clark is a premature ejaculator, btw. he makes up for it by being literally Superman, able to stay hard and withstand an inhuman amount of rounds. but the first one? yeah, it's not going to be very long.
he could make it last if he tried really, really hard for you, but most of the time, he just can't help it. you are so beautiful and feel so soft and warm, and he's so happy to be there. he's truly like a little puppy that's just too eager for his own good.
there have been times when even a slow makeout session and a couple of soft neck kisses already had him bucking his hips against you on his lap. lost in his lust, looking all blushed, with red lips and damp skin, deep on a fever dream that got him to ruin his pants while a thread of whispered apologies spilled out of his mouth. "sorry, 'm so sorry- gosh baby, you're so good f'me, y'feel so good."
ok, that's it, that's the thought.
I also have a drabble that follows this one if you're interested, it's about →cockwarming←. or you can go check my →masterlist← for other works, superman related and not.
cancer moon, scorpio moon, pisces moon, moon in the 1st house, moon in the 4th house, moon in the 8th house, moon in the 12th house, cancer rising, scorpio rising, pisces rising, cancer mars, scorpio mars, pisces mars, mars in the 4th house, mars in the 8th house, mars in the 12th house, cancer jupiter, scorpio jupiter, pisces jupiter, jupiter in the 4th, jupiter in the 8th house, jupiter in the 12th house, life path 4, life path 9, life path 11, life path 22, day number 4, day number 9, day number 11, day number 22, attitude number 4, attitude number 9, attitude number 11, attitude number 22 - there is more but astrologically and numerically speaking these would be the absolute most sensitive
Can you do the blue lock boys x a reader with a terminal illnesses and the boys would always go to the hospital to visit them but ever since they got into blue lock, they were worried to go because they’re not able to see her every day but the reader was able to convince them to go. So whenever they get a chance to have free time the hospital is always the first place they always go to
୨୧ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 - they’ll drop everything in their will to come visit you when you need it
୨୧ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 - could be emotional, mentions of feeling sick/pain, i guess could be applied to yearning?, the boys being a softie with you, mentions of soccer, could have bad grammar, and mostly fluff.
୨୧ 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 - ego┆michael┆sae┆rin┆bunny
𝐄𝐆𝐎 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈 -
the hospital room always smelled the same.
that quiet mix of medicine and something faintly sweet that tried and failed—to make the place feel less heavy, less like a waiting room between moments, and more like somewhere people could actually live in.
but you had gotten used to it over time, just like you had gotten used to the machines beside you.
the slow beeping, the way your body felt like it didn’t quite belong to you anymore.
ego used to come every day. before everything got bigger, before blue lock became something that demanded every second of him.
before his name started meaning something to the world instead of just to you.
he would sit in the chair beside your bed like it was the only place he was meant to be, leaning back with his usual calm, almost bored expression.
but his eyes always on you, always watching like he was trying to memorize every small change.
but things changed.
because he became the founder, the coach, the mind behind something massive, and suddenly time wasn’t something he had anymore.
it was something that controlled him, pulled him away, stretched him thin until visiting every day became impossible, no matter how much he wanted to pretend otherwise.
you could see it the first time he hesitated at the door, like he was already thinking about everything waiting for him outside that room.
like he was calculating how long he could stay before he had to leave again.
so you were the one who said it.
you were the one who smiled, even though it felt a little forced, even though your chest ached in more ways than one.
and told him that he didn’t have to come every day anymore, that you understood, that what he was doing mattered, that he should go.
he didn’t like it.
you could tell by the way his expression tightened just slightly, the way he looked at you a little longer than usual, like he was trying to find a flaw in your words.
it’s like he didn’t trust that you meant it, but you kept insisting, gently, over and over, until he finally gave in.
and after that, the room got quieter.
days passed slower, stretching out in a way that made everything feel heavier, like time itself had changed once again.
and even though the nurses came and went, and the machines kept their steady rhythm.
something was missing, something that made the silence feel louder than it should have been.
but ego still came, not like every day anymore, but whenever he could.
and that was the thing—you always knew when he had even the smallest bit of free time, because the hospital became the first place he went, without hesitation, without question, like it was instinct.
like no matter how far he was pulled away, he would always find his way back to you.
sometimes he showed up late at night, still in the same clothes he had been wearing all day.
his hair slightly messy, his posture just a little more tired than usual, but his eyes.. his eyes always softened the moment he saw you.
sometimes it was early morning, before the world fully woke up, when the halls were quieter and the light through the window was pale and gentle.
and he would sit beside you with a cup of coffee in his hand, barely touched, because his attention was never really on anything else.
he didn’t rush to you, didn’t say anything dramatic, didn’t act like it was something emotional, but the way he stayed.
the way he didn’t check the time as often when he was there.
the way his voice lowered when he spoke to you compared to how sharp it probably was outside those walls—it all said enough.
“you look worse,” he would say sometimes, blunt as always, but his hand would hover near yours for just a second too long before pulling back, like he wanted to reach out but didn’t know if he should.
and you would laugh softly, because that was just how he was.
“you always say that,” you’d reply, your voice a little weaker than before, but still warm.
and he would click his tongue, leaning back in his chair, trying to act unaffected, but he wouldn’t leave.
not until he had to, not until something outside that room dragged him away again.
and even then, there was always that pause.
that small moment where he stood at the door, looking back at you like he was committing the sight to memory, like he was making sure you were still there, still breathing, still… his.
“i’ll come back when i can,” he would say, like it was a promise he refused to break.
and you would nod, smiling in that quiet, understanding way, even though part of you wished you could ask him to stay just a little longer.
but you never did, because you were the one who told him to go. and he listened.
although, there was one time, where everything broke pattern.
blue lock was in the middle of a match against a big club, the kind of game that demanded his full attention.
the kind where every decision mattered, where every second counted, and ego was exactly where he was supposed to be—on the sidelines
with his eyes sharp, mind moving faster than anyone else’s , already calculating outcomes before they even happened.
his phone rang, but he ignored it at first, he always did during matches. but then it rang again, and again.
something in his expression shifted, just slightly, just enough for it to be noticeable if someone was paying attention.
and when he finally looked at the screen and saw it wasn’t you—but the hospital—he answered immediately.
“what.” his tone was sharp, impatient, but underneath it there was something tighter, something controlled.
the doctor’s voice came through quickly, explaining, careful but urgent enough for him to understand without needing every detail.
you were in pain, it had gotten worse. they were handling it, but you were asking for him.
and that was enough for him. he didn’t say anything else, he didn’t ask questions, and then so he hung up, and then he moved.
anri barely had time to react when he approached her, already grabbing his coat, already stepping away from the field like the match had stopped mattering entirely.
“you’re taking over,” he said, voice low and firm, leaving no room for argument.
“ego, wait—right now? we’re in the middle of—”
“handle it,” he cut in, not even looking back, “i’ll return if necessary.” and then he was gone.
when he arrived at the hospital, he hadn’t even changed.
he was still in his suit, tie slightly loosened, hair just a little out of place from how fast he had gotten there, but none of that mattered as he pushed the door open without knocking, his eyes immediately finding you.
you looked.. different, more likely smaller and feeling pain.
curled slightly into yourself, brows furrowed, breath uneven in a way that made something in his chest tighten just a little more than he liked to admit.
for a second, he just stood there. taking it in, making sure you were still there, then he moved closer.
“idiot,” he muttered under his breath, but it wasn’t sharp, not really, not the way it usually was, as he pulled a chair closer and sat beside you, leaning forward slightly.
your eyes shifted to him, tired, but the moment you recognized him.
something in your expression softened, like the tension eased just a little.
“you came…” you whispered.
he frowned faintly at that, like it was obvious.
“of course i did,” he replied, quieter than usual, his voice losing that edge it carried everywhere else.
his hand hovered for a moment—just like it always did—but this time, he didn’t pull back.
instead, he carefully reached out, resting his hand over yours, his touch firm but steady, grounding, like he was trying to anchor you there.
“where does it hurt,” he asked, direct, focused, like he was analyzing something, but his thumb moved slightly against your skin without him even realizing it.
you told him, voice soft, a little strained, and he listened—actually listened—his gaze not leaving you for even a second.
he adjusted your blanket when it shifted, told you to breathe slower when your breaths got uneven.
stayed closer than usual, his presence solid, unmoving, like he refused to let the pain take up all the space in the room.
and slowly, bit by bit— it started to ease.
maybe it was the medication finally working, maybe it was time passing, or maybe it was just him.
because your grip on his hand loosened, your breathing steadied, and the tension in your face softened into something quieter, something calmer.
he noticed immediately, i mean of course he did.
“better?” he asked, still watching you carefully.
you nodded slightly, eyes half-lidded now, exhaustion settling in where the pain used to be.
“…yeah,” you murmured.
and he didn’t let go.
even when you started drifting, even when your eyes closed completely.
he stayed right there, his hand still holding yours, his presence still grounding, like he was making sure the pain wouldn’t come back the moment he looked away.
and for once, he didn’t think about the match, he didn’t think about blue lock, he didn’t think about anything outside that room.
maybe in another universe you wouldn’t end up like this.
𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑 -
michael never liked hospitals. not because they were loud or chaotic—but because they weren’t.
they were too quiet in the wrong way, like everything inside those walls was being held together by thin threads.
like every breath, every heartbeat, every small movement mattered more than it should, and he hated how it made him feel useless,
like no matter what he did, he couldn’t fix the one thing that actually mattered.
which was you, but that never stopped him from coming.
even before everything got busy, before his schedule filled up with training, matches, expectations, and people constantly needing something from him, he would still show up.
sometimes earlier than visiting hours, sometimes staying longer than he was supposed to, sitting beside you with this restless kind of energy that never really settled.
his leg would bounce slightly, his fingers tapping against his knee, his gaze constantly shifting like he was trying to distract himself from the fact that you were here, in that bed, looking smaller than you should.
“this place is depressing,” he’d mutter under his breath, leaning back in the chair, but his eyes would flick back to you immediately after, softer, quieter, like he didn’t want you to think he meant you.
because he didn’t. he never did, he just didn’t know how to handle it.
but then things changed.
his career pushed forward, faster and bigger, and suddenly he couldn’t come every day anymore, no matter how much he tried to force it into his schedule.
no matter how many times he told himself he’d make time.
and you noticed, of course you did. so you were the one who told him to stop trying so hard.
you told him it was okay, that he didn’t have to come every day, that you understood, and he hated that.
“that’s stupid,” he said the first time you brought it up, his voice sharper than he meant it to be.
his brows pulling together as he looked at you like you had just said something completely unreasonable, “why wouldn’t i come?”
you just smiled a little, tired but gentle. “because you’re busy, michael.”
he took a deep sigh, looking away, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to shake the feeling off.
“i can handle it.”
but you kept insisting. it was softly, patiently, until eventually, he had no choice but to listen.
and after that— he still came, but.. just not every day.
but whenever he had even a small gap, even the tiniest break between everything that demanded his attention, he’d end up at the hospital without even thinking about it.
like his body already knew where he needed to be before his mind could argue against it.
sometimes he’d show up still in his training gear, hair damp, breath slightly uneven like he had rushed more than he’d admit.
sometimes it was late, his hoodie pulled over his head, hands shoved into his pockets as he walked in like he didn’t want anyone to notice how often he came.
there’s times where you were brutally in pain.
he would reached out, taking your hand in his, his grip warm, a little tight, like he was afraid you might slip away if he didn’t hold on properly.
“where does it hurt,” he asked, his voice lower now, more focused, like everything else had faded out.
you told him, your voice quiet, strained, and he listened, actually listened, his brows pulling together slightly as he adjusted your blanket, shifting things around in small ways that might help, even if he wasn’t completely sure.
“breathe,” he said after a moment, his thumb brushing lightly against your hand without him noticing, “slow, yeah? don’t rush it.”
“…there,” he murmured quietly, almost to himself, watching your expression soften, watching the pain fade into something more manageable, something less sharp.
you looked at him again, eyes heavy now, exhaustion replacing the strain.
“…feels better,” you whispered.
he nodded once, swallowing whatever tight feeling had settled in his chest, leaning back just slightly but not letting go of your hand.
“yeah,” he said quietly, “good.”
𝐒𝐀𝐄 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 -
it’s strange to say that sae didn’t come often, not because he didn’t care— but because he refused to let you see him like that.
hospitals were… weird , controlled, quiet in a way that reminded him too much of things he couldn’t fix, and sae didn’t like things he couldn’t control.
he didn’t like standing in a room where no amount of skill, no amount of effort, could change what was happening right in front of him.
so at first, he kept his distance, he made sure you had the best doctors, the best treatment.
everything handled perfectly, down to the smallest detail, because if he couldn’t be there all the time, then at least everything around you would be exactly how it should be.
but physically—he wasn’t there every day.
because sae knew you well enough to understand that your silence wasn’t indifference—it was consideration, it was you making things easier for him when you didn’t have to, and that thought lingered longer than he liked.
so when he did come, it wasn’t random, it was intentional.
the door would open softly, no rush, no noise, and he’d step in like he belonged there without needing to announce it.
his posture straight, expression unreadable as always, but his eyes… his eyes would settle on you immediately.
like always.
“you look the same,” he’d say, tone even, like he was making an observation rather than a comment.
and you’d give him a small smile. “is that a good thing?”
but he wouldn’t answer right away.
just pull the chair closer, sit down, and glance at the monitors for a second before looking back at you.
“…it means nothing’s gotten worse,” he’d say finally.
that was his version of reassurance, he didn’t reach for your hand, didn’t fuss over you.
didn’t adjust your blankets or tell you to rest like the nurses already did.
but he stayed, longer than he ever planned to, sometimes in silence.
sometimes talking, but not about how you felt, not about the illness, not about anything that made the room heavier than it already was.
he’d tell you about football, about spain.
about things he saw, things he didn’t say to anyone else, his voice calm, steady.
like he was placing pieces of the outside world into your hands so you wouldn’t feel stuck in here.
he stayed exactly where he was, his hand still over yours, his presence steady, unmoving, like he was making sure nothing disrupted this moment, nothing brought the pain back.
𝐑𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 -
at first, he still tried to be the same.
he’d come into your hospital room with that usual expression, reserved, distant, like he was just fulfilling something he had to do.
standing by the bed instead of sitting, answering your small questions with short replies, acting like nothing about this affected him differently.
but you always looked at him like you already knew better.
like you could see through him even when he wasn’t trying to show anything.
and that irritated him at first, but then it didn’t, because over time, something changed in the way he entered that room.
he started sitting down sooner. by standing less, staying longer.
and the silence he used to carry everywhere else… started to break just a little when he was with you.
one day, he showed up with flowers, mostly simple ones, your favorite kind.
he didn’t say anything at first, just placed them carefully on the side table like it wasn’t a big deal.
like it didn’t matter that he remembered something so small when he barely bothered to remember anything else.
you stared at them for a moment, then looked at him. “you didn’t have to,” you said softly.
rin looked away slightly. “i know.” but he still brought them. after that, it became a pattern.
flowers, and small treats.
sometimes your favorite snacks, sometimes something warm from a bakery you once mentioned in passing like it wasn’t important, but somehow it stayed in his head anyway.
he never made a big deal out of it, or he never handed them over dramatically.
he’d just show up, sit down, and place them somewhere nearby like they had always belonged there.
but what changed the most wasn’t just what he brought.
it was him, he started talking more, not to everyone just to you. since he was usually quiet and easily annoyed.
at first it was small things, short updates about training, complaints he didn’t bother hiding.
quiet comments about how annoying people were being that day.
but slowly, it became more than that.
you brought something out of him that didn’t feel like sae’s shadow, didn’t feel like pressure or expectation or comparison.
it felt softer, like it was less guarded, like he didn’t have to constantly prove something in front of you.
“you’re staring again,” he’d say sometimes, but there was no real bite to it anymore, just a faint tiredness in his voice as he sat beside your bed, watching you adjust the blanket.
and you’d smile a little. “you talk more now.”
that would make him pause, just slightly. like he wasn’t fully aware of it himself.
“…do i,” he’d reply, quieter than before. and you’d nod. “yeah. i like it.”
he wouldn’t answer right away, but he wouldn’t stop either.
𝐁𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐈𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐀𝐒 -
bunny could be playful, sure, sometimes even a little annoying when he got too excited, but with you it was different—softer, more focused, like all that energy he carried everywhere else finally had a place it didn’t need to explode, just settle.
your hospital room became that place. at first, he treated it like something he had to be careful with.
he didn’t joke as much when he first walked in, didn’t bounce around like he usually did.
he’d just peek in, smile a little, and sit down like he was afraid of making the room feel louder than it already was.
“hey,” he’d say, voice quieter than normal, eyes already scanning you before anything else, like he needed to make sure you were okay before he could be himself.
and you’d always respond the same way, tired but warm.
“you came..” like it still surprised you every time, like he wouldn’t. and that made him stay longer.
bunny talked a lot about games, not in a bragging way.
not in a way that felt distant or like he was talking at you, he talked about them like he wanted to bring you into them.
like if you couldn’t be out there, then he’d bring the whole field to you instead.
“you would’ve liked that pass,” he said one day, leaning forward in his chair, hands moving as he explained it like he was replaying it in his head, “it was fast, like really fast, but it wasn’t just power—it was timing, like perfect timing.”
you blinked at him, amused. “you’re always talking about football in here.”
he grinned a little. “yeah, because you actually listen.”
that made him sit back slightly, like he was satisfied just saying it out loud, like that alone mattered more than the match.
sometimes things he just thought would make you laugh, he never made it feel like a routine, even though it slowly became one.
and every time he came in, he’d update you on everything like it was your shared world now. “coach got mad today,” he said once, shaking his head, “but I swear it wasn’t even my fault this time.”
you gave him a look. “you say that every time.”
“because every time it’s true,” he shot back immediately, then laughed when you didn’t believe him.
and for a while, that became your normal.
him talking, and you listening. both of you pretending the hospital wasn’t what it was.
then came the surprise.
you noticed it the moment he walked in, he didn’t say anything at first, didn’t greet you like usual.
just stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and for a second… stood there like he was waiting for you to notice something.
you squinted slightly. “what… are you wearing?”
he grinned, like he was too proud, too excited.
and then he stepped closer, turning just a little so you could see it properly.
your number, on his jersey. but it was your favorite number.
he watched your reaction like it mattered more than anything else he’d done all day.
“i got it made,” he said casually, but his voice gave him away a little, softer at the edges, like he was trying not to seem too eager, “surprise.”
you stared at it for a moment longer, then back at him. “you’re wearing my favorite number.”
“yeah,” he nodded immediately, like it was obvious, like there was no other logical choice, “obviously.”
you blinked again. and then laughed softly. that was what he wanted.
that exact reaction.
he dropped into the chair beside you, leaning back like he hadn’t just done something that clearly meant more than he was letting on.
“i asked them to put it exactly right,” he added, tapping the jersey lightly, “so don’t complain if it looks better on me.”
you shook your head. “you’re unbelievable.” he smiled wider at that.
“you love it.”
and honestly, you didn’t even argue.
and after that, he stayed longer than usual. talking more than usual, mostly about games, about training.
about how he was going to score with that number on his back next time, like it had suddenly become personal in a way only you would understand.
and when he finally stood up to leave, he paused at the door like he always did. but this time, he looked back with that same grin still lingering.
“next time,” he said, pointing lightly at the jersey, “you better be watching, yeah?”
you nodded softly. “i will bunny..”
and bunny’s expression softened just a little at that—just enough to show that for all his jokes, for all his energy, for all the noise he brought into the room, this was the part he actually came for, and that was you.
