#I feel like an old man -_- Or like I have the flu or something

[hadesisqueer]

Okay, I'm going to tell you the full context of the particular protagonist of this post so you tell me if this guy is just rightfully complaining because he's sick or if he's being a whiny asshole. His wife is an old family acquaintance that told us this over dinner in Christmas.

Guy had a blocked nose and a headache. He started rightfully complaining about it and his wife asked if he wanted to go to the doctor. He said that no, and when his wife offered some medicine, he refused to take it, saying that "it's not that bad" and he just sat on the couch watching TV. Wife also felt unwell, with a blocked nose and a huge headache as well. So she took some medicine and went to bed to take a nap. Then, barely half an hour later, the husband called her from the living room. She asked what did he want. Guy told her that their kid made a mess trying to pour himself some juice and broke something and there was glass all over the floor. Wife got up from the bed, went downstairs and started cleaning the mess because the option was that or her 5yo son getting hurt while trying to clean it herself while the husband stayed on the couch. Then two minutes later the guy calls from the living room again saying he wanted some warm milk and honey. Wife told him where the milk and the honey were. He said that he didn't feel well and told her to bring it to him. Wife, who's also sick and busy cleaning at that very moment, asks him again "do you wanna go to the doctor?" and he refused. She asked if he wanted some medicine and he, really stubborn, said "no, it's not that bad". Then the wife already fed up tells him "well then if it's not that bad you can either warm your own milk or clean this up" and the guy started whining about how she wasn't being fair to him. So, yeah. The guy is just a whiny asshole when he's sick.

As to how many stubborn guys do I know that whine a lot and become jackasses when they're sick. Well I have a huge ass extended family so unfortunely many dudes. There's people like my cousin's boyfriend who starts absolutely coddling her or their daughter the moment they start feeling bad and there's some others who do really not do anything when their kids or wives feel sick, they just sit around and hope they don't get sick too, and if they do they do expect to get babied and even though when the wife was also feeling unwell he didn't do anything. Generation shift, those guys are all boomers.

A big change is that my dad isn't a jackass when he's sick; my sister is (diversity win: women can be assholes when they're sick too /j). However, when I'm sick, my mom is the one who takes care of me, and when she's sick I'm the one who takes care of her. When we're both unwell at the same time? Good luck. Dad works a lot and my sister is never home.

How many times have people disbelieved my suffering? Very often unfortunely. And mostly by guys, too. Cis men teachers who believed period cramps isn't enough reason for me not to be able to do P.E. that morning and forcing me to run anyway. Doctors who thought the reason I felt sick was my period without even checking anything and then it turned out I had the stomach flu. Me not even complaining about anything at all but looking off and being asked what's wrong and I say "migraine" or "my bad ankle hurts today" and this man whining saying that I always have something. You're damn right men deserve to complain if they're sick but there's a difference between complaining and like you very well said being a jackass, and that guy and many other guys I know are jackasses. And you're damn right I deserve being able to complain, too. I do and I don't care if people think I'm faking it. I'm just not a jackass.

Is there any creature weaker and that whines more in this world than an adult man who's mildly sick

[vamptastic]

have pain radiating from all the joints in my arms for some reason. vaguely concerning. i'll blame it on the fast

[missmatchablossom]

summary: you've been helping your neighbor, gojo satoru, out by babysitting megumi. when megumi's catches the flu, gojo relies on you for help.

a.n.: megumi is ~4-5 years old, and is extremely attached to you. a little angsty, mostly fluffy, a sprinkle of smut at the end. cursing, female reader.

~

The first time Megumi got sick, Gojo panicked. Not the frantic, frenzied sort of panic, but the quiet, desperate kind that he did his best to hide. But you noticed it - the way his fingers trembled, the way he barely looked you in the eye, the way he repeatedly ran his hands through his hair.

It was usually you who made the elevator trip up to Gojo’s high-rise loft to babysit Megumi a couple of days a week. That’s why it took you aback to see him at your door at 11:53 at night, looking stricken as he told you Megumi refused to eat all day and started throwing up. 

You followed him to his place immediately, your heart squeezing at the sight of Megumi bundled up in his bed, his little face scrunched up in discomfort.

“Hey sweetie, you’re not feeling so good?” you cooed, kneeling as you placed your cheek against his warm forehead. He shook his head, though his flushed cheeks and labored breathing were enough confirmation that he was sick.

“He’s running a fever. Probably a cold, but you should take him to the ER just in case,” you told Gojo, watching as his shoulders tensed. He was slightly older than you, but still young to have a child; you could imagine how anxious he was feeling about Megumi’s first ER visit.

“I can come with you,” you offered, watching his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

“Please,” he said lowly, looking at you like you were his salvation.

You made quick work changing Megumi out of his sweat-soaked clothes and prepared a small bag of his favorite snacks and toys. You caught a glance at Gojo’s awe-stricken face before you scooped Megumi into your arms and followed Gojo to his car. 

The silence in the car ride was heavy, Gojo’s stress was obvious in the way he gripped the steering wheel so hard his fingertips turned white.

“He’ll be okay. I’ll be here until he is,” you said gently.

His eyes flicked to you for a second before he swallowed roughly. He nodded, murmuring his thanks before you lost him to his thoughts.

Megumi was seen within the hour, the perfect patient as he allowed himself to be examined without a fuss (As long as you held his hand the entire time).

“It’s the stomach flu, pretty common for this time of the year. I’ll send you home with some medications, just be sure to keep him hydrated,” the doctor said.

“Let mom and dad take care of you, alright Megumi? You’ll get better in no time,” she said kindly, patting his head as he nodded sleepily. You looked at Gojo, waiting for him to correct her. But he didn’t.

As soon as she left the room, Gojo sank into the chair, exhaling heavily as he placed his head in his hands. It was strange to see a man so proud and confident to look so…tired. So human.

You stood between his legs, gingerly laying your hand on his shoulder.

“See? Megumi will be just fine,” you said, swiping your thumb back and forth over his skin.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt scared like that,” he admitted, reaching up to cover your hand with his.

“It’s how you know you’re a parent,” you said, moving your hand to cup his cheek.

He finally looked up at you, a mixture of relief, exhaustion, and something else painted in those eyes of his. You watched him wordlessly as he leaned into your touch, his long lashes fanning across his cheeks. 

After a beat, his eyes snapped open, looking downwards as a sleepy Megumi tugged at his pant leg.

“Home now please?” he asked groggily, barely able to keep himself upright.

The two of you laughed as Gojo lifted him into his arms, Megumi settling his head on Gojo’s shoulder. 

“Let’s go home,” he said, wrapping his jacket around Megumi. You could’ve sworn he was looking at you as he said it, though.

~

Sick Megumi was unexpecedly clingy. The first few times you babysat him, you were taken aback by how quiet and independent he was. Most kids his age demanded constant attention, but he was happy to be left alone with his two dogs. You did find out that shadowpuppets was a surefire way to get him to laugh, though. 

You tried getting Megumi to rest in his bedroom, but as soon as the preschooler realized you weren’t right next to him, he’d get up to wander Gojo’s loft, tearfully calling your name until he found you. That's why you decided to settle down on the leather recliner in the living room, Megumi asleep on your chest with a blanket draped over the two of you. You were immersed in your Kindle before the sound of the front door unlocking dragged you back to reality.

Gojos strolled in, stopping in his tracks when he noticed the two of you. His sharp eyes eyes softened as he approached.

“Welcome home. You’re back early,” you greeted quietly, your heartbeat quickening as Gojo lowered himself to a crouching position so he could sneak a look at Megumi’s face.

His eyes flickered to yours, full of emotion you couldn’t quite place. He swept a few strands out of Megumi’s eyes, studying him like he needed to confirm that he was breathing.

“I may or may not have snuck away,” Gojo mused, eyes full of warmth and mischief.

“Careful, or this one will begin picking up some bad habits,” you teased, rubbing Megumi’s back as he stirred.

“Nah, he’s too much of a goody-two-shoes. Besides, there are more important things than work,” he said fondly, and the way his eyes flowed between the two of you while he talked, it felt like he was talking about you too.

You averted your eyes as you blushed, thankful that Megumi chose that moment to wake up. 

His little fists rubbed against his half-closed eyes, looking between you and Gojo like he was wondering if he was dreaming. 

He reached his hands out towards Gojo, who readily scooped him into his arms.

“Alright, I’ll get going then. I already gave him his meds and a bath so he should be okay for the rest of the night,” you said, gathering your things as you sat up.

You leaned forward to kiss Megumi goodbye, only to be stopped by the tears welling up in his eyes and the grip his hand had on your own.

“Don’t go,” he said, almost making you cry with how sad and adorable he was. 

“Not fair Megumi. You don’t even cry when I leave,” Gojo teased, rubbing his back as you laughed.

“Gojo is home now my love, I’ll see you tomorrow though! I’ll already be here by the time you wake up,” you promised, wiping the tears from his soft cheeks.

Megumi sniffed as he shook his head, reaching his arms out towards you. You took him back into your arms, giggling at Gojo’s feigned hurt expression.

“I’m hurt, Megumi,” he said, making a show of wiping fake tears from his face.

“Oh no, look how sad he is Megumi! Don’t you want to spend some time with him?” you said, inching closer to Gojo, whose arms were outstretched.

Megumi looked at him for a second before shaking his head, burying his face in your neck. 

You laughed even harder at Gojo’s expression, unable to find Megumi anything except utterly adorable. 

“Fine, I get it. I would’ve chosen her too,” Gojo said, throwing you off with the affection in his smile. 

“I can stay untill he falls asleep,” you mouthed to Gojo, hoping he could read your lips. He smiled at you before leaning into your space, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

“Or you could stay for dinner. As a friend, not a babysitter,” he whispered, sending shivers down your spine. 

“I couldn’t impose,” you replied, a bit more breathlessly than you intended.

“Nonsense. I’ve been dying to cook you dinner while you sit prettily in that chair,” Gojo said, seemingly pleased at the blush revisiting your cheeks. 

How could I say no to that?

~

The sun had set long before you were finally able to get Megumi to bed for the night, the moonlight seeping into Gojo’s living room through the enormous windows.

You allowed yourself to sink down onto his couch, the exhaustion from the day wearing on you. Though Megumi’s fever finally broke, he could barely keep his food down today, forcing you to go back and forth bathing him, changing his bedsheets, and cooking different meals to see what he could stomach.

The click of the door being unlocked made you jump, the familiar sight of Gojo making you forget about how tired you were.

He sauntered towards you, looking so enraptured that he didn’t speak a word. 

You froze as you understood why. The usual modest clothes you had on were long forgotten after repeated trips to the bathtub to wash the vomit and sweat off Megumi. The chaos of the day left you in your underclothes -  a thin tank top and cotton shorts - which Gojo seemed to be studying as though he’d never seen them before.

“Welcome home,” you began shyly, sitting up as you attempted to cover yourself with a pillow.

“Sorry about the outfit. Long day,” you continued sheepishly.

Gojo’s eyes finally snapped up to yours, somehow making you feel more naked than ever.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, something unreadable in his tone. 

He changed out of his work attire - taking off his watch, loosening his tie, and stripping off his jacket. Completely normal things to do when you get home. But he captivated your attention, unable to tear your eyes away from him. 

“I can’t believe I’m jealous of a child,” he said to himself as he sat to join you on the couch, looking sinfully handsome with his hair tousled and the top buttons of his shirt undone.

“What do you mean?” you pressed, feeling your self-control begin to slip as you smelled as his cologne wafting towards you.

“Megumi gets to be with you all day. Gets to hug you, hold you, lay his head on your chest. I’m jealous,” he drawled.

You heard it again. That voice in the back of your head begging you to give in to the pull you constantly felt towards Gojo. 

You dared to inch closer, well aware of his gaze roving up and down your body.

“You can do those things,” you said slowly, never breaking eye contact with him. And just like that, he snapped.

He was on you instantly, pinning you to the back of the couch as his lips moved against yours, desperate and demanding. 

You kissed him back with the same fervor, shamelessly roving your hands over the smooth expanse of his chest, until you reached his hair. His silvery locks were just as silky as you expected, and you couldn’t help yourself as you gave them a light tug.

The deep, guttural sound that came out of him sent a wave of pleasure throughout your body. You felt your breath leave you as Gojo laid you on your back, positioning himself between your legs.

“I’ve wanted you since the day I saw you,” he murmured against your ear. His lips began moving from your jaw down your neck, causing you to gasp and squirm as he smiled against you.

“I kept myself on a tight leash for Megumi’s sake,” he started, trailing kisses across your shoulders.

“But you in that outfit? Fuck, I knew it was over for me,” he said, pulling back to admire how flushed and breathless he made you.

You grabbed the edge of his collar, tugging his lips to yours to return the favor. You wrapped a leg around his waist, pulling him even closer to you, his ragged breathing music to your ears.

“Fucking finally,” you said between kisses.

The sound of a thud coming from Megumi’s room caused you both to freeze. You rushed over to check on him, relieved to see he kicked his water bottle off his bed in his sleep. Sighing, you dragged the blanket back over his sleeping form, walking back to where Gojo sat on the couch.

His pupils were blown out, his lips bruised and swollen. 

“Maybe we should continue another time, I don’t wanna wake him up,” you said, surprised at Gojo’s lack of protest. Instead, he tugged you into his lap, placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Free your schedule next week. Megumi’s gonna spend a day with Uncle Nanami, and I’m taking you out on a date. And we’re gonna end the night in my bedroom, where you can be as loud as you want.”

[rmadridcore]

Man Flu

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x Reader

Summary: Jude Bellingham may be a world class athlete on the pitch, but when a little flu knocks him down, he transforms into the world’s biggest drama queen.

Word Count: 1.1K

Masterlist

Author’s note: I’ve been planning to write for Jude in a little bit, but I feel like a fun little fic about him would be a good idea now. The things right now are very confusing and overwhelming, so here is a little distraction for everyone. If you guys will like my writing about him, I have another Jude story coming soon, maybe a few more 🤭 Anyway, enjoy this one & let me know what you think 🫂💘

The sound of Jude’s violent coughs echoed through your shared bedroom. He had been up all night with a high fever, sore throat, and coughing so hard it sounded like his lungs were trying to escape his body. Snuggled into his blanket, he wore an utterly annoyed expression on his face.

You couldn’t help but feel bad for him. Jude rarely got sick, he was always so healthy and cautious, but on the rare occasion that he did, it broke your heart. You had been taking care of him all day: bringing him medications, cooking for him, making sure he stayed warm, hydrated, and well-rested.

It would’ve been much easier if Jude hadn’t turned his plain old flu into a near-death experience. Sure, he hated being sick and hated missing training even more, but it was clear he was enjoying the rare opportunity to lounge around in bed all day with you waiting on him hand and foot.

The chicken soup you made was getting cold while you were desperate for him to start eating.

“Why are you acting like a three year old?” you asked, your patience wearing thin.

“I’m not hungry, and even if I was, I’m too tired to move my hand or my mouth. And it’s cold too,” he said, sniffling dramatically.

“Jude, I can’t give you the medicine on an empty stomach. You have to eat something,” you insisted, exasperated. He shook his head, burrowing deeper into his blanket cocoon until only his eyes and nose were visible.

This man was the most trustworthy and strongest person in your life. You were certain that no matter what obstacle life threw at you, he would handle anything and be there to hold your hand through every challenge. He had proven that countless times. Despite everything he had been through, he remained a top player and an even better human being.

But you had no idea how on earth he managed to turn into a sappy little baby the moment an ounce of virus entered his system. It was like watching Superman crumble at the sight of a tiny piece of kryptonite. The same man who could face down a stadium full of roaring fans without flinching was now reduced to a blanket burrito, whining about soup temperature and acting as if a common cold was the end of the world.

“Jude, please baby, just eat.” You were practically begging now. He shook his head again, even more firmly. “I can’t. I really can’t.” He whined. You sighed in defeat, about to leave the bedroom.

“Unless…” His voice trailed off. You paused. “Unless what?”

“Unless… you could feed me?” He mumbled, avoiding eye contact. Your eyes nearly popped out of your head. Was he serious? This 6’1, strong, broad-shouldered athlete wanted you to spoon-feed him chicken soup?

“Are you for real right now?” His silence said everything. You stood there, dumbfounded for a solid seven seconds before realizing you had no other choice. He needed to take his medicine, and if spoon-feeding him was the only way, so be it.

Taking a seat next to him, he sat up with a huge, satisfied grin on his face, looking like a little boy about to devour his favorite treat.

“I can’t believe you,” you said, half-laughing, half-annoyed as you spooned the soup into his mouth.

“You really are a little baby, aren’t you?” You pinched his cheeks, and his smile faltered, replaced by an irritated look. “If I were you, I’d choose my words carefully. Considering how shitty I feel, this might be the very last conversation we have,” he said, his tone so serious you almost believed him.

You burst out laughing. “You have a sore throat, Jude. I think we’ll survive.” He shrugged dramatically. “You never know. I might not make it through the night.” His ridiculousness was getting out of hand.

After finishing the soup, he snuggled back into bed, looking very pleased with himself. “Was the soup good?” you asked.

“I couldn’t taste it, but I’m sure it was great. There’s nothing about you that doesn’t taste good,” he smirked. You rolled your eyes at his cheesy line, giving his nose a playful nudge. Even when sick, he couldn’t resist flirting.

Minutes later, you returned with his medicine and a glass of water.

“Do I have to?” he asked, grimacing at the pill in his palm.

You sighed. “Jude, do you want to get better or not?”

After a reluctant look at your raised eyebrow, he took the pill. The minuscule, almost nonexistent bitterness of the pill caused him to scrunch up his face as if he had just swallowed a lemon dipped in hot sauce. You couldn’t believe the level of drama this man could reach when he was sick.

Finally, when his face returned to normal, you climbed into bed beside him. He immediately rested his head on your chest, hugging you tightly.

Despite his theatrics, you couldn’t deny how adorable he was, especially when he craved your touch more than ever when he wasn’t feeling well.

As you stroked his head, he nuzzled into your neck. “Thank you, my love,” he whispered.

“For what?” you asked, confused.

“For taking care of me,” he said sweetly, melting your heart.

“Always,” you replied sincerely. No matter how sick or dramatic he got, you were always ready to take care of him, just as he was always there for you.

“Let’s just hope this isn’t my last day on earth. But if I do die in my sleep, at least I’ll die holding you.” You groaned loudly, rolling your eyes. “Oh my god, Jude. You are so ridiculous.”

He chuckled. “But I’m your ridiculous.” You couldn’t argue with that. Despite his dramatics, Jude was the sweetest, funniest, most endearing man you had ever known. The list of reasons you loved him was endless.

As his breathing steadied and he fell asleep in your arms, you smiled, stroking his head gently.

Just as you were about to drift off, a loud, intense cough startled you awake. You groaned again.

“Well, at least I’m still alive,” he muttered.

This guy will be the death of you.

[1800-fight-me]

Old man Logan going through the five stages of grief when you tell him you're pregnant, and the kid is his

Five Stages

Old Man!Logan Howlett x Female!Reader Rating: E (Explicit-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT) Warnings: Pregnancy, angst with a happy ending, explicit oral sex (f receiving) and explicit PiV sex, daddy kink Word count: A little over 2.1k Synopsis: As Charles' caretaker and Logan's long term lover, life hasn't been the easiest and a possible pregnancy throws a wrench into things. (Set before the events of Logan) Author’s note: With all my talk, I cannot believe this is my first fic with old man Logan, he drives me insane - please enjoy and thank you for the request!! P.S. I do not have a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on! Comments and reblogs make my day! Main Masterlist

At first you thought it was the flu. You were nauseous, exhausted, and had constant headaches. 

Logan brought you some cold medicine, but it wasn’t like you could go to the doctor- living in hiding pretty much prevented that. 

It was Charles’ odd comments to you about a new mutant that made you decide to take a pregnancy test. At first you brushed off his comments as due to his dementia, but eventually the signs became too hard to ignore. 

You gave Logan the list of supplies you needed to care for Charles and at the bottom you’d written a pregnancy test. 

He’d stuffed the list into his pocket without reading it, pressed a brief kiss to your forehead, and said a gruff goodbye as he walked out the door. 

It was a two day wait before you saw him again. You puked both mornings he was gone. The food you made for Charles made you sick and you missed Logan something awful. Your emotions were all over the place, but the strongest one was panic. 

You’d always wanted a baby one day, but then the world went to shit and it was impossible to live safely as a mutant, and life everyday was a battle for survival as you cared for an aging Charles and Logan tried to scrounge up enough money to get the three of you somewhere safer. 

This was not the ideal situation for a baby. Though if you were being honest, a part of you was thrilled. If you were pregnant, you wanted this, you wanted to have Logan’s baby- to be his in an irreparable way. 

You just weren’t quite sure how he’d feel about it. 

You stood before the stove and stirred a pot of soup. You hummed as you made dinner for you and Charles. Logan had texted you that morning that he would be back tonight, so you hoped he’d be back in time for dinner but you didn’t count on it. 

You hummed quietly and the peace of the moment was interrupted by the clanging of the door. 

Logan shuffled in and you gasped at the blood on his shirt. 

“S’not mine, princess,” he grunted as he sat down heavily at the chair before the kitchen table. 

You sighed in relief and took a step towards him but he leveled a glare at you. 

He had a paper grocery bag, he’d sat it on the floor next to him. He reached inside and tossed a box towards you. 

It slid across the table and stopped just before it fell off. Right in front of you laid a pregnancy test- it was as if he’d thrown a grenade. The both of you just stared at one another. 

“You wanna explain this?” He asked. 

“I’ve been sick…” you whispered. 

‘Why did I have to find out from a fuckin’ grocery list babygirl?” He asked sharply. 

You gulped. 

“I-I could be wrong, maybe it’s just the flu, I don’t- I was worried you’d be upset with me and clearly you are so-“ 

“C’mere,” he grunted. 

You sighed, knew there was no arguing with him, and took the few steps towards him. As soon as you stood close enough to reach he pulled you onto his lap. 

“I could never be mad at you,” he said with a sigh as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and buried your face in his neck. He held you tight and ran one hand up and down your back. 

Your heart slowed its rapid pace. 

“Go take the test,” he said and you stood, prepared to do as he said. His hand slipped down your arm and held onto your hand. 

“You're not gonna give your daddy a kiss?” He said and his eyes twinkled as he teased you. 

You smiled for the first time in days and leaned down and pressed a kiss to his chapped lips. 

He smacked your ass gently as you walked out of the kitchen and you swiped the pregnancy test off the table as you left. 

Several excruciatingly long minutes later you walked back into the kitchen. 

He looked like he’d cleaned up a bit, at the very least changed his shirt into one that didn’t have dried blood all over it. 

You loved Logan, it didn’t matter to you that the metal inside him was slowly poisoning him and it didn’t matter that his body was aging and at this point he looked significantly older than you. He was still painfully handsome with his salt and pepper hair and rough beard. He was gruff, but only you knew of the gentleness within. You loved him more than anything, but you knew the stress he was under and worried that this would create even more. 

You slid the test across the table the same way he had, this time with tears in your eyes. 

He grabbed it with his large scarred hand and stared and stared and stared at it. 

He looked up and as his eyes met his, you swore the torrent of emotions within them mirrored the five stages of grief. 

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance- you watched him experience the full range within a few moments as he stared at you. 

This wasn’t the ideal situation for either of you to have a baby. But you knew Logan would be a good father, you knew you’d be able to figure it out as a team, you hoped it would be okay. 

He stood with a grunt and walked towards you. Your heart felt as if it were in your throat and you forgot how to breathe. 

You looked down at your feet unable to meet his heavy gaze. 

“Look at me, babygirl,” he murmured. With a gentle hand on your jaw and chin he lifted your head as he stood close enough that your chest brushed his. 

There were tears in both your eyes. 

“You want this?” he asked gently. 

You nodded, unable to form any words. 

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. 

“Do you?” you finally asked, your voice more timid than you’d ever heard it. 

He wrapped you in his arms and held you tight. 

“Of course,” he said and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

You breathed out a shuddering sigh of relief and burrowed your face further into his chest. You sunk into his embrace and let a few tears slip from your eyes.

“Are you panicking as much as I am?” you asked after a few long moments of peace. 

He chuckled and said, “Probably, but we’ll figure it out.” 

You took a few more calming breaths. “Yeah, it’ll be okay.” 

He lifted you up and placed you on the kitchen counter behind you. A gentle hand caressed your stomach. 

“This isn’t the ideal situation to have a baby, but I don’t want you to worry, princess. Daddy’s got you. I’ll take care of you,” he said fervently. 

You curled your fingers into his gray hair and yanked his lips to yours. 

He huffed a laugh against your lips as he kissed you with the same passion. 

“S’your fault,” you murmured against his lips. 

He pulled back and glared at you, which caused you to giggle. 

“You forgot to pick up my birth control last month when you got Charles’ meds, remember? I went a few days without it,” you said as you pressed a kiss to his jaw, then down to his neck. 

His hand slid up to your throat, he gently gripped you - only enough to pull your lips from his throat and force you to look him in the eyes once more. 

“Really, you think that’s the reason- but who was beggin’ for my cock, huh? Who was beggin’ for me to come inside?” he said, his voice low in that dominant way that turned your brain fuzzy. 

“Me,” you breathed out. 

He smirked and pulled you to him again as he slotted his lips over yours. 

“You gonna do some more of that pretty begging?” he asked after several minutes of his lips on yours as he consumed you. 

You let out a shuddering breath. 

“Please, daddy, need you so bad,” you breathed out. 

He groaned and his knees cracked as he kneeled on the hard tile before you. Your breathing quickened as he spread your legs and slowly pushed his rough palms up your sensitive thighs. He pushed your dress up, up, up, until he could see your panties. 

You whimpered at the sight of him kneeling before you. 

“Gonna give you everything you need, princess. You’re giving your old man more than he ever could’ve dreamed,” he praised. 

Your breaths came quick and heavy and wiggled yourself closer to him. He chuckled at your eagerness and began to press gentle kisses to the inside of your thigh. 

His nose ran up and pressed against your needy pussy. He took in a deep breath and groaned at the smell of your arousal. 

“Gonna be my pretty little mama, huh? You gonna have my baby- be mine forever?” he practically growled as he yanked off your soaked panties. 

“Y-yes, yes, oh god, oh yes Lo,” you whimpered as his warm wet tongue licked you from your desperate hole to your clit. 

You gripped his silver hair as you clenched your thighs around his head. You squirmed where you sat on the kitchen counter, desperate for more of him. 

His expert tongue circled and flicked you at the center of your pleasure. 

Your spine began to tingle, your entire body filled with warmth, and your thighs trembled. You moaned wantonly as his lips surrounded your clit and he sucked. 

“Fuck, daddy, so good!,” you exclaimed. 

Just as you felt like the wave of pleasure you rode was about to crescendo, he pulled back. You gasped in dismay and almost came at the sight of him disheveled with your slick coating his beard. 

“Logan,” you whined and reached for him as he stood. 

He grabbed your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm. 

“Patience, babygirl, need you to come on my cock,” he growled as he began to unbuckle his belt. You whimpered as you saw the evidence of his affection for you. 

Slowly, all too slowly, he unbuttoned his pants, pulled down the zipper, and finally pulled out his huge cock. 

He batted your hand away and yanked you to the very edge of the counter. As his lips crashed against yours he lined his cock up and with no preamble thrust himself inside you. 

You gasped at the taste of yourself on his tongue and the sudden feeling of fullness. 

Your head fell back and almost hit the cabinet behind you if it weren’t for his quick reflexes as he slid his hand and cradled the back of your head. 

He huffed a laugh and kissed you deeper as he tangled his tongue with yours. You wrapped your thighs around his waist and linked your ankles in an attempt to pull him deeper inside you, to somehow feel closer to him. 

All of the clothes still remaining on both your bodies frustrated you, but you were too desperate for him to pull away and rid either of you of any clothing. He pulled your chest tighter to yours with a hand on your back as he ground himself deeper inside you. 

There were no words to say, to define the feeling of connection and closeness, as he continued to thrust inside you and your breaths mingled as his forehead rested against yours. 

He noticed the shift in your breathing and slipped a hand between the two of you and pressed his thumb against your clit. 

With a kiss to your forehead he murmured, “C’mon, give it to me princess, you’re fuckin’ perfect- I love you so much.” 

You whimpered and tears filled your eyes as you clenched down on his thick cock and came. 

From the stuttering of his hips you could tell he was close too, and you pressed your lips to his and murmured, “I love you, Logan, please come inside me, fill me up, please.” 

He groaned your name into your mouth as he thrust once more, deep inside you and came. You felt perfectly, exquisitely full and there was no better feeling in the world.  

You rested your head against his chest as you both came down from such intense heights. 

His hand rubbed up and down your back. 

“We’re having a baby, Lo,” you mumbled. 

His hand again rested against your lower stomach. 

“Yeah, we are,” he said and there was a lightness in his voice you hadn’t heard in a long time. 

[wolvietxt]

💭 thinking about …

𝖽𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗈𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍 𝗁𝖼𝗌!

warnings : slightly suggestive, size kink, reader shorter than logan word count: roughly 750 a/n : i wrote this with logan from the original x-men trilogy in mind, but it still works fine with worst wolverine (although he’s a little moodier)! this has been sitting in the drafts for like two weeks but whatever😖

you met through wade, and didn’t exactly hit it off immediately…

your first impression of him was a grumpy old man who didn’t know how to have a conversation of any value and his first impression of you was basically a more sensitive version of wade

but you stuck with it, and tried your very hardest to get along :3

lucky for you, logan opened up more and more with every small catch up, until eventually he’d consider you one of his closest friends!

but that wasn’t enough for him, he wanted more of you in a lot more ways than one😖

when he finally mustered up the courage to ask you out on a date, you were absolutely overjoyed!! so was he when he heard your sweet giggles!!

after that he was officially whipped!

you could have him on his knees for so much as a kiss on the cheek :3

first date!! hmm i can imagine him taking you to a drive in movie or maybe a rooftop dinner

something relatively intimate!

it probably starts out a little awkward but he just needs some warming up!!

within a half hour he is a whole lot chattier (or as chatty as he can get)

you do most of the talking though 

he’s a very active listener which is so comforting 

he’s reluctant to drop you home because he wants to spend more time with you ☹️

you reached up and softly kissed him on the cheek as you shut the door behind you, not quite catching the flush of red that quickly spread over his nose and cheeks

it wasn’t long at all until he was sheepishly stood at your door, small bouquet of roses in hand, asking if you’d be his girlfriend the same way a man would ask to marry a woman 

you moved in within a couple of months and the rest is history!

always checking up on you! your phone is 24/7 pinging with his messages :3

‘text when you get home.’

‘i left some food out for you, text if you eat it.’

‘hi baby, text when you get to work.’

it is CONSTANT!!!

manhandling! all the time! he cannot leave you alone!

you can expect a hand or two plastered to your skin while you’re curled up on his lap binging something random

speaking of, he loves nothing more than that! 

insanely obvious size kink, he may try to hide it at first, but you can really tell when his usual frown morphs to a smirk when you have to get on your tippy toes to kiss him

not massive on pda, but will totally swing an arm around you when he feels like it

sooo possessive, but you’d never live it down if you told him you found it hot

if he even senses another man’s eyes on you, his arm seems to quickly find its way around your waist

secretly loves you playing w his hair while you straddle him 🥰

will moan about it in the moment, but you can feel his little grin when you reach around his head to play with the back

he’s an absolute sucker for those cute domestic moments!

feed him something you’re making with a hand under his chin to make sure nothing spills and he is done for!!

he’s subtle showing affection but you learn to pick up on his cues over time!

shoulder massages when he can tell you’ve had a bad day☹️

he def reads to you

gently wiping something off of your face and smiling to himself because you’re just so adorable

petnames!!!

baby + bub/bubs are what he calls you the most

he babies you constantly omg

a teeny part of him kinda likes when you’re sick because you’re just so pliant and easy to take care of

sometimes you tend to make a bit of a fuss and feel guilty, but if you have a stomach bug or a bad case of the flu you simply cannot find it within yourself to care

‘can i have another blanket?’

‘do you really think that’s a good idea, bub?’

anyways i need him thank you for reading 🙌

[504py]

No Compromises

Yandere Canada/Reader – You reunite with an old college friend, though he's nothing like you remember.

⚠️ Yandere content, kidnapping, self-harm, stalking, possible emetophobia (descriptions of gagging and the feeling of illness), no use of Y/N, gender-neutral reader.

IM BACK YAWL 😭😭 just a bit of a filler post and another apology for being away for so long!!! i tried to get this out by halloween but i kept adding more shit LOL

while this is much more aligned with his 2p version, i had no idea if it counts as such since here i portray his 1p and 2p version as the same guy 😭😭 so that's up in the air!

also u may notice the lack of a [oneshot] tag... thats cuz i have a prequel wip for this, but figured i'll just finish and post it if the people desire it LMAO. pls lemme know if y'all do!! anyways so sorry again and i hope u enjoy!!! thanks so much to everyone for sticking around and enjoying what i do 🩵🩵🩵

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

The light drag of a cigarette is the first thing you process when you finally come to your senses.

A man stands before you, singular lightbulb leering ominously above a head of overgrown blond hair, the bright light reflecting in his glasses making you unable to see much of his features. His tall, slender figure is highlighted by the stark overhead shadows that are being cast on his baggy clothing. He exhales, smoke billowing and resting heavily in the dusty, stale air.

"Hey." He says, the friendly, casual tone of his voice making you blink faster in the hopes of gaining more lucidity. His tongue pokes at his cheek as he drops the cigarette to the cemented floor and stomps on it. The gritty sound feels like boiling water in your audio-sensitive drugged up state.

"Are the ropes too tight?" He asks with a quirk of his head, you squint, thinking you'll be able to catch a glimpse of his face, but the dark shadows and your pupils trying desperately to adjust to the lighting in the dim room make the task much too difficult. You didn't even notice you were bound 'till you tugged your wrists at the mention of the word 'rope.'

The mystery man straightens his posture and takes a few steps closer to you. His sneakers are downtrodden. The lacing is asymmetrical, any recognizable color or branding rubbed off, and the hem of his loose jeans caked in what seems to be mud.

"Come on, you can speak, can't you? It's not like I taped up your mouth." The tone of voice he uses here is almost playful, yet too vague. You didn't know if it was condescending, comforting, or cheerful.

"I... I'm... Ropes are okay..." You respond mindlessly, your voice coming out in a hoarse croak. God, it feels like your head could loll off your neck at any moment.

"Poor thing. You sound parched– Tell ya what, I'll give you some water if you kiss me." Even if his face is still hazy, you can make out the glint of a smile. His canines are pointy.

He draws closer, and crouches in front of your seated figure. He's a lot taller than you thought, seeing him up close. You see the indent of a pointed dimple by the edge of his sharp lip corners when he turns his cheek to you. There's a few moles on his pale skin. He smells like tobacco, rust, and rainwater. Smells a bit like something syrupy and moldy, but maybe that's just the room.

You shudder away from his close proximity, and he laughs nervously.

"Aw, I thought that'd work." He chuckles, before facing you fully, still crouching.

You can finally see his face. What you thought were dark brown eyes turned out to be a dull shade of purple, just with his pupils as fully blown as they can go. The stare is creepy, but at least his droopy outer eye corners and straight blond eyelashes soften their impression. His nose is well-structured and pointy, reddish at the tip. His sharp lip corners seem to always point upwards, and were pink like they had just been kissed and bitten. If it weren't for this moment, you'd have thought he was an attractive man with a somewhat docile-looking face. His cheeks are flushed, he tilts his head in wonder, a few pieces of his hair falling over his face.

"Merde, you're really pretty up close. I can't believe you're in front of me right now. I missed you so, so much." He giggles, cold hand reaching out to carefully grasp your chin to try and steady your bobbing head.

He swoons, "So, so pretty." then presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. The action makes him exhale a shuddered, moaning breath. Whatever is in your system prevents you from reacting too much besides a weak jerk of your body.

"I should get you out of this shitty room, but I wanted to be prepared in case you reacted more violently. I didn't wanna have to drag you around. Don't wanna rough my baby up." He says with a small smile, as if the thought secretly brings him some amusement. Maybe his otherwise comforting smile just comes off as sinister at a time like this.

"You're reacting so much better than I thought you would, though. You're being so, so good, you know?" He coos like you're a pet, taking his hand off your chin and his blunt fingernails gently scratching at the top of your scalp.

Your throat hurts. You swallow dryly. "Who are you?"

The corner of his mouth twitches, and his smile drops slightly. He takes in a deep breath and sighs, cigarette-stained air blowing over your face.

He squints at you. "You really don't remember me?" He says quietly.

You shake your head. His light eyebrows knit in what looks like an expression of heartbreak.

He tries to jog your memory. "Come on, college sweethearts?"

"...I didn't date anyone in college."

His lips part in shock, the wrinkles between his eyebrows deepening.

"It's Mattie. Come on now." He pleads, desperation dripping from every word. The higher, more pathetic register his voice shifts into begins to jog your memory.

The sound of that nickname makes your eyes widen and forces your shoulders to press against the back of the chair. His identity makes things a million times worse.

"...M-Matthew Williams? No, no, c'mon, we never dated. Don't be like this."

"We had something special, though. I missed you. You missed me too, didn't you? You even remembered my full name." Matthew's gentle voice raises, as if trying to convince you of his feelings, trying to justify this situation.

"Th-There must've been a better way to get in contact with me without tying me up."

He shakes his head, frown almost a pout. "I did try! But you'd always blow me off to hang out with your other friends, a-and– and I just couldn't watch when I found out you were starting to see someone else." Resting on his knees and looking up at you, he grasps your bound hands on your lap. The position reminds you of prayer. Worship.

"I love you. Always have. A-And I know I'm different from how I used to be, but maybe you'll like this newer version of me more. You did say you liked a more assertive partner, didn't you?" His head tilts while he nods, like he's trying to convince you of everything he's saying.

His crazed eyes quickly scan your expression for any validation. "Yeah, yeah... I-I was a doormat back then, so that's probably why you didn't return my feelings." He laughs bitterly, and the sight is almost irritatingly funny to you. He's comparing his former pitiful self to the way he is now, as if he had changed. "But I'm different now. I'm not a coward anymore. I'll take care of you, and I'll do it well, I promise. I'll make you so happy."

"Please, Mattie, j-just let me go, and I'll give you a chance–"

He gasps. "You used my nickname." A disgustingly lovestruck grin spreads on his pale freckled face. He presses your bound hands against his flat chest. His heart is beating wildly against his ribcage.

"Feel my heartbeat. It's all for you. It only beats for you. I promise I can make you feel the same way for me. Just let me."

"...Do I even have any other choice? You kidnapped me."

Matthew's smile falters, eyes drooping, and he looks just as pathetic as he did all those years ago. He frowns flimsily. "I-I'm sorry. But I'll be good to you. Really. I'll be so good for you."

You shut your eyes and lean your head back. Your whole body hurts. Weighing out your options, you make a decision. If this Matthew is just as pathetic as the one you remember, then maybe you have a chance to escape if you butter him up enough.

"Fine. Untie me first."

Matthew's eyes widen. "R-Really? If you fight back, though, I'll have to use force, so, please, just... Don't run."

"I get it."

Eagerly, he brings out a knife and cuts through the rope. He rubs and massages your wrists for you when you're freed from your restraints. Dusts your clothes off for you, too. Though, you're wondering if what you think is a needlessly thoughtful action is just an excuse for him to feel you up.

"Let's get out of this basement, yeah? It's much better upstairs. Promise." He says, gently holding onto your hand. His are covered in bruises and small wounds. Butterflies are taking flight like fighter jets in his stomach.

When you stand up, Matthew pauses for a bit, violet eyes raking over your figure.

"Sorry, I just–" He starts, before cutting himself off by quickly stepping closer to you and encasing your body in a hug. He trembles and lets out a shaky breath, tightening his hold.

"I missed you so much," His voice cracks, "So happy you're here. Really. I feel like I'm on top of the world having you all to myself. You're all mine, finally."

Matthew takes in a sharp, obstructed breath. "Ugh, I–" He pulls away and his voice sounds all wet. He's crying. If you weren't so woozy, you would have scolded him when he wipes his face with his dirty jacket sleeve. Even now, you care about him, and maybe that's why he's fallen so helplessly in love with you.

He feels like he's shriveling into himself when all he does is simply breathe and what comes out is a sniffle. It's shameful, to boast about being a changed, stronger man, only to fall apart with a hug.

Wordlessly, he gulps his insecurities down his scratchy throat and grabs your wrist, taking you up the dusty wooden steps and leaving the basement. He does this with such little care it surprises you a little. It forces you to come to your senses in order to not stumble over your own heavy feet.

The actual interior of the house is much less industrial-looking than what you'd assumed from the basement. Rustic is the first word to pop into your mind to describe this place. Cottagecore, like the trendy people say, but... with a whole lot less of that trendy factor. It definitely is comfortable, which is a relief considering the storm outside.

Oh.

Looking out the window makes you realize something dreadful. You were never scared of the dark, pitch-darkness, even, but the vantablack surroundings beyond the glass begins to shroud you in a shadow of realization; there is a total absence of light. There are no lights, there are no houses nearby, there is nothing. You were in the middle of nowhere. You glance down to Matthew's battered sneakers and mud-caked jeans, and wonder how much trouble they went through to get you here.

He senses your staring, and looks to you, following your gaze and flushing.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. This is no outfit for a reunion as important as this." He laughs sheepishly, weakly. He had managed to swallow his tears, with the only evidence left behind being his reddish waterline and nostrils.

"I'll, uh, I'll go change– Just sit down anywhere you'd like. Those drugs will take a bit to leave your system. I'll fix you something up to wash it down as soon as I'm back, sweetie." Matthew stays for a moment, gnawing on his lip like he's weighing something out in his mind, before deciding to just go for it. He leans in to quickly place a kiss to your temple, and despite his attempt at nonchalance, he lets out a thin, shaky breath, before scampering off into what you assume is his bedroom.

Still nauseated, you hobble over to the couch and collapse onto it with more grace than you expected. You spare only a few seconds before forcing yourself back up, making the most of your time alone to examine the area without the pressure of Matthew watching you.

You scan the room quickly, making note of any possible exits. There are only two in this living room. The window, and the lone door against the other side of the room. Nearing and examining the window, you quickly find that it has a keyed lock, and rush over to the door.

Keyed, padlocked, deadbolted. God, he really went through the trouble of installing multiple of these. You could only imagine what his keyring looked like. You wonder if you could nab it.

A long-fingered hand clamps over your shoulder, digging into your collarbones and pulling you back. It's over so quickly you don't even have time to complain and yell about the pain.

"What do you wanna eat?" Matthew asks sweetly. His voice, though recognizable, is different from the way you remember it. His signature softspoken-ness is still there, but it's hoarse, slightly deeper. Maybe it's because he started smoking, but no cigarette can be owed the credit of the subtle confidence in his tone– Maybe not confidence, but some sort of certainty.

Your irises tremble slightly at the startle as you return his stare, before gulping and answering. "...Anything's fine."

"Pancakes it is." He shrugs, a small smile on his lips. As he walks to the quaint kitchen, he pulls a black hair tie off of his bony wrist and begins tidying his wavy, honey blond locks into a low ponytail. His hair's grown so much since you last saw him, and you can't help but think it suits him well.

It's not just his hair, the rest of him has grown, too. Matthew's gained a few inches of height, though he looks slimmer than before. You're unsure if he lost weight, or if his height just makes him look thinner than he actually is. He's aware of it, that he looks slightly worse for wear, but he couldn't help but lose his appetite being away from you for so long. He'll gain it back eventually to look good for you. I have to, he tells himself.

Now that he's rid of his jacket and clad in just a loose, plain graphic shirt, you get a better look of the wounds on his arms. It's mostly around his knuckles and palms, maybe he's clumsy, maybe he does a lot of physical labor, those are strangers to you, but you're familiar with the thin scars on the inside of his wrists. They're faded and old now, thank god, but you remember the long teary nights in college you'd spend trying to convince him not to hurt himself just because you couldn't spend time with him that week. You made him promise he wouldn't do it anymore, and judging by the lack of fresh wounds, he's kept his word. Though those memories make your head throb, you feel slightly proud.

You wobble over to the couch, deciding to take a seat to try and soothe the nausea bubbling about inside you. You remember those red plaid pajamas he's wearing, too. Always wore them whenever you came over. You wince as another wave of pain ripples through your skull, and you wonder if he's purposefully dressed himself like that to remind him of his most favorite time in his life, one that he thought was yours too.

That smell of butter, vanilla, and syrup doesn't help. While your stomach does respond to the smell, you can't help but think of Matthew first before the food. He always smelled faintly of maple syrup, along with hints of lavender and men's shower gel. His old apartment reeked of it. You never thought such an innocuous scent could bring you so much irritation.

Matthew glances behind him, finding your zoned out, furrow-browed stare.

"Your head hurting real bad?" He calls out from behind his back, focusing on the current stack of pancakes he was building by the stove.

"Yeah," You say under your breath. You're not sure why you even bothered responding if you knew you were gonna answer so silently. A part of you felt it rude had you just been unresponsive, but good god, forget the formalities, he'd kidnapped you!

After a few more moments of head-clutching silence, Matthew arrives, sitting on the couch and placing a plate of pancakes on the wooden coffee table in front of you.

"Come on now, you should eat. You've been knocked out for a while, you're about to miss lunch and dinner." He says lightly, a faint sternness in his voice, like he were speaking to a child. You scoff feebly.

"Nah, I... I don't really feel like eating." Despite the apparent hunger pangs in your stomach, you feel terribly sick in the throat, like you were constantly on the verge of retching. As much as you wanted to down the food he's prepared for you, just the thought of eating makes you gag.

He lets out a small laugh. "Want me to feed you?" Scooting closer, he leans down and tilts his head to get a better look at your pallid, gloomy face, heavy with queasiness. You're still so beautiful, he thinks.

You shake your head adamantly at that, immediately regretting it at the dull pain that amounts from the action. "No, no, I'm alright, Mattie," You bite your tongue when you realize you've called him by that stupid nickname again. "I feel like I'm gonna throw up."

He can't help the cheesy expression on his face and the way his heart flutters at the nickname. "It'll get worse if you don't eat." He pouts. "Come on, at least five bites." He picks up a fork, already slicing a small bit for you, and holding it up to your mouth.

You look at it with a small frown and wince in your expression, and his eyes darken.

"I'll tell you where one of the keys are if you eat."

Those words grab your attention immediately, and haplessly, you take a bite of the pancake he offers you. Matthew lets out an airy giggle.

"I remember you used to complain so much about this. Whenever I tried to feed you." He says with a pointy, wistful smile. "You've changed a lot over the years. Still so in love with you, though." His gaze is heartbreakingly warm.

You look at him, heart stopping in your chest for a moment at how sincerely he's looking at you. His heart does the same, but just at the mere action of you meeting his eyes, acknowledging his existence.

"You too." You say simply, despite your thoughts being so much more than those two words imply. When his cheeks redden and his lips gape, you quickly correct yourself. "Uh, that you've changed. Not that I love you." He huffs a dry chuckle.

"Figured, but I wanted to believe it." Matthew cuts up another piece of the pancake and offers it to you. You bite, and his blush only darkens. While you're chewing, he speaks again.

"You're not wearing that bracelet I made you anymore." He makes a sad face.

You swallow, "It's in my apartment. Felt too bad to throw it away." The light returns to his lavender eyes and he grins warmingly at you.

The bracelet is simple, a thin twist bracelet made with red thread, all entwined together with love. Matthew gave it to you during a morning class, blushing and stuttering. He made one for himself, too, like the red string of fate, he giggled when he said this, lovingly looking at the matching bracelets around your wrists. Now that your vision was less foggy, you can now see that what you thought was a wound was actually that same bracelet around his wrist. The color has faded slightly, more dull with dirt and age, while yours is still as vibrant as the day he gave it to you. It's a shame he didn't nab it when abducting you.

"You still care about me." He grins, almond eyes sparkling with mirth.

"To my own detriment." You smile emptily at him, taking the fork from his grasp and quickly eating the rest of what you owe him.

"The key?" You remind him, and he seems like a lost puppy for a moment, before it hits him, his pointy-fanged grin widening. He chuffs bashfully, as if a secret of his had been revealed, before he answers, awfully joyous; "Oh, I was lying." He laughs almost childishly.

A feeling of cold dread and shame drips from your head and down your shoulders. Of course, why did you assume so easily that he'd just hand that to you on a silver platter? At the same time, of course you would, he's Matthew Williams, the same man who gave you his coat and paid your bus fare the first time you two met. He insisted you kept it, said it suited you better and he's got hundreds more like it anyways. You did, you kept using it over the years even when you graduated. You used it this morning, maybe that's why it was so easy for him to recognize you. Your gullibility strikes you with chagrin and you can only retaliate by pushing back.

"What? We made a deal. Why would you lie to me?"

Matthew's usually docile expression falls, and suddenly you feel like you genuinely have no idea who this man is anymore, and you regret thinking that you could just walk all over him and out that door like you did all those years ago.

"Do you think you have any control over this situation, sweetie?" He crawls closer, palms dipping the couch cushions. "Did you really think I'd guard you so loosely? After all these years?" The collar of his shirt hangs from his neck as he leans down, collarbones prominent. "Did you think I'd let you leave me again? Stupid." He spits, though it seems like the final insult was more directed towards himself than you.

You scoot back until your back hits the armrest, and before you can try and slide off the couch, a lithe arm cages you in.

"It tore me up, ripped me to shreds and I came back a different person, but the only thing that stayed, that didn't change, was my love for you– No, my love for you is what broke me in the first place. Please, god, just soothe me a little." Matthew's voice crescendos until it cracks, hysterical expression making you relive the hell that was your college days together.

"Just love me a little." He whimpers weakly, before pressing a desperate kiss to your lips, moaning in surprise as if he wasn't the one to kiss you first. It's short, brief, like it zaps him, too much for his poor racing heart to handle. The bright smile returns to his face when he pulls away, breathless. It stays despite the horrified look on your face.

"Why are you so disgusted? You already tasted plenty of me in those pancakes. You looked so cute eating up my spit." He teases, his glee evident in his voice, the loose strands of his hair tickling your face. The realization of what you had just consumed, what now sits heavily in the pit of your stomach, was something of his, makes you dizzy with abhorrence. You try to push him off, but he slams your shoulder back into the cushions, hands vice-like and heavy against your skin.

Matthew is panting, and when he catches his breath, his eyes widen and his irises shake. You can see his pupils contract and dilate. "I'm sorry, I-I'm sorry– Didn't mean to– Ah, merde." He whimpers, dropping his head to the crook of your neck. He's already reduced to a groveling mess, and you've barely said anything. "Please love me, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I love you!" He cries, and you hate that you really do feel sorry for him.

You hate him, hate the shit he keeps putting you through, hate how soft his voice is, hate how pathetic he is, hate how reliant he is on you, hate seeing his tears. You hate how he still manages to pull pity from you despite everything he's put you through.

With a shriek through gritted teeth, you fist his shirt and yank him down, this kiss is intended, and definitely felt like, more akin to an act of harm over love, but poor Matthew can't tell the difference.

He melts into it with a loving sigh despite his bleeding lips.

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

[moongreenlight]

I love your work about the 141 gossiping about Ghost, love the concept of him having a “secret wife”.

Please please please write more with “secret wife y/n”, I beg of you. 🙏🏻

ANYTHING FOR YOU, ANON. <3 Ghost and secretwife!reader are my sweet babies I love them so much.

Tw: blond Simon & smiling Simon. Read at your own risk.

If there’s one thing Gaz knows how to do, it’s shut the fuck up. And if there was ever a time to employ that skill, it was now. Now after he’d been frozen watching the two of you reunite after a close call. After he’d discovered your dirty little secret. Suddenly feeling like Icarus after flying too close to the sun. Hurtling back down to earth. He was certain that when he moved there would be a crater under his feet where his stomach dropped.

He’d gone so green that another nurse came up and gently tugged on his arm to see if he was alright. He snapped his jaw shut, nodding and mumbling something that didn’t sound anywhere near reassuring. But he forced himself to leave the medbay. Left the two of you behind the curtain, where in his final glance back he saw that your feet were still neatly on top of Ghost’s big boots. Pushed up on your toes to be able to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

He made some excuse not to meet with you that evening. Could barely look you in the eye when you caught him in the hall, looking significantly more cheery than you had been that morning. You pried, asking if he was alright, feeling his forehead with the back of your hand, but he claimed the stress of their mission had just hit him and he really needed to sleep.

It took him weeks to get over the initial shock. Couldn’t stand next to Ghost during conditioning. Made a point of sitting catty-corner to him during meetings and in transit so he had the least chances of accidentally catching his eye. Feeling like he’d deeply bastardized the idea of ‘Ghost.’ Blurred the lines between the man Gaz knew and the man he was in private.

He tried to reason with himself. Keep it fresh in his mind that he’d seen the signs, just hadn’t been able to fully connect the dots by himself. And it was an accident. He’d never intentionally pry into either of your personal lives like that. It wasn’t in his character. There was nothing innately wrong with the two of you hiding a marriage. Probably would have been an HR nightmare. Gotten both of you re-stationed. He was certain you both had a good reason to hide it. And there was no better person to find out than him. He’d actually be able to keep it a secret. Soap would immediately run his mouth. Get on the intercoms and scream the news as loud as he could. Price would pull the both of you aside and try to have some heart-to-heart. Not that it wouldn’t have been nice, it just would have felt too forced. Wouldn’t have served any real purpose.

So eventually he gets over it. Never pressed you about your marriage again, and you never seemed too keen on following up his request from months ago. The dust settles in his mind. He shelves the information like an old book. Life goes on.

And then the weather turns. Starts getting colder. The first few weeks of cold after summer where the wind stings a little more. Finds it’s way through jackets and uniforms a little more artfully. Soldiers are catching ill and passing it around like it’s a competition of who can infect the entire base. The medbay is busy, but a different kind of busy than summer when it’s an optimal time to see missions through.

The medics are tasked with rounding up all the soldiers on base and issuing flu vaccines to hopefully prevent further spread. You trudge to Price’s office in the early morning. He notices you look a little pale. The rims of your eyes and tip of your nose are blotchy. A gentle shade of pink that he assumes is from the weather or the cold you were bound to catch. You chat for a bit, catch up because you haven’t had the opportunity for a few weeks. Let him know that he and the boys need to make their way to the bay for their shots at some point.

You feel a little woozy. Pressing into his doorframe for support, white-knuckling it to keep yourself from swaying in your spot. He looks a little concerned. Asks if you need to take a few days away to recoup. You wave him off, tell him it’s nothing you can’t handle, but he insists on walking you back to medbay. And he’s glad he did because on the short walk back you find yourself having to duck into a dark meeting room so you can vomit into a trash can.

He keeps a steadying arm wrapped around your waist when you stumble back out into the hall. Shaking his head when you profusely apologize. Slowing his normally long strides so you were comfortable. Gently lets you down on your own cot and instructs you to stay where you are while he goes to find a few other doctors that can delegate your work for the day between them so you can have the day off.

He sends you home despite your protest. You’d already gotten your color back. Claimed you must’ve had something off to eat. He wasn’t having it. Said he wouldn’t have his best doctor spreading sick because she’s too stubborn to get off her feet for a few hours. He’s a bit more stern than usual because he knows you won’t listen otherwise, but he brings you a ginger ale and sits next to your bed until you’ve finished it.

Later that day, when he and the boys finally get around to the bay for vaccines, he notices the way Ghost’s eyes dart around like he was looking for something. His shoulders tensing when he sees your station empty, and moments after he’s taken his shot, Price sees that he’s slunk off to a corner to make a phone call.

He doesn’t think much of it. He’s been trying to give Ghost some space. So he just shrugs it off. Let’s him finish up whatever he’s doing before they get back to work.

The boys have gotten in the habit of taking a week off as the snow melts. Just before Spring brings rain and the soft buds of new leaves on the trees. Unofficial tradition proposed early on to have a few more days rest before things inevitably picked up again. Usually gave the boys time to kick off to visit family or get some well needed time away from base. Get in a well needed break because God knew they wouldn’t be able to for the foreseeable future.

Soap finds himself a little North of Manchester in his time off. Went out to see his godparents in Bolton for a couple days before getting back up to Iverness to see his parents. Meandering through a supermarket to pick up a bottle of wine for his godmother and a bottle of bourbon for himself. Could have sworn he saw Simon turning a corner at the end of the aisle. Chalked it up to a trick of the light. Seeing things after months of close quarters with his L.T.

But then he saw the man again. Stood in line at the butcher’s counter. No mask, but the same crooked nose and cropped blond hair. Same scar hooking his jaw. Swapped out his uniform and gear for a thick leather jacket, white shirt, and a pair of jeans. Would have been unrecognizable if Johnny didn’t know him so well.

He was about to head over to say hello. Make some wise crack about Ghost missing him too much, but he was stilled for a moment when a woman approached Simon. Pushed her cart up next to him and nudged his side with her hip. Prompted him to give her a small smile- the only smile Soap had ever seen Simon grace anyone with. No teeth, just a curve of his lips, but it changed his face completely.

Ghost said something to the woman. She reached up to fuss with the collar of his jacket. Johnny saw her shoulders shake slightly and heard the quiet tinkling sound of her laughter. Completely shell shocked. So imagine his surprise when the woman turned away from Ghost and it was you. Only you looked wildly different. He knew your face well enough, but after almost six months not going to the medbay on a weekly basis, something had changed.

Even wearing an oversized sweatshirt he could see the way it pulled taught against your swollen belly. Saw the way your arm was cradling it like second nature. He didn’t even realize that the bottle of wine had slipped from his fingers until he watched Simon’s head snap toward the sound. Ears perked. Tense like he’d suddenly flashed onto the battlefield. His eyes went wild for a moment as he scanned the busy aisle, calmed only a degree when he found you.

It’s like that Spider-Man meme where the three of them meet and point at each other. Johnny’s smiling sheepishly (for once), your jaw is dropped in surprise, and Simon is glaring daggers at Johnny like somehow it was his fault that you were all in the same place at once. You’re the first one to move. Rushing up to him as quickly as you could- now moving a bit awkwardly with the disproportionate weight of your pregnancy on your front. Asking if he was alright. Grabbing his hands to make sure the glass hadn’t cut him.

Simon tailed you like a hulking shadow. Glowering down at Soap something fucking ferocious. Didn’t even give him time to tell you he was fine. Pulling you back behind his arm by the wrists with a kind of gentleness Johnny had never known the L.T. to possess. You twisted your face in displeasure, batting his hands away and stepping back out from behind the wall that was your husband. Ignoring the wine and the soft crunch of glass under your shoes.

And to Soap’s absolute bafflement, Simon stood down. Didn’t try to yank you back, didn’t voice his protest, just drew his mouth into a hard line and let you push past him. He was speechless. For what well may have been the first time in his life, John MacTavish had no words. Couldn’t apologize for the mess. Couldn’t crack a joke. Couldn’t even say hello. He was pure dead at a loss.

Somehow, he allowed you to guide him away from the mess he’d made- staining the waxed tile a muted crimson even after the disgruntled looking employee came over to mop it up. Found his voice in your tugging him along after you and Simon to the checkout where you insisted you’d pay for the bottle of bourbon he’d managed not to send careening to the ground. Tried to tell you no, but you’d already sent it down the belt. And by the time you’d rooted through your purse in search of your card, Simon had already finished paying and was tucking his wallet into his back pocket.

Shuffled out with the two of you into the car park. Making a point of putting distance between himself and Simon who was pushing the cart with one hand and had the other planted firmly on the small of your back. Always walking on the side of oncoming traffic.

Johnny tried to keep up with your conversation. Asking him about his break. Where he was staying and for how long. How had he been. But it was tense. He could feel Ghost’s eyes on the back of his head. Burning through him. Making him feel like he had a target tacked to his skull.

He said a quick goodbye when Ghost helped you into the passenger seat of your car. You said you’d see him soon enough, said if he had any extra time before they went back he’d have to come by for dinner. Simon closed the door before you could say anything else. Looking monumentally irked.

The two men stood in suffocating silence while Simon unloaded the groceries into the trunk. Johnny tried to ignore the glinting of the silver band on the L.T’s finger. Caught the light every time he set a new bag in the back. A little unsure if he was being dismissed or if Ghost was just waiting until he was certain you wouldn’t hear the lashing he was bound to receive.

But it all stayed relatively calm. Maybe the eye of the hurricane. Simon pushed the bottle of bourbon into his chest before swinging the trunk shut.

“Appreciate if you’d keep this between us.”

Ghost spoke first, the words sounding a bit sticky in his throat- like they didn’t want to come out.

“‘Course.”

Johnny’s voice wasn’t much better. Both of them shifted on their feet. Not use to this kind of conversation. Uncomfortable being pushed from their usual dynamic.

Simon just nodded, moving to push the cart back to the corral. Johnny followed.

“How long you been keepin’ this in?”

“Which bit.”

His response was flat.

“Dinnae, L.T. Seems yer a man o’ mystery these days.”

Soap prodded, unable to help himself. A smile crept into his voice.

“Don’t push it.”

Simon bit back.

“Bonnie thing for a brute like you.”

“Johnny.”

“Looks ready’ta pop.”

A harsh sigh from Ghost. He reached into his jacket pocket like he was going for a cigarette. Tightening his jaw when his hand showed back up empty. He hummed his agreement.

“Few months.”

They’d reached Johnny’s car by this point. Just a few rows over in the car park. Stood by his driver’s side door shuffling their feet once more.

“Ken it’ll turn out like you?”

He couldn’t help but ask. Never pictured Ghost the fatherly type, but the idea was growing on him now that it’d been planted in his mind.

“Hope not.”

Simon gruffed back. Johnny snorted.

“Boy o’ girl?”

This earned him a nasty look, but he figured he was in deep enough as it was. No harm in asking.

“Girls.”

[literaila]

sick

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru does not get the 'flu' that you have, or why you can't take megumi to the bookstore

warnings: symptoms of the flu, satoru is a bastard, cute kids

last part | next part

*

year two.

you:  can you take megumi to the bookstore? i can't make it 

"megumi wants me to ask you what you mean by 'i can't make it.'" 

your phone rings as soon as the message is sent, making you groan and roll over in bed. your palms are sweaty, and your body feels a bit like you got eaten alive. 

you probably shouldn't have answered, but honestly, how can you be expected to make smart decisions in this state?

you sigh into the phone. "it means that i can't make it, satoru." 

usually, his voice would make you smile but right now it just makes you want to die. and sleep for a couple... billion years, at least. 

"megumi wants me to ask what you mean by that?" satoru says again like you can't tell he's grinning. 

"just let me talk to him," you sigh, turning over on your side, which does nothing to ease the ache in your abdomen, by the way. you feel briefly nauseous like you might need the bowl you dragged under the covers, but it eases. you swallow bile. 

"what's wrong?" satoru asks, still teasing, and doesn't put megumi on the phone because he has never, not once in his life done anything without an argument. 

really, why do you put up with him?

"nothing." 

"well you just forgot that both of the kids are in school right now, like they are every day, so..." 

you close your eyes, pulling the covers up even higher. "oh. yeah." 

"did you get hurt, or something?" satoru asks, no concern evident in his voice, "going on another mission?" 

"no." 

satoru is silent, waiting. and you really truly do hate him. anyone else would just do you this favor. 

but not your best friend, no, he does nothing you ask. 

"i'm sick," you tell him, after a whole minute of silence. 

you can almost hear it as his brows furrow. "what?" 

"i have the flu or something," you cough into the receiver, hoping that it hurts his ear. 

"how?" 

"ugh," you groan, trying to rub the ache out of your jaw. "not all of us are immune to getting sick, you freak. will you take megumi to the bookstore for me? please?" 

"i don't think he wants to go with me." 

"satoru," you whine. 

"...and also i'm not allowed to enter the premises anymore." 

you sniff, wishing that you had more tissues, "what? since when?" 

"a couple weeks ago," he answers, nonchalantly. you can hear him moving around, probably wreaking havoc on the house you'll have to deep clean in a couple of days. 

not to mention your room. seriously, getting sick is the worst. 

"why?" 

"nuh uh," he says to you, very seriously. "that's between me and the children. they swore me to secrecy, and you're the one that's always going on and on about trust and how easily it's broken..." 

"you mean that you swore them to secrecy." 

"i bribed them," satoru agrees as if it's not an insane thing to say about your seven and eight-year-olds. 

"with what?!" 

"tsumiki took the offer of picking whatever takeout she wanted, and i think megumi was just glad i couldn't bring him anymore, the brat." 

you can hear his eyes roll, and the mention of the little boy's name reminds you of why you're having this discussion in the first place. 

"satoru... i really can't take him and i promised we'd go today," you groan into your pillow, voice feeling very sore. you shouldn't be talking to this insane man right now, you should be asleep. 

he pauses. "i can wear a disguise, i guess?" 

you groan again, hopefully, louder. "no, you're right about him not wanting to go with you." 

"rude." 

"i guess i'll just..." you attempt to sit up for the third time, feeling a bit dizzy as you do so. "i'll take some medicine and see if i feel better by the time they get out of school."

you're already mentally checking your medicine cabinet, not even sure if you have anything to help this ease by later in the afternoon. just some pain relief would be nice, but if you're contagious...

"what? no."

"well, you can't take him," you answer, still annoyed. 

"he doesn't need to go..." 

you hope that satoru can feel your scowl. "i promised." 

"he's a reasonable kid..." satoru says, clearly not remembering the brooding that happened the last time megumi had to re-read one of his books. "i think." 

you're silent. 

"look, i'll talk to him, okay?" he settles on, finally. "and i'll give him a couple hundred yen, it'll be fine. 

your mouth opens, and you cough, before, "no, satoru--" 

"get some rest," he exclaims, unpleasantly. 

"have him call me when you pick them up, satoru--" 

"don't die of the flu or anything." 

and then he's gone, and now you've got a headache, too. 

*

you think you might be dreaming when you open your front door.

the knocking had woken you up--you think--but with how long it took to walk from your room, into the hallway, and then the door, honestly, you might've fainted. or decided to take another nap against the wall. 

because once you open it, it feels like you've done this before.  

once again, three people are standing in front of you, two of them already arguing before you even take a step back to swing the door all the way open. 

the light hurts your head as you squint at the three of them. 

"it was my idea--" megumi is saying to satoru, grumpy, you know, from all day at school, and because he's talking to satoru.

"you're not taking all of the credit," satoru says back, "i bought everything." 

"'cause you're rich." 

"wow, so you're objectifying me?" 

"yes," megumi answers immediately, even though you doubt that he even knows what objectifying means (actually, you're pretty certain satoru doesn't even know). you cough, and it feels like something has died inside of you. 

the three of them turn towards you, tsumiki with a pleading look.

"it was my idea, okay?" megumi tells you before anyone else can say anything, and then he pulls tsumiki along with him as they move past you, through the door, into your apartment. 

yes, it's clear that satoru has raised them. 

"i said we should bring soup," tsumiki looks up at you, waiting for the praise she knows you'll give her. 

"our idea," megumi amends, easily. 

then they're out of your reach, going to sit on the very same couch they'd slept on a year ago, probably trying to escape satoru.

who you turn to, with a frown. his hair is so white it hurts to look at.

he points into your apartment, "those are devil spawn." 

you cough. "don't call them that." 

he raises a brow at you. probably at how soft your voice is, or the fact that you haven't hit him in the thirty seconds he's been standing there. 

it's a new record. 

"why are you here?" you rasp out, wiping some snot from your nose.

"no 'hello?'" 

"hello, satoru," your voice is retched, "why are you here?" 

"you look kinda rough, kid," 

you sniff, leaning against the doorjam. you could fall asleep here in an instant. "i'm sick, you jerk." 

"so this is sickness..." satoru says, intrigued, pretending to inspect you closely like you're some lab experiment. 

"i distinctly remember a cold that had you shaking on the floor of your dorm, begging shoko to heal you." 

satoru points a finger at you. "that was an uncurable illness." 

"and yet we're still stuck with you." 

satoru just smirks, pretending to be an angel he is not. 

you cough again and then sigh. it's cold with the door open. "are you just here to annoy me?"

"no," satoru shakes his head, giving you a ridiculous look, "well, i was telling megumi that you couldn't take him to the bookstore, cause of your disease or whatever," he ignores your weak protest, "and then i suggested that maybe we could see how you were feeling, bring you a little gift basket--" 

"no, he didn't!" megumi calls. 

satoru frowns. "devil. spawn." 

you snort, somehow amused at all of them, finally moving aside so he can walk through the door. 

satoru passes, suddenly brighter, but not before leaving an obnoxious kiss on your cheek--a resounding smack following. to which, you promptly wipe off. 

he frowns, and you push him so you can close the door. and then you trail into the kitchen, sitting down immediately before you fall. 

it's so embarrassing that just standing for too long has made you this lightheaded. 

satoru sets a bag on your kitchen counter and begins to unpack it. 

you try to see over his hands. "what did you bring me?" 

"you guys are so unappreciative," satoru tells you, pouting, "you only want me for my goods." 

"and the view," you answer, easily. "what'd you get?" 

megumi and tsumiki comes over to you, both of them giving you a short (megumi) and tight (tsumiki) hug. you've trained them well. 

"soup!" tsumiki tells you, grabbing the container from satoru's hands, despite his look. and then she walks over to your stove, looking in the cupboards for a pot to heat it in. 

because she's used to taking care of herself. they both are. 

"satoru," you nod to her, and he frowns, but reluctantly takes over, pushing tsumiki away from the stove. you're both familiar with this behavior from her. 

most days when you make dinner, tsumiki is trying to sneak into the kitchen, refusing to let you take care of it. 

she pouts a little now, but lets satoru handle the soup.

"gojo got you all of these," megumi tells you, bringing your eyes away from the other man, pushing a stack of pill bottles and medicine containers your way. "i don't think he knows what any of them are." 

"hey! that's a great selection," satoru pours the soup into a pot and sets it on the stove, returning to the counter with the three of you.

"this is a muscle relaxant," you tell him, frowning as you look at the packages--most of which are not for the flu. this is why he's not allowed to go to the store without you.

"well, your muscles need to relax, don't they?" satoru asks, dryly. "wish we could find some of those for your brain..." he mutters, afterward, and you throw the packet right at his face. 

"i found those little sour things you like," megumi continues, smirking just a moment at satoru. "they didn't have a big bag." 

"thanks, megs." 

"there's tissues, and chapstick if your lips get dry. and i picked out the cough drops because gojo wanted to get chocolate flavored or something--" 

"strawberry!" 

megumi rolls his eyes. 

tsumiki steps to your side again. "and we got flowers, but those are still in the car." 

"no, they're not," satoru suddenly has a bouquet of roses in his hands, almost covering his entire face. "they're right here." 

"when did you do that?" 

"when you guys were ridiculing my excellent taste," he pouts, white hair falling over his glasses. 

you laugh. 

"where's your vase?" he asks, going through every cupboard before finally listening to your answer. he settles on the other end of your kitchen, cutting and arranging the bouquet. 

tsumiki taps you. "are you feeling bad?" 

"just a little out of it, sweetie, don't worry." 

"did we get everything you need?" megumi chimes in, giving you a brief moment of eye contact before looking away. 

"yes. you guys did great, thank you both. you're very sweet." 

satoru ahems loudly. "and what about me?" 

"you could've done better." 

the kids both laugh and you push them into the living room, telling them to go sit down for a bit--knowing that satoru dragged them from school to the store to here without a break--and that you'll find a snack for them. 

and then you sigh, a bit nauseous from sitting up for so long. 

"do you need to lay down?" satoru peers at you, setting the bouquet on your table. "you look green." 

"thanks. how'd you learn to do that?" you gesture to the flowers which are arranged beautifully. honestly, you're surprised he didn't leave them on the counter for you to deal with. 

"i am a gentleman." 

"ha. no, seriously." 

"...i may, or may not have looked up what to bring someone who has the flu--and the flowers were extra, but!" he pauses as you laugh at him, resting your head against the cool counter. "i only had to do that because i don't get affected by stupid things like the flu or whatever you have." 

"of course," you whisper, closing your eyes. 

and then there's a hand on your forehead. "you're really warm." 

you press your head into his hand, which is also pleasantly cold. "yeah." 

"did you sleep all day?" 

you nod. 

"really? that's so lazy." 

you push him away, and he laughs, just loud enough for you to hear it. you open your eyes again when you hear him move away, watching him stir the soup on the stove. 

"you probably shouldn't have brought them here," you tell him, gesturing to the living room. "i don't want to get them sick." 

"they missed you," satoru shrugs. "you wouldn't want them to be sick alone." 

"yeah, but..." 

"i'm the worrier today," he interrupts, wrapping his hand around your wrist so he can pull you. "go lay down on the couch with them and i'll get your soup ready." 

"you'll burn it, you mean?" 

"as a punishment for all of the cruel things you say to me," and satoru smiles as he nudges the top of your head with his nose. 

his eyes are almost stern (almost, but not quite) as he watches you lay down on the couch, your hands gestured in defeat, and nods when you're settled in. 

when he walks away, you call, "bring us some water!" 

there's no response, but you know he'll do it. 

tsumiki just slightly nudges you with her hand and you smile, opening your arms for her to cuddle under. 

megumi doesn't do the same, but you don't fail to notice when he scooches just a little bit closer to you both, his thigh touching yours. 

your head still hurts and even the smell of the soup is making you a bit sick, but you'll deal with it as long as they're all here. 

*

you're arguing with satoru about dinner, several days later, when tsumiki and megumi sneeze at exactly the same time. 

it took a couple of days for you to recover, but now you're better than ever, happily fighting with satoru over the stupidest things and watching over both of the children for any defects that happened while you were out of sorts. 

they're mostly okay. 

but now the both of you look over to them, your eyes wide, satoru almost wincing. 

and then you look back to him, already scowling. 

"hey, it was just a sneeze," he tells you, quickly, already knowing what you're about to say. 

"i told you--" 

and then he sneezes, taking a step away from you. 

you groan, giving up on dinner. it looks like the next few days are going to be spent coddling all of your children. 

*

next part

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Could you write about stan or Ford taking care of their sick s/o? I've been suffering from an awful head cold this past week and it sucks i could really use the comfort 😭

sick days with Stan & Ford (x reader)

a/n: starting with smth sfw while i work on… other things hehehhe but I hope you’ll feel better! take your meds and let yourself rest 💌 and thank u for the ask, anon!!

Stanford Pines

the kind of man who fights interdimensional monsters but still worries if your tea is the right temperature.

he tucks you onto the couch, fussing over pillows and blankets until you’re buried like some kind of marshmallow. then he disappears into the kitchen, where you can hear pots clanging and. . . is that the blender?

when he returns, he’s holding a tray with a bowl of soup, a glass of water, and a strange concoction that’s vaguely green.

“head cold or not, you need fluids. hydration is important,” he says, setting a mug of something herbal-smelling on the coffee table. “this tea is from the forests of dimension 52. the locals swear by it for respiratory ailments.”

you squint at the mug. “it’s not gonna. . . mutate me, right?”

Ford pauses, adjusting his glasses. “probably not.”

“Ford!”

he chuckles, sitting beside you with a soft sigh. “it’s perfectly safe, i’ve tested it. besides, you trust me, don’t you?”

and of course you do, even when his idea of “helping” involves interdimensional remedies that could very well grow you a third arm.

you take a tentative sip. the taste is weird, but soothing, warming you from the inside out.

“good?” he asks, watching your face expression.

“yeah,” you admit, sinking deeper into the blanket. “not bad.”

satisfied or at least faking this, he leans back, but that little crinkle in his brow never really goes away.

“you’re overthinking again,” you notice, looking at him.

“i am not,” he says, entirely unconvincing.

“Ford.”

he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “i just hate seeing you like this, i keep thinking there must be something more i can do.”

you reach out, tangling your fingers with his. “you’re doing enough, really, just stay with me, okay?”

Ford’s expression softens and he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“always.” and he stays, reading to you from one of his journals while you drift in and out of sleep. his voice is calm, comforting and every so often, he pauses to carefully check your temperature.

Stan Pines

you wake up with your throat feeling like sandpaper and your head pounding. you barely have the energy to groan, let alone drag yourself out of bed, but the world outside your room is loud. voices from the tv, Stan’s yelling at it.

with blanket wrapped around your shoulders, you stumble out and see Stan sprawled on the armchair in his striped boxers and tank top, he’s shoving popcorn into his mouth by the handful, but when he sees you, he nearly chokes on it.

“jeez, you look like somethin’ the cat dragged in. worse than waddles after he found that mud pit last week.”

you sniffle. “thanks for the pep talk, Stan.”

he waves you over as his tone softens. “c’mon, c’mere. what’s wrong? flu? cold? bubonic plague? don’t tell me you’re contagious.”

you plop next to him, dropping your head onto his shoulder. the tv’s too loud, but you can’t even complain about it.

“it’s just a cold,” you murmur. 

“cold, huh? well, that’s nothing to mess with,” you can hear the tease in his voice. “lemme get my doctor bag. got some snake oil in there that cures everything, even bad attitudes.”

he shuffles off to the kitchen, muttering about needing to find some ginger ale. he comes back with a mug of tea that looks. . . questionable. is that a bay leaf? and a handful of mints?

“drink this, kid, don’t ask questions.”

you sip and it’s awful. Stan grins as you make grimace. “told ya it’s magic. now, get cozy.”

he turns the tv down and drapes his old, scratchy afghan over you. you don’t know when it happens, maybe during some ridiculous commercial for glow-in-the-dark socks, but you fall asleep with your head still on his shoulder.

when you wake up, the tea’s gone, replaced by a cup of melted ice cream with a sticky spoon, meanwhile Stan is snoring loudly with his arm protectively thrown over you.

[cravingpepsimax]

learned that illness kinks are a thing and i can’t stop thinking about ford having one

stan gets sick one day — nothing too severe, just the flu or something — and ford enters full-on mother hen mode. ever since weirdmageddon, he’s been feeling extra protective (ans extra guilty) over stan, and that includes protecting him against illness!

but when ford takes stan’s temperature using a thermometer, he feels… strange. he brushes it off as him just pining over his brother again — the action does feel a bit intimate — and moving on.

but, as the day goes on, ford quickly realizes that this isn’t just his standard incestuous feelings. stan being so vulnerable, ford being able to take care of him, him and his flushed, sweaty face, ford hearing stan pant and even sometimes moan/whimper from sickness… stan’s sick and ford, the pervert that he is, thinks that it’s hot.

ford’s got EXTREMELY conflicted feelings about this. he’s genuinely concerned for stan, he does want him to get better despite his… primal urges, but he can’t help but find stan being sick really hot. and he feels so guilty about it, because, wow, stan’s SUFFERING, and he thinks it’s HOT????

even after stan gets better, ford gets real… excited whenever stan exhibits any symptoms of sickness, even if he’s not actually sick. stan does that old man cough and ford replays the sound in his head when he masturbates that night. around march, stan starts sneezing and sniffling his nose — damn pollen — and ford almost passes out on the spot.

stan doesn’t connect the dots — he’s typically a bit too preoccupied to notice, and, when he does, he just goes “huh, that’s weird”, because “my brother has incestuous feelings for me and also has a kink for me being sick” is a bit of a weird conclusion to jump to — until the first time it happens after they’ve gotten together. stan bursts into laughter — not in a mean way, but like, oh my GOD, it was SO obvious, and he DIDN’T NOTICE, and also stan’s heard of his fair share of kinks but illness was never one of them — and pokes fun at him for the rest of the day. “ohhh, sixerrr, i think i’m coming down with somethiiiiing… *obviously fake coughs*”

the next time stan gets sick, he jokes about it, saying “bet you’re getting off on this, huh?”, only for ford to reply with a “…yes.” and, oh boy, now that he knows what ford’s thinking, stan’s finding himself getting worked up.

they end up fucking, ford and stan love it, but then ford ends up getting sick — but he certainly doesn’t regret it.

tl;dr

^ford

[omegalomania]

ok listen obviously like everyone else i am Fucking Devastated but the fucking sHRIMPLICATIONS here are KILLING me.

the two last "new" songs we got before the hiatus were alpha dog and from now on we are enemies (equally fucked up song btw) and pete namedrops alpha dog as the last song they wrote before the hiatus and it's such a. it's SUCH a fucking. augh.

like it's so painfully and clearly a farewell. the lyrics all telegraph it. your time has passed. never means forever. walk off into the sunset. the discussion of how much effort is required to maintain this life and how they already feel burned out, past their prime when they were all in their mid-twenties and early thirties. and the sheer fucking POETRY of the way it was the last song they recorded - tell rock and roll i'm alone again - until they announced their triumphant return with save rock and roll in 2013. welcome to the new déjà vu.

and oh yeah the last word issued in the song's studio version is the word "abracadabra," which pete cites as the word that christian bales character in the film “the prestige” says he will utter before he disappears from prison. "abracadabra" was a key word in the viral ARG-esque marketing campaign leading up to the release of believers never die...right before fall out boy seemingly vanished off the very face of the earth.

and, OH YEAH, the first shows they played after reuniting involved a multi-song medley spanning all the stages of their career, with one of those songs being the first time they ever played alpha dog, albeit partially.

the notion of the wizard through the curtain speaking to a sense of bitterness (at least if pete's ten year old genius annotation is anything to go by) which is the exact same phrasing to the way joe would later talk about the band's fraught, strained feelings leading up to the hiatus in a podcast with kerrang while promoting his book.

many people have pointed out the parallels between flu game and alpha dog - the way they both discuss the exhaustion of being so visible and constantly putting yourself out there and how taxing that is, especially when you're simultaneously trying to cover up how hard it is. how isolating it is, when the whole world is squinting against the starlight feathering off you. it's worth noting that these parallels are not merely implicit, either. "flu game" is in and of itself an explicit reference to a famous game michael jordan played while sick in which he claimed that he didn't want to give up, no matter how sick and tired he was. and how did pete annotate a specific couplet, ten years ago?

we must make it hard to look so easy doing something so hard

another explicit reference to michael jordan, years and years prior.

and this is the first time they've ever played alpha dog in full. nearly 15 full years after the hiatus started. by now, fall out boy have been together for far longer than they've ever been apart. by now, fall out boy has been in their "posthiatus" era for longer than they have their "prehiatus" one.

i dont really have a conclusion to this. just, i dunno man. something about the repeated lyric "never means forever" on a greatest hits compilation titled "believers never die." something about i'm a star vs. so much for stardust vs. no more stardust. something about motifs that span decades, that span years of hurt and cracked-open wounds that have now been poured over with liquid gold, mending them anew. something about reclaiming old scars and ugly histories and reforging them into something filled with streaming starlight and sun-drenched smiles.

abracadabra.

[cabinetofquriosities]

The Ritual

Agatha x Reader || Warnings: Smut, violence

Done for an exchange with @marril96 who made this gifset as a preview for my upcoming detective Agathario fic. Check her stuff out!

Agatha hadn’t been able to use her magic for months.

She couldn’t sense a hex or a binding spell. If there was one, it was intricately done. No, there was a block. Regular people had the flu, witches had blocks. It wasn’t often and it typically never lasted more than a few days.

It was sometimes brought on by being near overpowering magic while your own was unstable. Other possible causes were new overwhelming emotional changes, mental torture, or lack of practice for more than a few decades. It was often psychosomatic, caused by the mind rather than anything external.

Agatha had never suffered from it, given that her major life changes were almost immediately followed by absorbing the powers of a coven. Nicky died, she created the con of the road. Rio left her after brief reunions, she would find more witches to use. The pair had finally let go of one another decades ago, so it couldn’t have been Rio.

When she met you, though, her entire world shifted. She was finally feeling grounded by someone who wasn’t running off for a greater purpose like her ex did. You both made each other your purpose.

She had plunged the depths of her mind to figure out what the cause of her block was, but couldn’t find anything. She researched every text on the subject of blocked magic. All it said was to find the cause and make peace. Agatha had always considered peace to be overrated.

Agatha had moved in with you a few months prior, right around the time of her magic freezing up. You both lived in an old victorian at the edge of the woods. You found yourself holding her at night, whispering words of comfort in her ear. You would help her look for answers while reading up on your own healing magic. You supported her the best you could. She was happy with you, but incomplete without her purple. It was a new thing for Agatha to feel happy and to feel powerless. Both were unnatural states for her.

One day, you were working on a new healing salve as the sun set outside. You plucked a bloom from the dried flowers you had hanging over the kitchen island amidst the pots and pans. You dropped it into the boiling water, watching the color change.

A crash yanked you out of your focus. You froze, conjuring a ball of energy in your palm as you listened for a possible threat. Instead, you heard a familiar groan. You extinguished the orb before running to the source of the sound.

Agatha had collapsed after opening the door. Blood poured from a wound in her side. She had bruises and cuts all over her form. You knelt down, moving her onto her back so you could get a better look at the damage.

“What happened?!” you asked in a panic.

Agatha let out a pained wheeze. Your heart raced and your chest tightened.

Agatha coughed up some blood before saying, “A warlock… he followed me from the magic shop in town… he knew who I was. Wanted to… be the killer of the witch killer.”

As if she had summoned him herself, a tall man appeared in the doorway. He was unable to come inside due to the sigils surrounding the house. He smiled and laughed.

“A healer? Oh, this is going to be far too easy. I am surprised the great witch Agatha Harkness couldn’t find a protection witch to keep her s-“

You cut him off with a powerful beam of destruction shooting out from your palm. So many mistook healers for being peaceful or having passive magic. They didn’t realize that such witches also held command of the opposite end of the spectrum. While you could heal, you could also harm more harshly than other types of witches. It was the balance of magic that some so easily forgot.

The warlock landed in the dirt like a ragdoll. You stepped out onto the porch, looming over him. He winced, opening his mouth to say something before you shot him with another blast, holding this one until it left him a blackened husk of meat.

Once your were assured of his demise, you ran back to Agatha’s side. She wasn’t doing well. You knelt down, having a second look at her injuries. She gasped sharply in pain as you moved her shirt up enough to see the wound. It was definitely one that could prove to be fatal with how much blood was being lost. You were too far from any hospital, so you would have to find a way to somehow heal an injury that was damn near impossible to do with magic.

You were a healer, yes, but you were a healer of witches. You could only help so much with fixing regular people, especially when they were harmed by a witch or warlock. With witches, she could channel her magic into theirs to heal their bodies. The fact that Agatha no longer had access to her power meant that you couldn’t save her life without going to extreme lengths. Even then, there was only a chance of success.

You stood up and ran to the kitchen, leaving Agatha on the floor in the entryway.

“Oh no… it’s fine… I’ll stay right here…” she called.

You would have smiled if not for your fear. As long as she was being her sarcastic self, she was still alive. You already had half of the concoction done since you had been working on healing salves already, but the substance itself wouldn’t be enough. It needed a ritual to go along with it.

You threw in more ingredients and let them boil as you ran to the living room to retrieve candles. You rapidly and clumsily set them down in a circle around your girlfriend. You noticed her eyes had drifted closed. Your stomach dropped and you bent down, shaking her awake. Agatha woke, groaning in pain.

“Owww! Damn it!” she scolded.

“Good! Keep yelling at me. Keep your eyes open. I’ll be right back,” you said before running off.

She did just as you said, finally following orders for once. You ripped a page out of one of your spell books. She loudly complained about everything she could as you brought the serum, gemstones, matches, and chalk out. You set them all down and got to work. You drew sigils in chalk between each candle before lighting it. The gemstones were placed in a specific order.

You consulted the torn page that detailed the ritual. You had never attempted this ritual before. It was too risky for both parties involved. If it went wrong, your own form could be drained of life along with hers. Agatha, who had been bitching just a moment before, recognized the preparations.

“No…” she said.

“Yes,” you said back while lighting the final candle.

“No… there has to be another w-“

“This is the only way.”

“My love, you can’t…”

“I can and I will,” you said with an assuredness that you weren’t sure you completely felt.

You moved into the circle with her, stripping her clothing from her. She gasped and winced, but neither of you had the luxury of being delicate. You carried on, taking the serum and pouring it from the pot over her torso, coating the injury. Her back arched as she screamed out in pain. You hated that you were unable to let it cool properly. The salve instantly healed the burns caused by the boiling temperature. She passed out from shock, but you slapped her awake.

“Agh! What the fuck?!” she yelled, “You couldn’t have BLOWN ON IT or added ice before giving me THIRD DEGREE BURNS?!”

“Oh, hush, they’re already gone,” you chided.

You began chanting in Sumerian as the energy around them shifted. The ritual was older than most, something that was created before Latin. The candles would be the first measure of how it was working. The flame shrank to nearly nothing, signifying a lack of effectiveness. A second passed before the wicks re-ignited with bursts of fire. You felt your body relax slightly as you kept chanting.

You then changed your chant, moving to her wound. You hovered your hands over it as they glowed. The imbalance of power created a vacuum, with Agatha’s lack of magic causing your own to begin breaking down. Your face began to lose color and your arms shook. The gemstones vibrated against the wooden floor as a warning that you swiftly disregarded. Agatha realized what was happening, watching your lips turn blue as her own body began going cold. You doubled over, your face close to her shoulder.

“S-stop,” she whimpered, wanting at least one of you to survive the ritual.

You simply kept chanting, even as your voice constricted. Agatha brought her hand up and cupped your cheek. You turned your head to face her, knowing in that moment that you would rather die with her in an effort to save her than sacrifice her to save yourself. The only way out was through, for better or worse.

You leaned into her touch as your skin began to warm again. You watched pink returning to her lips and cheeks. The wound was also beginning to heal slightly. You could tell from Agatha’s smile that you looked better as well. You finished the chant and looked back at the page showing the steps of the ritual. A sly smile tugged at your lips.

“I doubt we will have an issue with this part,” you said.

“What do you mean?”

You didn’t answer as you hiked up her loose skirt. You said an incantation before bending Agatha’s legs. You leaned down, your eyes gazing into your girlfriend’s as your tongue slipped inside of her. Agatha whimpered before arching her back. She shook from the shooting pain of the wound, but the pleasure outweighed it.

You slid two fingers into her, curling them with every thrust. You needed to bring her to the peak of pleasure to essentially give her body a jump the way you would a car. It would give Agatha a magical influx on par with adrenaline in combination with electric shocks to the chest. With nothing to work off of on Agatha’s side, you had no clue if you would survive this. Her climax could restore her or it could drain you both depending on what the universe allowed.

Although you would never tell Agatha for fear of giving her a fatal case of performance anxiety, Agatha was familiar enough with the ritual to know the stakes. She looked down at you with so much love. She had been so terrified of having someone who she loved like this in her life, but this risk you were taking for her cemented what she should have already known. You were devoted to her more than anything and would never leave. As that realization clicked into place, something finally changed within herself.

Just as you were beginning to feel another drain, Agatha’s body began to emanate energy. The magic rushed through her, finally flooding in after months of being blocked. Her acceptance of you as a constant in her life sparked it.

You could taste the power restoring itself as you devoured her. You sucked aggressively on her clit as your fingers thrusted faster. Both of your eyes locked, your magic balancing with hers. The wound healed with a blinding glow, closing completely with her orgasm.

She had never looked more beautiful than she did in that moment with her energy visibly engulfing her. Shades of purple licked at the outline of her form. Her eyes shone with violet and gold. Her walls clenched and pulsed around your fingers.

One candle flame extinguished itself after another. The stones stilled. The aura of Agatha’s power absorbed back into her. She took a shaky breath, lifting herself up on shaking arms. You crawled over her before kneeling, straddling her lap. Your palm rubbed over her now unharmed skin. You couldn’t believe it had worked.

Her hands held your face and guided you to look at her. You beamed at her like you had fallen for her all over again without knowing.

[redhoodobsessed]

Diagnosis is...

Jason Todd x Reader

This one is kind of weird i just thought it would be funny and it spiraled from there. You meet your boyfriends family at a very bad time. TW: vomiting, Pregnancy

Jason always took you to the Manor when his family wasn't home. The only member who you were well acquainted with was Alfred and Duke. Even after being together for a year and moving with eachother he wasn't ready for you to meet his family. Truthfully he was worried they would be... too much.

Jason sat you down gently on his bed in his old bedroom.

"You really didn't need to carry me here from the cave I'm not that sick" you sighed as he tucked you into the bed.

"Sure but I wanted to." He went to kiss your lips but you pulled back

"Trust me lover boy you do not want to kiss these lips"

He chuckled and kissed you on the cheek instead "I'll be back at five ok?"

You nodded waiting for him to leave before running to his bathroom and vomiting.

After 10 minutes you went looking around. He only ever took you to the manor when no one else was around but Alfred. But this time even he wasn't here. Bruce was on some big undercover mission in another country basically the enormous amounts of people who were usually here weren't except for Jason and Duke who were taking over the nightly patrol in Gotham. This was perfect for your mission.

You searched every bathroom and medicine cabinet you could find surely in a house this big which was home to the billionaire playboy had to have at least one. You could swear you'd been looking for hours practically torn apart the entire mansion when you heard a sympathic sounding voice say. "Looking for something?"

You turned around to see a redheaded green eyed woman in a wheelchair. Barbara Gordon.

"Uh uhm Sprite?" Definitely not a great answer if you were trying to deceive a world renowned cyber detective who caught you pulling apart her boyfriends medicine cabinet. But she humored you and took you to the kitchen.

"Why sprite?" She said

"The acid from Lemons are neutralising which help relieve nausea. They give it to people in outpatient after things like wisdom tooth extraction at the hospital. Also I don't like lemonade."

"Right, Jason said you weren't feeling well. What are the symptoms?" She was absolutely probing you for information. She saw the frantically thrown about flu medicine and pain killers, you were looking for something specific.

you weren't planning on spilling everything to a complete stranger but you had to tell someone or you would probably go crazy. "Well nausea, slight headache, swollen feet and breasts, late menstruation cycle I would say patient diagnosis would be-"

"Pregnancy" she interrupted her face completely bewildered. Jason Todd got a girl pregnant.

"About 2 to 3 weeks along but I can't know for sure without-"

"A pregnancy test" she interrupted again.

"I would rather go to the Doctor and get a blood test but Jason and I just moved in together and I only realised I was late yesterday."

"We can do a blood test! Downstairs in the cave right now" Barbara immediately started heading to the elevator to the cave.

"That will take a while you don't have a regular pregnancy test here?"

She thought for a second "I don't think so."

So you went down to do the test you were surprised they had every blood test known to man "you know an at home pregnancy test only takes two minutes" you say as you draw your own blood you needed to practice anyway.

"Well we could watch a movie? It's only two hours."

"Yeah only" you sighed and Barbara finished the rest of the process now all you had to do was wait for the results. Your heart almost stopped when you heard the roar of a motorcycle enter the cave thinking it might be Jason.

"It's just the Batgirls their mission ended early." Barbara said pulling up the live security footage of the runway and leaving it up. You almost collapsed from relief.

"Hey Babs! Who's this?" The purple Batgirl said as she took off her Cowl revealing her blonde hair and chipper smile.

"I uhm I'm Y/n"

"Oh Jason's girlfriend! You're sick right?" She glanced over at the screen the blood test now almost halfway done. "What's a HCG test?"

Barbara minimised the window and looked at you as you tried to formulate a lie but it was too late. The other batgirl who must be Cassandra signed something to Stephanie.

"No way!" Her face was in utter disbelief and god you wished Jason had just left you in the apartment. This was not how you wanted to meet his family.

"It's probably nothing it could be anything really." You really wanted to believe that. You wanted to believe it was something crazy rare.

"Like what?" Stephanie said with full curiosity. She definitely didn't seem to realise the invasive nature of that question until Cassandra put a hand on her shoulder. "Right well good luck with that Cass and I are gonna train for a bit."

"Don't worry you can trust them" Barbara's words gave little comfort. Your face was red with embarrassment its not that you didn't trust them it's that you just met them. Their first impression of their brothers girlfriend is that she could be pregnant.

It wasn't long before you heard people talking from the staircase "TIMOTHY BERNIE!"Stephanie yelled "What are you doing here?!"

"Well I was showing Bernard the mansion and i thought id take him to see the cave too i need to check up on a blood test of a rat i found scarecrow experimenting on too. Hey! Are you Y/n?" Tim asked shaking your hand.

You were relieved at the fact that he would be the first family member to not also be wondering whether or not you were pregnant. "It's nice to meet you. Jason talks about you a lot."

"He talks about all of you too I think he's been a bit nervous for us to meet."

"So was Tim. I'm Bernard, Tim's boyfriend" you had been so relieved and distracted by normal conversation without any indication of any possible pregnancy that you didn't see Tim looking at the computers in the med bay.

"Uh who ordered the HCG? Was it an accident or...?"

"HCG? I meant to do a CRP! damn well now I'll know if I'm pregnant or not." At least Stephanie was good at improv

"But this says its y/n's?" Tim said skeptical of the whole situation

"What?! I must of mixed up our blood" ok so she might not win an Oscar but you could work with this.

"Oh yeah I was practicing drawing blood sometimes they have us do it on other med students and if you don't practice uh it's embarrassing." You were definitely not winning an Oscar.

"Right." He was definitely unconvinced. But his angel of a boyfriend noticed your nervous face and came to your rescue.

"Happens to the best of us." He has a very warm and comforting smile Tim has good taste in men.

As time went on your stomach started to churn and you laid back on a medical bed. There was the loud hum of a jet engine and huge doors opening up above you. "Uhh please not Bruce Wayne"

"Bruce Wayne" everyone except Bernard seemed to say in unison "and the results are in."

"I don't want to know" you didnt want this to be such a big deal you didn't want so many people to know and you certainly didn't want Jason's whole family to know before he did.

"Ah miss Y/n I see you've met more of the family" Alfred said walking down from where ever the Jet was parked above you.

"It's been a pleasure" you say truly not wanting to sound rude they had all been very kind to you their timing is just so so poor.

"Ah Jason had told me you're not feeling well. Can I bring you anything Y/n"

"Y/n?" I voice that must belong to Bruce followed behind Alfred. "Oh I didn't know you would be here" Bruce Wayne said cowl in hand his face looking tired. A young looking boy walked towards the bat computer ignoring you. honestly you were grateful for not having to meet another batfamily member.

You were trying to get up but he interrupted "no no please don't get up on my behalf rest its quite late."

You were going to respond but your stomach stirred again and a gurgle went up your throat. Bruce was quick to respond and got you a vomit bag. Great the first thing Bruce Wayne had ever heard from you was the disgusting sound of vomit. "You are quite sick" He put his hand on your forehead automatically. But there was no time to make up an excuse or reason.

"She's not sick, she's pregnant" the young and very rude boy said... definitely Damian.

"Oh uhm is uh.. when did you find out?" Bruce was extremely flustered, but by now you had experienced enough embarrassment for the night and just wanted Jason to come home.

"Just then" with the perfect timing that this family seemed to have you heard Jason and Duke ride into the cave to see an utterly confused Batman standing next to you.

"None of you are supposed to be here." Jason growled as he made his way to you he was about to glare at Bruce when he saw his bright red face he stopped "What's wrong with you?Salina break up with you again?" Jason

"Uhm" Bruce cleared his throat "you're right we're not supposed to be here. We should all go upstairs." He started heading to the stairs but everyone else seemed to be looking at you "now!" He said sternly in his Batman voice the room quickly cleared out after that.

You sighed a breath of relief as Jason sat next to you and pulled you close kissing your temple. "What was his problem?" He asked rubbing your arm and resting his head on your shoulder.

"Well I'm not technically sick."

"Hmm?" He didn't even seemed phased by this he just leaned into you more

"I had to do a test and uh everyone saw the result."

"Is it bad?" This man after a patrol you could swear his head was made of bricks.

"Depends. Do you think its bad that I'm pregnant." You said hesitantly a very small part of you worried that he would say yes but worse is he didn't say anything. "Jason?"

"Uh no!" He moved to face you his forehead pressed against yours "No it's its not bad its just its unexpected and then I'm sorry I'm sorry for all of that and them and wow"

You giggled "Yeah it's not exactly what I was expecting for tonight"

He cupped your cheek and smiled at you "I love you Y/N"

Tears started to well in your eyes "I love you too Jason" He pulled you in for a long kiss. Finally all you wanted all night was to be with him.

Upstairs Dick arrived home to...chaos. Stephanie was talking to Cass about everything they were going to do to prepare for.. something. Tim was yelling at Damian, Barbara and Bernard were telling Duke about the entire night and Bruce sat in an armchair still in complete embarrassment and disbelief.

"Did I miss something?"

[eccentricallygothic]

You get sick but you hate the doctor and his healing remedies so Daddy!Ari Levinson/Andy Barber…

Oh my God?

The man is like an actual parent?

Like, sometimes you have to remind him that he's your Daddy and not your Dad (and get punished for it)!

Whether it is Andy or Ari, both are such naggy old men and so fucking sharp at picking up the smallest of anomalies and differences in your behavior and condition because of their jobs that it is annoying. 

For instance;

One dark eyebrow raises at you when he notices your chatterbox is uncharacteristically quiet today. Because -not that he is complaining or ungrateful- usually your voice runs his old man ears raw. And when you avoid his eyes as you take way more interest in his preparation of breakfast because your baby sloth ass could never, his Daddy antennas are up and steering around in vigilance before you can blink your next. 

You just nuzzle closer into your stuffie and suppress a cough because the pain in your head and nose is nothing compared to what his treatment entails. In your little mind, dealing with this is better than Daddy finding out you're sick. 

The older man puts down the spatula and since his hands are all you let yourself see, it is impossible for you not to notice when he puts them on his hips. You chew on your bottom lip and stare at his belt for a few moments while praying hard that he resumes his work but your Daddy can be just as stubborn as you. 

And when you do look up, his suspicion is making his burly appearance even more intimidating than it already is. You cannot help but gulp. You give him a confused look with a little shrug of your shoulders. Unfortunately for you, the two of you have been over this one too many times. 

“Say something.” The simple command comes out a menacing order because of the baritone quality of his voice and the way his muscular arms cross over his broad chest serves only to make you feel even smaller. He raises an eyebrow. 

You shrug in pretend puzzlement again, eyes looking at him like he is being weird when you are the one giving yourself away. Your voice is one of the first things to change when you are nearing a flu or a similar sickness so after you realized that it is what your Daddy catches on, your great idea was simply not to speak. 

Sadly for you, you can never outsmart your old man. 

“I want you to say something, now.” You dumbly sign him ‘what?’ and completely damn yourself but you're too small and slow to realize it just yet. 

It is painfully obvious, honestly. You are hugging your sickness time teddy that your Daddy jokingly named Mr. Sicky because of how he only gets attention when you're under the weather, your nose is red, your eyes are glazed and your body that curls in on itself on the kitchen island chair looks like it's on the verge of crying like a little baby because of how sensitive you tend to become. 

“Okay, fine” he puts the kitchen towel that was hanging by his shoulder down on the counter and kills the stove before walking around the barrier separating the two of you, big arms reaching to grab a hold of you. “Come here” your eyes widen and though your heavy head pounds from how you jump off your seat, a painful escape is better than meddies and his old man remedies. 

But alas!

Your grizzly of a Daddy is too fast. 

You furiously shake your head and kick your limbs like an agitated hedgehog to try and break free from your cruel captor, still refusing to utter a single syllable and trying to avoid his prying hand so he can't find his way to your throat. 

“Stay still” he deeply grunts, easily holding you up in the air and against his strong chest with an ironhold around your waist all by one arm. 

You growl and bare your teeth like an angry pupper trying to bark at an adult husky. 

“Ughhh—”

“There we go~” the older man drawls out in satisfaction when he locates the damage with the use of his old man methods by feeling for swelling under your jaw and behind your ears. “I knew it.” 

“Let go, meanie!” He hums in triumphant sarcasm when you finally let your nasal voice loose. “Ugh!” You try to crane your head away from him, legs furiously fighting a lost battle. “I don't like you!” 

Your Daddy is so not impressed and completely unbothered. “Too bad.” The sheer lack of effort it takes him to hook your protestant form to his hip as he walks to the sink to fill up a pot with water is in stark contrast to the energy you're putting into your unsuccessful escape. 

“I dun want! I dun want! I dun want!” He doesn't even grunt as he places the pot on the stove and turns it on to boil with his free hand. “NO!” Next he leans over the counter to phone your usual doctor just because he does not like to use medication carelessly.  “This abusive!” You are so tired and sore that you cannot even properly speak but you swear to yourself that you will die before you let him put you in that stupid steam treatment that always suffocates you. 

(You will lose because your brutish bear Daddy will tightly hold you against him under the blanket until the steam forces your blocked pathways open but a brat can dream) 

“Babies are too small to know or decide what's right for them” he is slightly distracted as he softly squints at the dialer like the oldie he is. “Now shush so Daddy can speak to Uncle Steve.” That is, the name of your Doctor who is another meanie because he's besties with your villain of a Daddy. He always has great fun recommending you ewie gargles.

“Nu…” You whisper in despair as your words melt into a cough. All you can do is watch your blurred reflection in one of the fridge doors as you hang sideways, the deep voice of your Daddy filling your ears as he props the phone against his shoulder to take out ingredients for one of the many soups you will be cursed to for the next few days.

You hate soups! 

Especially the sick time ones! 

Daddy always tells you you're being dramatic but he will never be able to fool you! You just know he puts extra ewie healing things -probably recommendations of his be(a)stie!- in them that always make the soups taste so old man recipe-like! You puff your cheeks and glare at the stupid celery stalks that he places upon the chicken container.

You may be sick, but that will not stop you from going to war before your old man can put a spoon of that in your mouth!

[hanafubukki]

for no other reason that i'd love seeing malleus and lilia freak out over you (men who keep it together SNAPPING when they see their loved one hurt? hell yes gimme), please imagine you visiting diasomnia dorm and accidentally take poison that was snuck to harm malleus.

i was replaying book 4 recently and remembered jamil taste-tests everything, but i don't remember his retainers doing the same... malleus probably grew some immunity due to lilia's cooking lolol jkjk ok but i wonder if he ever was under that eye... granted he's powerful enough that barely anyone would dare, but there must be someone who wants him gone, like, look at rollo lol that man had no fear.

so yeah, you're just doing your thing, hanging out and talking malleus' ears off while he's grabbed a snack or something, and maybe he playfully shoves the spoon into your mouth as he teases you "breathe, child of man" with a grin on his face (you know the one, the one he does when you poke him too much in the home screen and he says he'll "overlook your rudeness". sir you are not fooling anyone. you love getting our attention. ANYWAYS—). lilia's there, leaning on the counter chuckling while you roll your eyes, playing along–

and then your mouth goes numb. at first is your tongue, so you blink in confusion, not fully registering what's happening. malleus stares at you in confusion as well while lilia's the one narrowing his eyes now.

next it's your jaw that numbs, and you touch your face feeling a pang of worry–it's the next second, when it becomes hard to breathe, that panic sets in. and it sets in hard. you're clawing at your throat while your body fights for air as you panic. you hear the clang of a plate and the rustling of robes near you, and your vision is full of black and neon green as malleus' form covers you, trying to see and find what is wrong.

lilia is too familiar with said attempts, having been acquainted with nobility and a senate that hated his guts for centuries, plus the tensions among the fae kingdom centuries past. one touch to the food numbs his finger and he immediately knows, so he's out in a flash to find crewel's office where he knows there might be what he needs.

bonus points if the antidote is administered via kiss because you can't swallow it and cough it out :3

the fun part though (to me, i am not sorry lol) would be malleus going absolutely ballistic to the point where there is a storm on the whole school. maybe the island, even while lilia looks one step away from going back into general–mode. "maybe it's time i pull my old weapon out." "father, please don't."

(sebek and silver are your friends too so they'd be pissed off as well, or if you're into a whole polycule you can imagine them freaking out as well.)

but now everyone in the diasomnia dorm is under heavy scrutiny. who'd have the balls to try and go poison malleus draconia? someone with a deathwish, that's who. though now you get pampered to death by them, including some open heart talk about malleus feeling guilty you took the hit for him, albeit accidentally.

if you want the lite version with no poison, just pampering and no snapping, just imagine malleus giving you a cold or the flu, except he doesn't get it himself. his body just doesn't feel the symptoms because he's that powerfully built, but you do get it from him (does this make sense? no, i personally think the virus would avoid him alltogether but let's just go with the flow (flu, heh) here) and you fall sick in his presence a few days later, red and feverish–passing out on him on the couch, too! you didn't want to stay at ramshackle and rest when he'd been looking forward to hanging out with his favourite people, so you just popped some meds and went out anyways. congrats, now you'll be pampered to death as well! maybe literally, if lilia insists on making that soup...

(me personally i prefer the poison one because desperation + love is delicious. plus the antidote giving through a kiss. clichés are in my blood. though i'd also love the other way around where you save malleus instead, i admit it's hard for me to imagine a poison that's able to get that man at all... but hey maybe there is one! or lilia's the one that gets it accidentally. that would make both you and malleus go absolutely feral on the spot, and silver? oh boy. yeah you three are out for blood. sebek for once would be the calmest of the group while still being pretty pissed off about the whole ordeal.

but hey now you get to pamper your old man or prince a little bit! :D)

YESSS ANONIE YESSSS 🥳🫶🙌

ALL OF THIS

I love when the calm/happy ones snap. You know you’re out of luck when that happens. Whoever dared?? Their days are numbered big time.

And something caused by poison?? When it was meant for another? 🤌 yes give it to me.

I feel Malleus would have a poison resistance that he accumulates over the years. And even if his dorm is filled with mostly supporters and those who worship him, it doesn’t mean there isn’t anyone that doesn’t want to hurt him or the others.

There can be many reasons. Maybe they hate his stance with humans? Maybe they want to hurt Lilia. It could be an aftermath of his OB.

But either way, you have been harmed and that cannot be. An innocent who was a friend (or maybe something more) to them and they dare harm you?

And for Malleus to have “basically fed” you that poison? Oh the guilt and the horror.

Lilia, from experience alone, probably has a panacea or the ingredients needed. If not, crewel’s lab is getting raided. How could he have let this happen? How could he lower his guard like this? All of this he’ll have to reflect on later. Even now, enemies are in his shadows.

Administrating the antidote through kiss? Yesss

Forcing your mouth open and making you drink it. Slowly rubbing your throat to make sure it goes down.

Crewel and Vil are called to check up on you. While Lilia? He’s using his UM to find answers.

His eyes glow wine red. The shadows around him spreads. He is eerily quiet. He is hunting now.

Anything with a kiss always has me kicking my feet, I don’t care how cliche it is. I will eat it up like it’s a fine course meal and I have been starving 💞💞

Diasomnia is going to be extra protective of you for the next coming weeks minimum. Get ready to be cuddled 🥰🥰

Delicious, so delicious, thank you for this meal Anonie 🥰🥰