya."

You shift in your bed a bit, eyes gravitating toward the window to avoid his gaze. Truth be told, you two ended on decent terms and not maliciously. Wrong place, wrong time...at least, that's what you two chalked it up to. You were both too busy with hero work, too absent from each other's lives to properly be a couple. After a year, you convinced yourself that you were satisfied watching him from afar, catching brief glimpses of his life through interviews and news reports. That was your excuse, a cowardly way to keep him out of reach and prevent you, and him, from getting distracted.

"Hey." Bakugo's fingers squeeze your thigh to recollect your attention, the blanket crumpling under his palm. You're terrified to look at him, knowing full well that in your battered state, you'll crumble like stone if he says anything remotely sweet. Those vermillion eyes of his always had a way of making you weak ⎯ soft. "I was thinkin' on my way over here that I should'a called ya, reached out to keep in touch. M'sorry for not doin' that."

"It's...fine," you stammer out, a shaky hand coming up to wave off his concern. "We don't have to talk about that now."

"I don't wanna only talk to you when you're hurt, or worse..." he trails off, screwing his eyes shut to avoid the dread lingering in his chest. "Look. What m'gettin' at is you scared the shit outta me, and it made me realize that I've got a lot to say after all these years."

Oh boy, you brace yourself for impact, expecting the explosive nature to come pouring out any second. But, it never comes.

Before you could stop him, Bakugo's on his feet and leaning over the bed, arms slung around your shoulders to pull you close. A strange but familiar veil of comfort drapes over you in the moment, pulling on your heartstrings. Your eyes begin to sting when the words he whispers finally reach your ears. "M'done usin' hero work as an excuse to avoid you. I wanna talk this shit out...when you're ready. I'd love to make ya dinner again."

You can't help but let out a breathless laugh, arms finally coming up to return his hug. "Only if you promise to make your special katsudon. I've been craving it for weeks."

He chuckles over your shoulder, squeezing you a bit tighter in response. "Deal."

Who knew that a villain was what you two needed to face your fears, to finally admit that the spark was never smothered into nothingness. And this time, something tells you that you'll both make damn sure it stays ablaze.

happy softie sunday!! I know it's been awhile since I've written one. hope you don't mind some baku-sap :)

✮ network. @pixelcafe-network

✮ tags. @slayfics @maddietries @starieqq

@liluvtojineteyam @jays-adventure3 @simp-plague

@napbatata @Yoyolovesdaiki @kirishimaeijiromyman

@strwbrrykthv @awkwardchick87 @stunies @sakufilm

[blissfulvixen]

My Sunday Reset Routine

1. Sleep in that way I can feel rested for the day ahead of me!

2. Get out of bed to go make myself some tea/hot cocoa and drink water while getting my other drink ready (I always start my days with 1-2 glasses of water)

3. Go brush my teeth, brush my hair, and make my bed

4. Shower, do my skincare routine and get myself ready for the day

5. I either deep clean my room and bathroom or do some general cleaning and picking up

6. Open my windows to let some fresh air in, and then light a candle or turn on my wax warmer

7. Paint or draw with some music playing

8. Watch a couple episodes of a show or watch a movie

9. Do my nighttime skincare routine and shower again

10. Paint nails

11. Read 1-3 chapters of a book

12. Turn off my phone 1 hour before bed to start winding down

13. Pick outfit for the next day

14. Plan my week in my yearly planner

15. Go to sleep

(Sometimes I do other things but this is my basis for my Sunday reset routine)

[retracexcviii]

Sunday Moon

Hi there dear fellows and Luna lovers. Sunday is here.

Don't edit this drawing and don't post it anywhere.

This really lovely Luna was made by an artist that is active on the fandom to support Palestine.

The artist is @/cinnajer on Twitter.

[aventurineswife]

Aventurine, Sunday, Sampo, Dan Heng being sick and reader taking care of them?

In Sickness and in Care

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Can be read Romantically or Platonically, Emotional Healing, Soft Moment, Fluff, Caretaking, Comfort, Sickfic.

Warnings: Emotional Vulnerability, Illness/Sick, Possible Spoilers (?)

[Part 2]

Aventurine rarely allowed weakness to show, but tonight was different. His usually vibrant eyes were dimmed, his hair damp with sweat as he slumped in the couch. The peacock-feather earring swayed as he groaned softly, gripping his forehead.

"Darling, there’s no need to fuss," he said with a weak smile as you pressed a cool cloth to his forehead. "I’ve faced worse odds."

"You're burning up, Aven," you said firmly, pulling his hand away as he tried to wave off your care. "And stop calling this a ‘bet with fate.’ You need rest."

Aventurine chuckled lightly, the sound raspy. "You know me too well. But I must say, having you as my nurse might make this wager worth losing."

You rolled your eyes but smiled, placing a bowl of soup on the table beside him. As you tucked him into bed with surprising gentleness, he gazed up at you, the faintest trace of vulnerability in his eyes.

"Thank you..." he murmured, his voice soft and uncharacteristically genuine.

Sunday was the picture of poise, even as he lay weakened on the couch. His eyes, usually sharp and commanding, were dulled by exhaustion. His hair clung to his forehead as he turned to you with a faint smile.

"I apologize for troubling you," he said, his tone as dignified as ever despite his flushed cheeks.

"Troubling me? Sunday, you’ve taken care of an entire family for years," you said, adjusting his scarf. "The least I can do is take care of you."

He sighed, leaning back as you placed a hand against his forehead. The fever was high, but his gaze softened as you worked.

"Your kindness reminds me why I started all of this," he said quietly. "Though I still think my dream is the best way to spare humanity from suffering..."

You pressed a glass of water into his hand, interrupting his monologue. "Save the philosophy for when you’re better, dreamer. Right now, just let me take care of you."

For once, Sunday didn’t argue.

Sampo was a terrible patient.

"I’m fine! Really, I’ve dealt with worse—ow, okay, maybe not!" he yelped as you pressed a hand to his forehead.

"You're burning up, Sampo. Sit down and let me help you, or I swear I’ll tie you to this chair."

He blinked, his eyes wide. "You’d tie me up? Kinda bold, don’t you think?"

"Sampo."

"Right, right. Sick. Staying still. Got it." He grinned sheepishly, allowing you to press a cold compress to his forehead.

As you worked, his usual sly charm dimmed, replaced by an unusual sincerity.

"You’re... really good at this." he said quietly.

"Taking care of you?" you teased, tucking him into the blanket he kept trying to escape.

"No, just... being there for someone like me," he admitted, his voice softer than usual. "Thanks for not giving up on me."

Dan Heng lay silently in his bunk(?) aboard the Astral Express, his breathing shallow and uneven. His usually stoic demeanor was cracked by the fever that flushed his cheeks.

"You didn’t have to stay..." he murmured as you carefully wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Of course I did," you said firmly. "You’re always looking out for everyone else. Let someone take care of you for once."

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes fluttering open.

"I’m not used to this," he admitted. "Being cared for."

"Then consider this practice," you said with a soft smile, adjusting the blanket over him.

He studied you, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. "You’re... kind. I’ll try to rest, if it will make you worry less."

"Good," you said, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. "I’ll be here if you need anything."

As his breathing evened out, you stayed by his side, watching over him as he drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

[thinkpink212]

[rainbow-rebellion]

You put your arms around me and I’m home

Inspired by X